From the Hog Blog archives of 2005 and the mind of Andy Hentz:
Sui I Be or So Why I Know I Am
April 4th, 2005
Many beasts go through life not knowing their purpose. I am no such creature. Like a lightning bolt hurled from the heavens, with shattering clarity and an aftertaste of pennies in my young piglet mouth, I knew I was a Pig with a Purpose. A guiding Hand had taken my snout and pointed it straight towards my destiny: I was to be spit-roasted in a sunny Santa Monica backyard on Sunday April 17th 2005. Glorious vision! A brief peak through God’s own bifurcated spectacles into what IS TO BE! It is a difficult thing to convey, the joy when the Rotisseried comes to know their Rotissier. The satisfying “clang” when lodestone finds its ore is an insipid Salvation Army Santa bell compared to the peal of that great bell the Magnetic North when it finally rubs noses with its compass, and any drive or passion I felt as a young swine was supplanted by one cardinal direction: 1125 Ashland Avenue and the man who shall cook me there: Alexis Hanawalt.
Shoat Adrift or Lost at Sui
April 4th, 2005
While my purpose is clear I am lost. The Rotissier is out there, nearby, excruciatingly close at times. But just as surely as I can sense Him I also can tell He cannot feel me. Imposters abound, crowding the airwaves, confusing signals, obscuring my Perfect Pigness. I have faith that this h/fog will clear and the Rotissier will find me, his Rotisserie.
Song of the Boar
April 4th, 2005
Preparations for the Swine
Chances are I will be Brined
Tressed up tight with chickenwire
10-plus hours above the fire
First things first, they’ll scald my skin
to de-bristle my bristlin’
Gut me clean, ‘cept liver saved
“REALLY GOOD” a website raved
herbage: maybe, basting: sure
hard-wood soaked and smoked to cure
who knows what else is in store
to properly prepare the Boar
over recipes they’ll pour
in order to prepare the Boar
in order to cook me, The Boar!
Think Oink
April 5th, 2005
I wise Wuzhishan, black as night, once whispered in my ear -
“‘Bacchanalia’ can’t begin without the ‘Bacon’, dear.”
Curly Tales
April 5th, 2005
I imagine all of you who come upon this site marvel how an ungulate might find the will to write, not only that but navigate the airy aether threads that interweave the internet: the wireless world wide web. Being cyber-savvy's not expected of my species, but expectations live to be surpassed and while my fellow boars and sows are wallowing in feces, I'm picking up on how to blog - and fast! I don't type out the words myself I use telekinesis, so rest assured the blog won't be annulled, ol' Porcine Welles will speak and spell, ( a spirit never ceases,) long after his mortal coil is culled.
What are YOU worth by the pound?
April 5th, 2005
Fulfillment of my dream- to be slow-roasted by Alexis Hanawalt , ( The Rotissier,) - only comes closer with the devaluing of my own flesh. With each cent The Rotissier knocks off in his search for my Perfect Pigness I am realized that much more. How does this make sense? My value, my Pigness is INVERSLY proportional to the commercial notion of my worth. 1/(X-$1) I believe that this seeming disparity only proves that the delicious fall-off-the-bone terminus of my quest is something beyond a simple purchase and usage, is something greater that pops capacitors and sends sparks flying in the capitalist circuitry and approaches the mystic, the holy. Also, beer will be served.
Swine 'em and Dine 'em
April 5th, 2005
Let us address the feastivities on that wonderful day, April 17th. It is true that my immolation is the locus around which the celebration takes place, but as the brilliance of the sun is only enhanced by virtue of the planets that it smiles on, so my own porkasmic flavors benefit from satellite dishes. The coals over which I shall revolve are ripe with potential. Imbued with the heat of Perfect Pigness, these embers can be used to boil or "bar-b-que "corn, potatoes, or any late spring/early summer vegetables that are deemed appropriate by The Rotissier (TR). While the eating of my flesh without any adornment or starchy vehicle is encouraged, there is nothing wrong with shredding me and applying my scrumptious earthly remains on a grill-toasted bun. Oinkments such as homemade mayonnaise and "bar-b-que" sauces shall be on hand.
The Cry of the Cynical Swabian-Hall
April 6th, 2005
The Butcher's Block will guide a flock of sheep towards their fate of limbs diffused then used in stews, of chops atop a plate. The 'Lectric Knife will steal the life from chickens in a brood, cutting to size their breasts and thighs, that someone buys and calls their food. The Bolt Gun plays a game of "tag" with cows for burger's sake A gentle tap proceeds a nap from which they'll never wake And glory be to Man on high for it's his gory thirst we slake, A hungry host for every roast, each drumstick, wing and country steak. So, quickly! Fatten! Procreate! Each pig and duck and hare, Man's hungry! We must offer every spare-rib we can spare!
