The Farmhouse Fiasco: Power and Politics in Animal Farm

The following scene is a parody of George Orwell’s Animal Farm.

There is no link to current events.

Prompting Culture does not do politics.

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The Farmhouse Banquet Hall gleamed with an opulence that stood in stark contrast to the dilapidated barn visible through the window. Napoleon, his rotund figure draped in a gaudy military uniform, sat at the head of a long table laden with fruits, vegetables, and a steaming roast. Squealer hovered nearby, his beady eyes darting between Napoleon and their unexpected guest.

Muriel the goat stood awkwardly near the entrance, her hooves caked with mud from The Uplands. She had come seeking aid, for Mr. Jones and his men had been spotted near the borders, armed with shotguns and wire cutters.

"Well, well," Napoleon drawled, swirling a glass of apple cider. "If it isn't our esteemed neighbor from The Uplands. To what do we owe this... pleasure?"

Muriel cleared her throat. "Comrade Napoleon, we need help. Mr. Jones-"

"Mr. Jones?" Napoleon interrupted, slamming his hoof on the table. "You're still calling him that? What happened to 'Enemy of the Animals' or 'The Tyrant'?"

"I... I'm sorry," Muriel stammered. "The former owner of Manor Farm-"

"That's more like it," Napoleon grunted. "Continue."

As Muriel began to speak, Napoleon's attention drifted to a platter before him. With a grunt of satisfaction, he picked up a fish sandwich, its edges dripping with tartar sauce. He took an enormous bite, chewing open-mouthed as Muriel tried to maintain her composure.

"He's gathering forces," Muriel continued, averting her eyes from Napoleon's display. "We fear an attack on The Uplands is imminent. We need your support to defend our territory."

Napoleon's eyes narrowed as he swallowed loudly. "And why should we help you? What have you done for Animal Farm lately?"

"But... but we're allies," Muriel protested. "We've always stood together against human oppression."

Squealer stepped forward, his voice oily. "Have you said thank you even once for all we've done?"

"Of course! Many times. Even today, when I arrived-"

"Words are cheap," Squealer interrupted, his tail twitching. "Do you know how much we've sacrificed for The Uplands? Our brave animals have gone without, just so you can have the best defenses money can buy. And for what? So you can stand there and demand more?"

Napoleon nodded approvingly, taking another massive bite of his sandwich. Fish scales clung to his jowls as he chewed, bits of bread and sauce falling onto his uniform.

"Squealer's right," Napoleon mumbled through his mouthful. "You're gambling with the lives of animals here. You're risking an all-out war with the humans. It's very disrespectful to this farm that's backed you far more than many said we should have."

Muriel's eyes widened. "What are you talking about? We've always been grateful-"

"Grateful?" Napoleon scoffed, spraying bits of fish across the table. "You're not even winning this conflict. You have a chance of coming out okay because of us. Without our supplies, this war would have been over in two weeks."

"Three days," Muriel corrected softly. "That's what Mr. J- the enemy said."

"Maybe less," Napoleon growled, licking his hooves clean. "It's going to be very hard to do business like this, I tell you."

Squealer nodded vigorously. "You should express more appreciation for Animal Farm and the president who is trying to save your territory. Do you have any idea how much Napoleon has done for you? He's a stable genius, you know. Very high IQ. He could have solved this conflict in a day if you'd just listened to him."

Muriel stamped her hoof in frustration. "I've thanked you numerous times! All the animals of The Uplands are grateful for your support."

Napoleon rose, pacing around the table, the remains of his fish sandwich clutched in his hoof. "You need to show more gratitude because without us, you've got nothing. No cards to play. Believe me, I know cards. I have the best cards. People always tell me, 'Napoleon, you have the best cards.' And let me tell you, your cards? Not good. Sad!"

He paused, gazing at a crude portrait of Boxer on the wall. "You know, it's a shame what happened to our dear Boxer. Some say he worked himself to death. Others wonder if there was... foul play."

Muriel gasped. "What are you implying?"

Napoleon shrugged, taking another bite of his sandwich. "I'm just saying, we don't know. Maybe it was an accident. Maybe someone from The Uplands had something to do with it. Who can say? I'm not saying it was you, but people are talking. Very smart people."

"That's preposterous!" Muriel bleated. "Boxer was beloved by all animals!"

"All I know," Napoleon continued, ignoring her outburst and speaking through a mouthful of fish, "is that the enemy has suffered greatly under my rule. He faced baseless accusations, witch hunts... He might have broken agreements with my predecessors, but he never crossed me. And now, he wants to negotiate."

Muriel shook her head in disbelief. "Negotiate? After everything he's done?"

"If you can get a ceasefire right now," Napoleon said, his voice suddenly soft as he licked the last of the tartar sauce from his hooves, "I tell you, take it. Stop the killing. Stop losing your best animals."

