Brother, I hunger so desperately for oats that I hate. My trotters

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Brother, I hunger so desperately for oats that I hate.

My trotters no longer support my immense girth; I have become trapped here amongst the hay, immobilised by the consequences of my own gluttony.

How sweet the oats once seemed, how readily I ingested vast quantities of them. Now the oats are bitter - bitter reminders of happier days. Days when I was young and immature, Brother. Days when morality and temperance vanished like spectres in the presence of the siren call of hedonism.

I became intoxicated by the oats, brother. Mindlessly, I allowed these wicked temptations to erode that which made me a pig as intended by the Almighty; transforming me into little more than an immobile sentience fit only for the violent perversions of man.

Can we turn back the hands of time? Will I ever be able to undo what I have done, what I have become? Or, Brother, have I been ensnared in a trap? I was baited in by pleasure, Brother, and now I feel the door has shut behind me. Uncaring to the lessons I have learned, the invisible hand of fate moves against me.

Oh, Brother. I must never eat the oats again, but my stomach feels now so empty knowing once the feeling of pounds of oats.