babe.

without the bitter, my ninjas,
the sweet is just not as sweet.
innocent and adorable little piggies,
in houses of straw and wood,
going wee-wee-wee all the way to market,
while their little snouts and big ears get
oohed and aaahed over at the fair.
neighbors,
unless you are really stupid,
you already know it-
sleeping little bitty baby pigs are F*ing dope:

even A*holes have to acknowledge that
that's some expert relaxation.
considering the hordes of porcine people gawking and snorting
and yelling and generally ruining everything.
yeah.
spottie dotty-head oinky porker jauns are what's up.
pigs are the numero uno reason why i'm vegan, y'all.
and so every year,
i visit these future strippers (of bacon)
and tip a little root beer out for their fallen homies an' that.
awwwwwwwwwwwwwww.
also,
it smells like a thousand pounds of hot pigsh!t in the pens
where these rad little duders live,
but they seem pretty okay with it.
that's some transcendental expertism, y'all.
i mean,
i know from sh!tty,
and i'm pretty much perpetually complaining.
huffing and puffing all over the flipping place about the
unending doo-doo butter of daily life and times;
even as i express my gratitude for all this spanning i'm able to
accomplish in the fairgrounds and unfair playgrounds of the
infinitely natural woodsly goodness.
uh-huh.
and what's more?
it's likely that i'm probably not gonna get chopped up for sausage.
and also,
pigs have gross boobs:

...even if they have a whole lot of 'em.
so i'm in pretty good shape comparatively.
*
it's a wet wednesday in the wilds and warrens of the
northern new englandy peak foliage autumn season.
neighbors,.
i'm home alone again,
again,
and that's just the right combinations of conditions
for really wallowing in a muddy hole in the heart of
the hard-styled long-benighted big-top big time.
just me and the pigs, kids.
bristly bloated gluttons with boredom abutting our boar-dom.
oh, c'mon.
you like it.
you know what else you like?
today.
why?
uh-huh.
because it's THE day;
never quiet, never soft.....