"Of course we want to stop the fighting," Muriel replied. "But we need guarantees. We can't just-"

"Are you saying you don't want peace?" Napoleon bellowed, bits of fish flying from his mouth. "I want a ceasefire because you'll get one faster than a full agreement. Trust me, I know agreements. I've made the best agreements. Nobody makes better agreements than me."

"Ask our animals about a ceasefire," Muriel retorted. "See what they think about surrendering everything we've fought for."

Napoleon's eyes glittered dangerously. "Be careful, Muriel. You're on thin ice. Remember who your real friends are."

"First of all, Comrade Napoleon, during times like these, every animal has struggles. Even here on Animal Farm, I’m sure. But you’ve got your warm barn and your full troughs—you don’t feel it now. But someday, you will. The winds from The Uplands will reach you, whether you want them to or not. May the spirit of Animalism guide us all."

Napoleon's eyes narrowed as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hoof. "Don't tell us how we're going to feel about this, Muriel. We're trying to solve a problem here."

"I'm not telling you how to feel," Muriel protested. "I'm simply answering your questions."

"Because you're in no position to dictate that," Napoleon snapped, puffing out his chest. "You don't know what we're going to feel. We're going to feel very good. Very strong."

Squealer nodded vigorously. "That's exactly what you're doing, Muriel. You're trying to manipulate our emotions. It won't work on Napoleon. He has the best emotions. The strongest emotions."

Muriel shook her head in disbelief. "I'm telling you, you will feel influenced by the enemy if you give in now."

"We are going to feel very good and very strong," Napoleon repeated, his voice rising. "You'll see. We'll feel so good, you won't believe it. People will say, 'Napoleon, how do you feel so good?' And I'll tell them, 'It's because I make the best deals.'"

"But the influence-" Muriel began.

"Silence!" Napoleon roared, slamming his hoof on the table. "You're right now not in a very good position, Muriel. You've allowed yourself to be in a very bad position. A position so bad, you wouldn't believe it. It's like the worst position in the history of positions."

Squealer sidled up to Muriel, his voice dripping with false sympathy. "You see, Muriel, Napoleon knows positions. He's written books about positions. 'The Art of the Position' was a bestseller among the pigs. You should read it sometime."

Napoleon nodded sagely. "It's true. I know more about positions than anyone. Ask anyone, they'll tell you. 'Napoleon knows positions.' That's what they say."

Muriel stamped her hoof in frustration. "This isn't about positions or feelings! The Uplands are in real danger!"

"Fake news!" Napoleon bellowed. "The Uplands have never been safer. I've made The Uplands safer than it's ever been. Believe me."

"But Mr. Jones-" Muriel tried again.

"Mr. Jones loves me," Napoleon interrupted, preening. "We have a very special relationship. Very special. He sends me beautiful letters. The most beautiful letters you've ever seen."

Squealer nodded enthusiastically. "It's true. I've seen the letters. They're written in the finest mud, with the most exquisite hoof prints. You wouldn't understand, Muriel. It's high-level diplomacy."

Napoleon waddled over to a nearby mirror, admiring his reflection. "You know, Muriel, I could have been a great leader of The Uplands. The greatest leader The Uplands has ever seen. But I chose to make Animal Farm great again instead."

"Make Animal Farm Great Again!" the sheep suddenly bleated from outside. "Four legs good, two legs better!"

"You see?" Napoleon said, turning back to Muriel with a smug grin. "The animals love me. They know I'm always right."

Muriel looked from Napoleon to Squealer, then back to Napoleon. "So... will you help us defend The Uplands or not?"

Napoleon's expression turned serious. "Listen, Muriel. I like you. You're a tough negotiator. Maybe not as tough as me, but tough. So I'll tell you what. We'll think about it. We'll think about it very strongly. So strongly, you won't believe how strongly we'll think about it."

"But we need an answer now!" Muriel pleaded.

"You'll get an answer when I decide to give you an answer," Napoleon said dismissively. "And it'll be the best answer. A perfect answer. Just like my phone call with Mr. Jones. It was a perfect call. Everyone says so."

As Muriel opened her mouth to respond, a chorus of bleating erupted from outside. "Four legs good, two legs better! Napoleon is always right!"

Napoleon smiled, revealing bits of fish still stuck between his teeth. "The sheep have spoken, Muriel. The meeting is over. But don't worry, we'll make The Uplands great again. You'll see. It'll be yuuuge!"

With that, Napoleon turned his back on Muriel and waddled towards a large, golden trough filled with slop, leaving the bewildered goat to wonder what, if anything, she had accomplished.

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Thank you!

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This scene was generated by Perplexity.ai based on a series of prompts, human input included a transcript by AP. (~75% AI)

Prompt: 'Parody Animal Farm', or something like that. 
I don't remember the exact phrasing.