Right out of the barn door, the panel doesn’t just wallow; they belly-flop into the mud like a sounder of prize hogs who’ve just spotted the last trough of expired slop.
They snort, root, and roll around the truth as if redemption itself might be buried under three feet of pure barnyard nonsense.

The two sows on the panel dive in snout-first, squealing “their truth” (or whatever version of it they hope the rest of the farm will swallow) while they wait for the third little piggies to come home after a nice warm bowl of mixed-message mash.

oink

Lipzy, the thinnest pig of the lot, is sporting a bright reddish-orange acrylic wig that looks like it was stolen from a clown’s trunk and then dipped in cheap dye. Her outfit somehow manages to make it appear she’s wearing a fur muff around her neck, though it could just as easily be harsh lighting, a too-tight collar, or the ghosts of bad fashion choices past.

None of that matters, of course, because what’s really powering this sow’s manic outburst tonight is pure unfiltered barnyard drama.

Fleasa, still as rotund and market-ready as a pig who’s been living the high-corn life, knows exactly how to work the yard. She leans back, lets Lipzy run the show, and collects the extra views, bucks, and admiring grunts from the rest of the farm-mates.
Smart sow.

Lipzy squirms her way to the front of the mud pit and starts squealing with a salty, lipstick-stained twist.
First order of feedlot business: Ms. Lipzy has been manipulating every search engine known to livestock.
She figures if she just peppers the airwaves with enough negative remarks, pictures, and general garbage about the neighboring farm, her own search optimization will eventually come out smelling like roses instead of manure.

(But everyone in the yard knows you can’t just slap red lipstick on this pig and call it a show hog, even if the algorithm starts looking a little cleaner.)

oink

As Lipzy explains the fine art of “exchanging garbage about her, to garbage against the enemy,” the fatter hog cuts her off and bellows, “What garbage? You are just telling the truth!”

The rest of the animals edge closer to the mud pit, muttering about what fine logic that is. Truly profound. Real blue-ribbon thinking.

Soon the BeardedBoar from the back of the room has to chime in that the great Dicky Lickman from the neighboring farm has done exactly the same optimization dance, “exactly what Roger Stone, the famous political instigator, did to clear his name too.”

pig games

Lipzy fuels the evening with more jibber-jabber, professing “she’s just playing their own game.”

oink

Head Flea-pig Fleasa lets the visiting sow ramble on, tossing in only the occasional grunt while Lipzy wallows deeper into the mud pit of pure craziness.

Then Fleasow brushes away any silly notion that Lipzy is merely playing ‘tit for tat’ and declares that what the Lipz is doing is simply putting “THE TRUTH” into the airwaves.

oink

Lipz doubles down in the mud and announces that her plan is strategic, and she doesn’t give a flying poop that people find out about her big plan. “You aren’t going to stop me from what I am doing.”

An aging, run-down cow from across the fence starts mooing about “search optimization.” Lipzy immediately wallows in the Marla Moo-Hoo cow’s insightfulness like it’s the finest clover.

“Exactly!” Lipzy confirms to the old cow destined for the knacker’s yard.

The Lipz drones on about how the neighboring farm animals “Have tried, err, they have ruined me.”

Then she turns to her onlookers and starts advertising her blogs and her new Facebook group about exposing the trolls.
She cracks a small smile from those lipstick lips and lets the animals know that’s where “she is making fun of the neighboring animals, because they are making fun of me.”

oink

When Fleasow finally gets a word in, she brings up the “red wig” and growggles toward her visiting swine panel member.

Lipz launches into a psychological dissertation on how the red wig “has a deeper meaning to her,” all about women’s empowerment and standing strong at the slaughterhouse.

“It’s all about advocating for women,” she grunts loudly.

(So… does Lipzy ditch the red wig when she goes full slander-and-defame mode on the neighboring farm animals? Because, um, that doesn’t exactly scream female empowerment.)

squeals

But the Lipz carries on about her red-wig theory for a good long while before finally moving on.

(Nope. That just sounds like championship-level barnyard chit-slinging.)

oink

The Lipz reaches into her silk purse and starts explaining how ‘women’ give up so much of themselves for others. They have to give up everything just for kids and a husband. “We reach our golden age, and we are lonely, just lonely, and no one cares about us.”

She hammers home that the red wig makes her feel beautiful and exciting.

(Ahh, is this little piggy giving us a guided tour of her own loneliness and bitterness toward her personal pigsty?)

blink

The two old sows start reminiscing about playing dress-up. The barnyard goes quiet, eerily quiet, like someone just mentioned the butcher’s truck.

