Say what, pig?
By NeonRebar on September 8, 2024 6:54 pm
Todays entree now served with spontaneous, random story.
Clatimus Rumptus was always a difficult child. He could most often be found wandering aimless in the patches of nettles on F'kunkwelmblern farm on dewy early morns. Nettle bloodied head to toe, a sight
of obstinate stupidity and seeming contempt for sane, logical thinking.
One day he had taken to eating the funny red and white spotted mushrooms often found down by the vestigial swamps and
general industrial farm rot on the back 40 of F' fields. A bushel and a half later ole' Clatimus done growed his size up to 40 meters at the shoulder. He presents an appalling, huge apparition now as he splatters cows and flattens tractors.
All is forever altered.
All is forever lost to this blind madness.
Everything is getting squashed that might be in Clats' path.
He blots out the sun and life is a gut-wrenching flight from the mindless treading of that sickening aberration.
Take care now as Clat makes way to drop a vast deuce. We pray in huddled silence that he remains in constipation and ne'r to the dreaded loosies.
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