Let Us Gather, Gather At The Midriff & Twist

My fellow Blogstonians, today as we gather here on the banks of the Big Soggy and prepare to slaughter the big pink thing — the fatted hog — under the Big Cheese’s smokey sky, let us remember why we are here. And, as we slather the big pink thing’s flanks with sauce and pile it high on our buns let us bow our heads in grateful gratitude and spread the bread of the lard. For it is the flesh of the pig we are filled, filled with pork flesh and we hunger no more — but thirst is still a problem.

And, loved ones, why are we here? Have we forgotten our purpose? Our reason for being? I know I have —  and I’m willing to bet you have too. But, we can look to the sky and ask again, and again we shall be confused. Like babes in the woods we will bathe, topless, in the river. And like babes at the beach we’ll play volleyball and leap about and suffer the granules of the sands of time as they irritate our bodily cracks.

Friends, if I may call you friends, though the truth is I don’t know most of you and if I did I doubt I’d be impressed — so calling you “friends” is more an oratorical device than a statement of fact. But let’s not let that stop us from pulling some pork together in fellowship and inebriation. Let me ask you, how can those that have pulled pork with one another help but be united in the joy of the big pink thing — the Hog of the Wild? They can’t. At least that’s my contention and I’m an old pork puller from way back.

Let us turn to the Book of Elasticity and sop the gravy of the word with the biscuit of our minds. In the words of the Great Pig Farmer, “Wander not into the jowls of the netherworld and loosen not the bowels of the sow, for it is in the unleashing of the soul that ye shall find contentment — though I dismiss not the value of a good voiding.”

These things were said to me on the cusp of sleep in the darkness of the un-day and I set them forth here because the fifth was gone. And the slaw might have been bad.

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