Lipz paints a fresh layer of color on her overly inflated lips and tries to explain that “the wigs are symbolic” of playing dress-up and feeling beautiful, the way all the little piglets dream of.

“We are the same little piggies but now just in a grown-up body,” the Lipstick Queen whines.

Fleasa finally twitches from the corner of the dilapidated pen and offers a tale about how her Mom used to wear wigs and “she was a hairdresser!”

eye roll

At almost eleven minutes into the gathering, the fattened Bootlicking sow wanders into the yard but mostly just watches as her internet flickers like a dying lantern.

The Lipz doesn’t wait for Bootlicker to find a decent signal. She reminds the Flea-sow that she herself stands strongly “as a woman’s advocate.”

“I am not a crazy feminist, I am a woman’s advocate,” the Lipz says while brushing the acrylic wig off her hollow face.

(Well, well, well. Someone might want to whisper that if you’re advocating for women, maybe ease up on the manic slaughter of outsider farm animals?)

oink

Blah, blah, blah, the Lipz narrative rolls on. She complains again that “We have to give up on ourselves to raise children, to be a wife to our husband, and we, we end up getting older.”

“Where is my life, where is my life in this, where is MY happiness?” she squeals from her corner.

(Oh, she sure sounds like she’s complainin’ about her own pigsty, no?)

snort

Soon the Lipzchtic sow starts whining about what the neighboring farm animals have done to her. She wallows deep into the mud and surfaces with the claim that she can no longer ‘set foot’ in a classroom again.

“They ruined my career,” she sputters, clearing mud from her snout.

Confessing to her sympathy-garnering ploy, she now claims “she never wanted to be a lawyer in the first place” and that her heart has always beaten for teaching. “I hated being a lawyer!” she grumbled.

“But I did love being a school teacher,” she claims as ‘her truth.’

The Lipzschtick wonder starts up again about how “that career was ruined for me,” throwing piggy-eyes toward the neighboring farm.

Fleaswine jumps in to remind everyone how this whole mess started, squealing from her corner as she recounts what happened to the poor, poor, broken sow and how they first met.

Fleaswine makes it clear she was introduced to the Lipz “during her interview, err, interviewing of Volmite, the wanna be lonely sheep herder.

She reminisces about how she, along with Deuce, came on one of Lipzy’s streams.

Soon Fleasow prompts Lipzzy to tell the story of how she was brought into this pig pen of the Hale$ universe.

The Lipzschtick wonder, runs her bony fingers through her red two-buck wig, and explains how she arrived at the dilapidated barnyard where she now sits, ass-deep in the mud.

Both sows complain that they’ve been nicknamed “the anti-Hale$” and find the term offensive and degrading.

The Lipz explains she doesn’t like the term because it’s associated with Hale$ himself, using his name, and she’d be damned if she’s tagging the name Hale$ anywhere in her storyline.

eye roll

Lipz tries to say she didn’t even know what was going on when Volmite first asked her to come on his show. “I knew nothing, nothing and I don’t, never, wa, wa, wa, wa, wa, I never watched I don’t even I did not know who Hale$ was at all.” (verbatim)

oink

She claims Volmite enticed her with the words “yeah, yeah, it’s BIG, you know, in the YouTube scheme,” she squeals.

“But he never told me that it was like what would happen to me, like, like, it…..”

Fleaswine cuts off her smaller pig friend to declare that after that interview, when she was on her show, she warned the Lipz to “expect some drama out of all this.”

Both pigz agree that “it’s way beyond anything they could have ever imagined.”

grunt

The flea consoles the red-wigged-out pig and states, “I have never seen them go after somebody so hard, and so fast.”

The Lipz suggests it’s all because most Hale$ supporters are women over 50, and they could easily turn her into a character that “every woman would hate.”

She launches into a whole new narrative, analyzing that these supporters were probably just unhappy in their own lives.

She carries on about how “these women” probably have financial problems and/or a cheating husband. She suggests the “Hale$ supporters” just look at her like a “privileged woman getting Botox.”

“They made me into everything any woman would hate…I was the perfect candidate in that role,” she grunts, pushing her snout deeper into the mud hole.

slop-fueled

Lipz is adamant she didn’t interject herself and her pig-ideologies into the Hale$ verse; it was everyone else.

She says she came up with “The Hodunks” three weeks later after she ‘almost wanted’ to commit self-harm and hospitalized herself from all the harassment.

