When Pigs Fly

Pigskin soared across Kent State University's football field at 12:30pm on August 25th, wowing onlookers. It wasn't a dazzling new football team gearing up for a new season, though. Only one thing is rarer than Kent winning a game, and that happened today on their home turf. A pig flew through the sky.

Measured by the football field's lines, the pig soared 21.3 yards. He was launched from a device the head scientist said he built himself, but looks suspiciously like a diving tower from the pool, complete with the school's logo on the side.

“I thought it was a drone at first,” said a baffled onlooker, “but its flying was so wobbly, and then I saw it flap its horrid wings.”

A father of a touring family looked bewildered and dismayed as his young daughter jumped up and down beside him, the new freshman son looking embarrassed. “I'm getting a pony! And a pool! And all my friends and I are gonna go to Disneyland!” The girl shouted. The dad only muttered “When pigs fly,” over and over to himself while looking up the prices for horse boarding on his phone.

The swine is a juvenile weighing 49.7lbs at 2.2’ long. His wings are more than double his body length and covered in fine, wispy, almost translucent hairs. Due to the texture of the fur, it's very easy to see the ruddy pink of his skin stretched over the frames of his new appendages. The rest of him is objectively cute with standard pig features like little black hooves and a scrunched snout. He made happy snorts and grunts as a few brave watchers came up to give him pets after his terrific feat.

The pig, aptly named Pilot 3, is a pet project of genetic engineer Bertram Skjeggestad. “Pilot 1 didn't take to her wings in embryo and her bone density was too high,” said the scientist. “Pilot 2 grew them beautifully, but his bone density reduced too much and he collapsed under his own weight. Not good for landing.”

Skjeggestad spoke to the several journalists he invited to the spectacle once Pilot 3's flight was complete. When asked why he would do something like this, he said “Scientists get so held up on what we should do, we forget to think about what we could do. Besides, think of all the practical applications this could have!” Skjeggestad was then ushered away by his team of lawyers and did not list any of these practical applications.

Kali Travers, the head of the organization P.A.P.S. (People Against Pigs in Science) called the experiment ‘a diabolical travesty.’ “It's absurd that no one has stopped this man yet. What he does is completely unethical, as well as completely horrific. This isn't even his first time maiming the pig genome!” The group has been protesting Skjeggestad since the beginning of his career.

The only other notable physical work by Skjeggestad is creating his own breed of pig known as Skjeggies. The swines are derived from Göttingen Minipig, but genetically engineered to have two extra vertebrae in their necks to allow them to look up at the sky. When previously interviewed about his work on the Skjeggies, the man said "What devastation must it be to not know the beauty of the stars? I merely give the species the dignity it deserves.”

Betram Skjeggestad has co-authored many articles and research papers, the most popular ones being The Evolution of Pig Tails: Why They Curl and Their Relation to the Popular Hairstyle and The Superior Social Intelligence of Pigs Compared to Humans and Horses. When attempted, no contact could be made with Skjeggestad's supposed co-authors, nor could any evidence be found that these people even exist.

One grad student who worked with him agreed to come forward, with the caveat that they remain anonymous. “Working for him was ridiculous. For the first few weeks I thought he was a boring researcher who treated me more like an intern, [...] sending me for these ridiculously complex coffee orders, or having me rearrange the office supplies in patterns. He made me guess what pattern he wanted based on three riddles he gave me,” they said. “But that was all some weird trust exercise or initiation or something, because after a few weeks he actually showed me what he was working on.” The student shuddered and stared into their coffee before continuing. “He has a ‘swine shrine’ in his house, right in the entrance. That's what he called it. He makes guests bow to it before inviting them inside.” When asked if the ‘swine shrine’ could have been a sick joke, the student said, “even if it was, when does a bit become an unironic habit?”

The student then went on to explain that they never saw any of the physical experiments until they were already completed. “[Skjeggestad] only had me work on the numbers and hypothetical chemistry compounds. I truly thought they were theoretical experiments, until he showed me poor Pilot 2.” The student turned a little green. “I wanted to leave then, but I needed his signoff so I could finish my masters. It was too late to find another researcher to work with. I put my head down and bolted as soon as my sentence was finished.”

The university claims to have no professional connection to Skjeggestad, or any knowledge of his employment at the faculty. “We have no records of him ever working for us. He wouldn't have been a supervising researcher for masters students.” Despite what the school's spokesperson claims, the anonymous graduate student did get their masters and is currently working on their PhD, in a topic that has nothing to do with pigs.

Bertram Skjeggestad's work raises many questions. What are the ethics behind pushing the boundaries of nature and altering evolution in such a spectacular way? Should scientists refocus on what they could do rather than what they should? Who is to say what can and cannot be done in the name of science? No matter the outcome of these moral debates, one thing is certain. People will need to find another idiom to make impossible promises on.