Frankly Speaking
by William P
Adams
Lumpy Gravy
squeezed in between his Uncle Meat and his
littermate Chunga at the community pig trough.
The three porcine denizens of Uncle Bernie’s
Farm in the wilds of Montana, otherwise known as
Hog Heaven, were slurping up yesterday’s
leftover pancakes and breakfast bits donated by
Father Vivian O’Blivion of St. Alphonzo’s
Parish. The Padre had arrived at the stroke of
dawn; a Leprechaun perched on one shoulder and
deposited the once light and fluffy white
delectables directly into the trough, mixing with
a slimy mélange of cream cheese, overripe
peaches, and half-eaten Ruben sandwiches from the
200 Jet Motels in the surrounding area.
Greggery Peccary, a notorious gadabout, gossip,
and picky eater, came trotting up to see if there
were any tuna fish sandwich sections in the
mixture, and after determining there weren’t,
freaked out and claimed he wouldn’t partake
in any of these redneck eats, bragging that
Lonesome Cowboy Burt, who was out tending the
pygmy ponies, promised him burnt weeny sandwiches
later that evening. Lumpy raised his snout and
turned to Uncle Meat and Chunga, asking them if
they had heard any of that waka jawaka. The two
were busily snarfing down light and fluffy brown
muffin stumps and couldn’t be bothered.
Greggery left in a huff, not before reminding the
three they were nothing but Potential Spam.
Uncle Bernie, the Grand Wazoo of the outfit,
along with Dinah Mo Humm and her brother, Uncle
Remus, were at this moment taking a meeting to
decide what to do about the weasels who had been
getting into the pony pen and ripping the fleshy
hides of the tiny equines. Dinah suggested
offering a forty-dollar bill to Lonesome Cowboy
Burt if he’d guard the pony corral that
night and assess the weasel problem. She had an
ulterior motive, as Burt was an expert at sugar
plum rotation, and Dinah Mo was feeling rather
frisky, what with Bernie occupied nearly twenty-four
seven with the upcoming hog butchering season.
Unbeknownst to the Pig Farm bigwigs, Lonesome
Cowboy Burt had recently heeded the call of any
vegetable and became a strict vegan. He made a
show of accepting the weasel-watch job and,
surreptitiously, agreed to meet Dinah Mo Humm at
midnight near the corral. Knowing the end was
near for the three porker pals, Burt apprised
them of their impending doom. He offered a daring
means of escape, but it had to be tonight –
ideally before midnight, and without the
knowledge of that nosy, vindictive Greggery
Peccary. Burt took care of that end by procuring
two dozen burnt weeny sandwiches laced with tuna
fish, which would keep Greggy busy during the
getaway.
At 11 pm, Lonesome Cowboy Burt, Lumpy Gravy,
Uncle Meat, and Chunga entered the pygmy pony
corral, each with a black napkin tied around
their faces to hide their identities. The four
escapees hopped up on four stout pygmy ponies and
made their way to the borderline under the cover
of darkness. Just before dawn, they crossed into
Canada, where they lived out their days
Absolutely Free.
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