The Lipz snorts louder as she portrays what a sad, depressed piggy she was and admits it was Chipzy the Boar who finally told her she had to get outta bed.

“I created the Hodunks because humor…humor is therapy for me.”

blink

Waddling over to the fresh trough of slop, the Lipz begins her slaughtered words toward the Fox from the neighboring farmyard.

She doubles down, snout-first, and claims Megan is basically ‘jellied’ over the fact that she isn’t as pretty or educated as the Lipstick Queen.

“She saw me as this, and I am not trying to sound pompous, but it’s…look at Megan, look at her education, she has one, and I’m just saying like I’m putting people down for not having an education, I am not putting people down for how they look but you got to look at the different…if you were to put Megan and I up next to each other…”

Ms. LaRue can’t shut up her own thoughts and rambles on about how much better she is than the Fox of Foxes.

Fleasa jumps in to add that it’s Megan who “sits around bullying people.”

Lipz takes the stage back and claims the Fox felt threatened, and it was Lipz “that held the credentials Fox always wanted.”

oinkiness-indeed

Old sow Fleasa clears the mucus from her craw, tosses a few kernels of corn into the slop, and claims “Megan is so far up Jeremy’s ass, and Jeremy’s quite obviously attracted to you…I mean who else makes his own partner or girlfriend wear wigs, you know? I’m sorry, you know, but I, I, I think that, you know, that uh, there’s, there’s a lot of jealousy in there to be honest with you.”

(Proof that not all pigs are as smart as they want to be portrayed. As I recall, it was a fan that sent George the wigs to wear, not Jeremy forcing George to do anything. Proof positive that Piggy Fleasa can’t or won’t take a joke.)

oink

As the two wallowing pigs debate the ins and outs of jealousy, their pig noises rise above every other sound in the pen.

squeal like a piggie
(sorry, one of my favorite movies)

The flea soon shines her own hide by bringing up the checkered past in George and Jeremy’s relationship and shows the audience the “test message” she acquired between the couple a few years ago, which George had sent to her sister.

(The flea loves that storyline.)

eye roll

The Lipz decides it’s all about Jeremy just wanting women to bow down and repent.

Lipzy tells the Fleasow she found it very refreshing when she spoke with fellow Hale$ hater Georgie-Unfettered.
Lipzshitz claims Jeremy told her to “bow down and repent and apologize to all these other channels.”

She claims this Georgie-Porgie had the wisdom to realize that all those lip-synced videos Lipz had done previously were actually an ‘F-U’ in interpretative dance and song. (or something like that)

(Evidently Georgie, the slaughterhouse-bound piggy, claimed to the Lipzschtick sow, “Oh shit, now I understand why you sarcastically created those videos.”)

piggy-friends

Fleasow butts her snout into the conversation and starts rooting around in the mud about that prized trophy Hele$, from across the fence.

She complains that he claims he doesn’t have an arrest record, but darn it all to the next county, “she has proof.”

The Lipz agrees whole-piggily that indeed, Jeremy the farmer has a checkered, sordid past.

“He has an arrest record for burglary and for criminal trespass,” the Fleasow adds to the fodder.
The redwigged swine perks up and reassures Fleasow that “Absolutely he does” and admits she’s done a search on the man on TruthFinder.

The Lipz soon toots her own pig-tail and claims she does thorough, in-depth research.

Both pigs laugh at the audacity of that ‘farmer’ from across the way trying to hide the truth about his past farm lives.

The talk turns to the finances and perks of YouTube. She claims that’s why all the farm animals in the valley like him, because he makes money.

Evidently, according to the Lipschtick pig, this has spilled over to Facebook, where all the other farm animals are ‘vigorously defending’ him along with the other streamers.

They both start spinning in the mud that everyone has sock accounts on Facebook.

(As the great late Pee Wee once said, “I know you are, but what am I?”)

oink

The red-lipped sow begins a snout-attack on the man, the ‘John D, Grim Jr.’

She claims she looked him up and “He’s an obese man clearly in his 60s. He has like some computer company.”

Lipz shakes the hair out of her eyes and says her concerns are that “With a man like that, like what the hell’s he doing sitting on Facebook?”

Fleasow gets twitterpated and moist as she wiggles deeper into the mudhole and brings up “Oh, there’s another 70-year-old man, uh, that literally does my transcript.”

(Ahh, yes, Mark, the strong work horse over yonder down the road. Always doing God’s work to keep Facebookers informed and up to date.)

whinnie

Fleasow gets gritty as she falsely claims that Mark is funneling all his hard work toward Tug, one o