Three penguins were sitting around, contemplating porcine life.
They knew very little of pigs, other than what they had heard from their fellows, or read in the local Penguin News. But penguins had incisive journalists, offering only the most factual items for their readers, so they could be trusted.
Pigs, the penguins knew, were thoughtful creatures, full of vim and vigour. They lived their lives in human pens, and gave those lives willingly in trade for the years of peace and solitude that could not be had in the wild.
With that, the three penguins knew what they should do. Or, rather, two penguins knew, and one balked.
“I don’t think we should do it, you guys. Remember what our grandparents have said about being hunted?”
“Yeah, but look at the pigs’ lives,” they replied.
“But – ” the contrarian said.
“No, we’re going. You stay if you want.”
The one penguin had no choice – he joined his peers as they swam toward the ship, to make their case for human imprisonment, a life of leisure, followed by quick, painless deaths.
Upon arrival, the humans hauled the penguins up in a net, cut them open, and ate them. The other penguins, back on shore, were not surprised to see the imbeciles so brutally meet their end. Such was the way of things.