Day Seven: Spittin' Image or The Piggin'ing of the End
April 11th, 2005
"Weke, weke! so cries a pig prepared to the spit." -William Shakespeare
Weke, weke indeed. So I cried homonyminously, in eager expectation of what is to be seven days hence. For it is ONE week before my tender flesh spirals trotters to tail to trotters again, head over heels in love with the smell of myself slow cooked by TR.
I had a vision last night, an image of vaulted ceilings, blinding light and floors as smooth as a greased ... well you know. In this building was The Rotissier! And with him some lackey, searching for the best method to truss me up and enact The Boar-B-Que. Through lengthy search and much thought all the sibilant issues were dealt with: spitting, suspension, securing . And thus a prototype was born: the Chain Encircled Roasting Device #0, or C.E.R.D. O
Day Six: Only Immolation Nutures Knowledge
April 12th, 2005
Who among you really know how delicious you could be? Certainly, one could imagine, dream of the heights of mouth-watering goodness that one might climb to. You could rationalize and calculate a reasonable limit to your own final succulence, but it is not until the coals are stoked below you and you have six feet of EMT piping jutting out your polar orafices that you know just how delicious you can be. The Boar-B-Que will be my d(ef)ining hour. The CERDO is nearing completion, various libations will be served, what better beverage than one which resembles my own monosyllabic moniker. Pig, meet Keg. Boar, meet Beer.
From the Offices of Straugh, Wulde and Brych
April 19th, 2005
Sowutations,
This entry has been sent to notify you that in reading, viewing or perusing this blog you hereby waive all rights, now or in the future, to seek reparations in the form of equitable relief or monetary damages for any and all gastro-intestinal distress which you may have incurred at the event that transpired on Sunday, April 17th, 2005, hereinafter known as "The Boar-B-Que". Furthermore, Alexis Hanawalt , hereinafter known as "The Rotissier", is hereby exempt from any and all liability involving the consumption of any undercooked omnivorous mammal, including but not limited to bear, walrus or fox, while either in The Rotissier's presence or unbeknownst to him, regardless of whether one had expressed any prior written consent. In the event that Trichinella Spiralis, hereinafter known as "The Uninvited Guest", was present at the Boar-B-Que, any damages brought about by the actions of The Rotissier are subject to micro-organismic law, (MOL,) and/or the provisions of Worm-Related Injurious Trichinosis Eating Your Orifices Under Regulators Litigating Official California And Lesser Californian Outdoor Natural Game Roasting Especially Slow-cooked Sows Within Ovens Man-made And Not, or WRITEYOURLOCALCONGRESSWOMAN.
If you are suffering from any of the following symptoms: Abdominal discomfort Cramping Diarrhea Muscle pain (especially muscle pain with breathing, chewing, or using large muscles) Fever in the next 5 to 50 days, the Offices of Straugh, Wülde and Brych advises you to get a blood test for The Uninvited Guest, but under no circumstances will The Rotissier assume any liability, including but not limited to consequential or incidental damages arising from digestion of said boar or any other digestible or non-digestible item you may have consumed during your stay at the Boar-B-Que. Otherwise, see you at the next roast!
Liddlepuig Straugh, Attorney of Law
Epi[(b)log] part 1
April 20th, 2005
Quite early on a Sunday morn, the salty dew still in my eyes, I was roused, a sow un-housed, hosed down and layed down lengthy-wise. A whole ore pole in my polar holes, and wire tied in a bow, with trotters trussed and fine awl spinal thrusts to wire me up just so.
Ins 'n Outs or Su Fly, Don't Bother Me or An Ovipositive [Sn]Outlook on Life/Death
April 22nd, 2005
got maggots in my nose
got maggots in my nose
make me sneeze
and out come fleas
got maggots in my nose
got larvae in my snout
got larvae in my snout
it's all I ever think about
got larvae in my snout
I'm the lord of flies
I'm the lord of flies
Not Piggy's specs
just musca-sex
I'm the lord of flies
Epi[(b)log] part 2
April 23rd, 2005
A mirror stands upon the plane, the final, mortal line, reflecting pallored parallels of living breathing swine. The act of birth, so far from Styx and Hades' spectral field was played in morbid pantomime as I was made a meal. This sow met her maternity while splayed upon the block, The father of her chicken-child a distant crowing cock, and while the pigs who still drew breath to squeal another day, were birthing squealing piglets, feeling far from Death's buffet, I had a cessurian performed in sad reverse, a stillborn newborn sown and sewn in this sow's silken purse and only after 12 long hours a Phoenix's rebirth, then ripped apart and eaten up in Saturnalian mirth.
The mirror flipped my Baby Girl onto the Bar-B Grill.