Nothing explains Mr. Maurice more emphatically than his attitude toward toil. He favors it, to be sure–provided that someone else is actually doing it. While in his usual state of repose, Maurice often refers to the words of Mark Twain, who recalled that he could easily spend an entire day watching someone else work.
This point must be made clear right off the bat: Mr. Maurice does not personally care to work. He loves to reap the benefits of other pigs’ toil, of course. Human efforts, too. But he does not wish to raise a hoof in pursuit of physical labor himself.
His reluctance–indeed, abhorrence–is due in part to his distaste for perspiration. Mr. Maurice does not sweat. Ever. In fact, his favorite motto is: No Sweat. Therefore, he is not about to engage in any undertaking that could conceivably produce such a distressing result.
Mr. Maurice spends his days in a comfortable position, tended to by his family of piggies. Any toil that needs to be undertaken is assigned to a “lesser” pig: most notably, his avid lieutenant, Little Guy, known affectionately by pigs and humans alike as LG.
Naturally, Mr. Maurice cannot be bothered by any of these pesky details of daily life, many of which come perilously close to qualifying as work. The very thought of being close to such toil often makes Mr. Maurice’s eyes twitch, his ear go on alert.
His beret may even slide down a bit, if he gets the sudden notion that someone might possibly call upon him–himself–to do something. At that point, he’s sure to emit a few distressed oinks of anguish before leaning back in his regular spot, waiting for the danger of imminent work to pass.
Naturally, Mr. Maurice cannot risk any deleterious impact upon his legendary brain, caused by an excess of effort. Even though the quantity (and quality) of his brain cells exceeds that of any other creature known to mankind or pigkind, he would prefer not to take a chance on losing the effectiveness of even one of those teeny cells.
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