Roasting Pig Andrew: Orwell’s Lost Novel Predicts Maxwell’s Last Stand
Roger LeBlanc (author of The Punter’s Tale)
Alleged sex-trafficker Ghislaine Maxwell is locked up and awaiting trial. Speculation abounds about who Jeffrey Epstein’s closest friend and business manager might incriminate now that she resides on the other side of the dungeon door:
- Will Epstein’s one-time fiance and thousand-time (alleged) madam bargain for a reduced sentence by naming names of co-conspirators?
- Will G. Maxwell do a better job than J. Epstein of surviving killer bedsheets and totally caught-off-guard guards?
- Will the surveillance specialists at the jailhouse forget to remove the lens caps from the cellblock’s video cameras?
The answers to these questions might be found in an unpublished George Orwell novel that Welcome To Fakeville! recently discovered. We found the tattered manuscript while bargain-hunting at a New Hampshire flea market, just down the road from Maxwell’s gated mansion/hideout.
Orwell, author of the prescient novel 1984, reaches psychic levels of insight with Roasting Pig Andrew. This novel written in the 1940s envisions a post-2000, globalized pedophilia ring orchestrated by the wealthiest and most powerful people in the world.
As in another Orwell classic, Animal Farm, the characters in Roasting Pig Andrew are all farm animals. Although Orwell’s creatures resemble the perverts partying with Epstein and Maxwell, all similarities are purely and prophetically coincidental. And because nobody forced Bill Clinton, Alan Dershowitz and Prince Andrew onto Epstein’s private island and plane (26 times for Clinton according to the flight logs), the revelation of those details here is also totally consensual, unlike the sexual activities those men allegedly participated in.
To whet your appetite and prepare you for the real-life trial and tribulations of Ghislaine Maxwell, we provide the following excerpt from Orwell’s brilliant unpublished work.
From Orwell’s “Roasting Pig Andrew”: The Trial
Judge Bernadette Batnest, the only animal on the farm with fewer than a dozen conflicts of interest, called the barnyard court to order.
“All rise and quit licking yourselves! This barnyard court is now in session!”
“Did she say ‘begin sexting’?” Willy Rodham-Weaselton asked in earnest.
“Quiet down, Weaselton! Anything you say in this court can be used against you…although, honestly, I lost my fangs years ago. And as a former president of the barnyard council, you’re probably safe. But anyway, if you’re smart you’ll just shut up. You don’t want to be sweating things out like Pig Andrew.”
To which Pig Andrew replied, “Your Honor, I’m confident I won’t be convicted of preying upon this farm’s chicklets, piglets and other youngsters. And please note that, despite the heat in this barnyard, I’m not sweating at all today.”
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“First of all Sir Pig, you’re not the one on trial today. Raven Ghislaine is. Second of all, you certainly are sweating. It’s not raining, but you’ve got a widening puddle around your hooves. And, my god, look at your royal ascot!”
“Yeah, he definitely got his royal ass caught!” popped the weasel Willy, providing further evidence of a long-rumored inability to control his impulses.
“That’s enough out of you, Rodham-Weaselton.”
“Your Honor, Alan Dirtshirts here, rat-attorney-at-law representing Raven Ghislaine. I’d like to request she be allowed free on bail. We promise she won’t fly the coop.”
“Request denied, Dirtshirts. How does your client plead?”
“Before entering a plea, I request a recess to remove my shirt. It’s not filthy enough for these proceedings. I promise the court, I’ll keep my underpants on. Just like I did when those puppies and kittens were massaging me.”
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“Hey Alan, what about your hernia truss? Did you leave that on too?” Willy Weaselton popped off again.
“Mr. Weaselton, please take off your mask while testifying so the stenographer can hear you. Then put it back on when done speaking.”
“Take it off. Put it on. Take it off. Put it on. I feel like a prostitute at a drive-through brothel.”
“Is that really a thing?” asked the rat Dirtshirts. “Where can I find one of those places?”
“Ask your client. She’s their top recruiter.”
“Order!” shouted Judge Batsnest. “Request for recess denied, Dirtshirts. The court doesn’t doubt your commitment to filth. Ms. Raven, your attorney seems distracted. You might need to represent yourself today. How do you plead?”
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“I plead ignorance, your Honor. I don’t know any of these people. Except Pig Andrew, who likes to have sex with puppies and kittens. You really should roast that weirdo! I’ll be glad to help.”
“Ignorance isn’t a defense, Ms. Raven. And besides, you’ve lived in the same barnyard with these people your entire life. How could you not know them or the things they were up to?”
Raven Ghislaine’s sudden betrayal filled Pig Andrew with rage. He huffed and he puffed (and sweated some more). “I really am unable to sweat, your Honor! Those puppies are lying when they say I sweated all over them! Lying puppies! Lying kittens!”
“Quiet down, Sir Pig. You are not on trial. Yet.”
Witnessing Sir Pig’s attempt to abscond with all plausible claims of innocence, Dirtshirts burst forth with a new pre-emptive defense for himself. “Your Honor, please enter it into the official transcript of this trial that I am physically unable to ejaculate!”
“Dirtshirts, you’re out of order!”
“Yes, your Honor, that’s exactly what I’m trying to tell ya’.”
“I’ve had enough of you clowns!” the judge shouted. “I declare Ms. Raven Ghislaine guilty of all charges. Chickens, march her back to the coop!”
The Chickens-At-Arms all looked at one another and clucked nervously.
Chicken One announced, “I’m not touching Raven Ghislaine. Her father Fishlane drowned mysteriously. Her boyfriend clipped his own wings and fell to his death off a low bush.”
Chicken Two agreed. “Don’t look at me. I’m not sticking my neck out.”
To which Chicken Three replied, “C’mon, you’re the biggest chicken…you do it.”
And with the same cowardice that pervaded the rest of the barnyard, Honorable Judge Batnest delivered Raven Ghislaine’s sentence.
“Given the disgusting nature of her crimes and complete lack of remorse, I hereby sentence Raven Ghislaine to 50 years of self-policed house arrest, unless she needs to take wing to a wedding or party of some sort.”
With that, up popped the weasel Willy Rodham, who feigned disgust and bellowed, “I can’t take back her invitation to my daughter Chelsea’s first wedding, but Ghislaine certainly won’t be invited to her second one!”
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“Enough!” declared the judge. “This court is adjourned! Children of the barnyard, fend for yourselves, you little lovelies!”
