The king of the beasts is embodied by my friend. People call him Pig-Dog. Pig-Dog has a massive appetite for everything in life. A borderline food junk and sex fiend, his social life persona resembles the least likely candidate for an executive. In the morning he rinses off the grime of a weekend’s gluttony and play, to splash on a little aqua aroma. Pig-Dog fits in a large suit that makes him look bulked up for war. His softened fat tissue is pulled tight and his broad shoulders project a massive defense. Don’t tackle. Don’t talk. Don’t touch. Don’t look this man in the eye. He will burn you and rip you apart for the good of business, but you’ll indeed lay your talents to the ground for his battering ram. Donate your glory to the bank book of Pig-Dog, for he needs a new jet ski and five star plate of ravioli. This is just the beginning of his raucus party. I guarantee there’ll be a bucket of chicken for everyone he’s ready to embrace as a friend. It’ll fatten you and slow you down, and you’ll forever fuel his herd.
Don’t alarm your mother for she is in conspiracy with Pig-Dog. Pig-Dog was a vagabond mooch until your mother kicked him to the curb and wouldn’t make him lunch anymore. The rumble in his belly gave him wings and he out ran you. Who would have thunk, you say?
Who would have thunk indeed, good luck out running him now. His pampering and sudden starvation made him strong . He burns to protect and ensure pampering by his own accord and power. This is the game we all face in poverty and prosperity. When the riches flow into our pocket we’re sluggish. When the pockets are empty, we’re too hungry to look our neighbors in the eye.
The damnation of a whole generation who trended boxer briefs, breeds this knowledge: having cake and eating it too is a toxin for a good belly. Struggle, struggle, choose one extreme or the other. The elephant ears from the carnival gave you such bad gas and delayed you from loosing your virginity in high school, Pig-Dog! Stop revisiting the lusts behind your shy, gassy acne, and run as the stud of a frog. Steal the prince’s chick and ride her hard. This is the glory of being a Pig-Dog. A beast with an un-apologetic appetite. Regarding his tiny cock, he just pops pills and pretends differently. This allows his sexuality to take momentum as a windy flurry, and wrap around the newspaper to mold its rising dance.
Then Pig-Dog asks for a large cake and it takes you out of it. Suddenly the sound of his voice makes you shudder and lose your appetite. Pig-Dog saunters and asks for something not on the menu to go with his large cake. His elephant gaze knocks the working baby to bend over backwards, and so you have to wait longer in line. You’d stab him in the back but so much blubber pads it and blunts your blade. In the end, he’d just turn around, smile, and give you a hug, further delaying the wait time in line. So you’re the fiend when it’s all said and done. He buys you a bag of cookies and you can’t stay mad at him forever. Don’t tackle a Pig-Dog if you don’t want him to lick you because that is exactly what would happen.
What I’m trying to tell you about Pig-Dog is that somehow he was born with an atmospheric intravenous flow of the fattest mocha latte with sugar buzzing crème and cinnamon twigs. His fat cells become lighter than air. Each pound of indifference is an atomic power plant to churn his ambition and magnetic reward. The only way to lock him out of his home is to aid his journey and allow him to trust you beyond friendship to the heights of an economic battery pack. If you detach, one his bright bulbs will go out. And Pig-Dog is the kind of man who wants all of the bulbs on his Christmas tree to burn bright year round and on every birthday. Have you ever embraced the most generous glutton; a benevolent carnivore, Buddhist republican? Take a good look at Pig-Dog. Cut off your head in a photograph and glue stick Pig-Dog’s photo on top of your neck. You’ll see the irony and unbalance, but it’ll make you laugh and spring your abdominal cannon loose enough so you can stand taller and make a speech. Pig-Dog is every man’s ally only by being your enemy. In the end he is most powerful because he sparks envy. You’re the clearest sinner. You could have easily listened to his flaws and broadcast the truth within your promising consciousness. But you bury your mind in the sardonic fever in that glass of water. It burns the gluttony that brews in the mucus of my belly. I plan on swallowing a nickel to dissolve the incumbent with dominion over digestion. Downing a shot of rum and doing sit ups does not tickle the real thought behind why I am sick. A terrible indigestion, a subtle pain in the head, and a general malaise pins me in the sanctuary that forgets to inspire. Let us crumble the dry cactus into a warm glass of water until I can truly taste the sweetness of decay. Not a sour decay, but a decay of new beginnings. A heavy and light mold swept away by its own multiplication that breeds a real instability for itself. Blast that rich trumpet into the caverns of nutrition, and let the people come out from the mountain. All those people hiding from the economic rule of Pig-Dog. I guarantee they’ll relax in the sunshine. No more of the deep stress of finding yourself lost amongst tunnels of rock. The clearing and expanse allows the mind to operate without anxious interruption. A damnation of intent and spicy cleansing of the gunk, shouts a man. The mountain can fall into the sea and re-collect as this sediment, burying the fish and forcing nature to reinvent biology. Just take a last real gulp and pass a stone. Pig-Dog’s kidneys throb after eating with the mountain men.
I realized my true feelings on Pig-Dog when I grew aware that he was hurt; poisoned. By seeing the emotional pain seep from him, there resonated a deep fondness for what lay beneath his physical drives. Seeing his pupil’s fade with light, I knew I was seeing beyond animal and mechanical, beyond the grip of science. I remembered when I once made fun of Pig-Dog behind his back. He overheard and I saw that his feelings were hurt. I saw then how meaningful my friendship was to him, and I tested it by pushing the boundaries. Pig-Dog is real, he’s not just an Id driven sock puppet. You just have to get to know Pig-Dog like I have.