Yesterday when I was out shopping for baby bonnets for my pig, I saw the strangest thing: it was a 2 in 1 toaster RADIO from Kenwood. Google it. It’s the most bizarre looking thing, with an antenna jutting out next to the slots for your bread. If you’re not careful, you could impale your toast on it. I had to stop and stare, and contemplate the many, many occasions in one’s life that you would be in dire need of a radio and two slices of cinnamon raisin toast at the same time. Oddly, I couldn’t come up with a single one.
As I travel across (or down, as the case may be) this great land of ours, something occurs to me: trailer people are greatly discriminated against. Think about it. When was the last time you turned on the tv and saw an episode of “Extreme Makeover: Mobile Home Edition”? Or “Flip This Trailer”?...when there wasn’t a hurricane involved. Or “Pimp My Dubba Wide”? You people living in the glued together houses shouldn’t be pointing and laughing either. You don’t see, “What‘s With That Pre Fab?“ or “This Old Modular Home” on tv either. End this discrimination now!
Bugs emailed me and reminded me that had I come to visit Cincinnati, I could have gotten a fiberglass flying pig, instead of Lassie. Cincinnati is home to the Big Pig Gig, in which artists design flying pigs, which are displayed all over the city. And had I gone to Scranton, I could have gotten a fiberglass mule from their Miles of Mules project. Hmm, a mule sounds like fun...
So last night was my first night with Lassie, and I must say she adjusted to South’s place quite nicely. I cleaned out one of Mike’s dresser drawers then lined it with some of his white, dress shirts and Lassie cuddled right up and snorted her way to hog heaven. I’m worried, though, that she might be more aggressive than I thought. Earlier, I took her and Male Offspring #8 out for a walk. Lassie chased a full grown German Shepard halfway down the block before I could catch up to her. And when I picked her up, I’m fairly certain there was a moment there when her eyes were glowing red. To lower her chances of appearing on “When Piglets Attack,” I went to the store and bought one of those Cubby Cuddlers that new mother’s wear and strapped the damn pig to my back. If she gains any weight, I’m in for some serious spinal problems.
Right now, we’re outside. The kid and the pig are in the playpen, all greased up and enjoying a warm afternoon. South’s neighbor sauntered over and wanted to know why I had sunscreen on the pig, but none on Male Offspring #8. Call me goofy--and many do--but I think it’s the chemicals in the sunscreen and bug repellant sinking into our skin that actually causes the damn cancer and not the sun.
South may not be having a blast in Vegas, but I am certainly enjoying my ‘mid-winter that seems more like spring’ vacation. I’m stretched out on a lawn chair with my laptop, Sunday paper and one of South’s rifles….just in case somebody tries to make off with my laptop. Or my pig. Oh, yeah, and my kid, too. South’s neighbor was nice enough to invite us over for a barbeque, but I refused. Even though I want some fun piled on a bun, there’s something so wrong about taking a pig to a BBQ. Hmmm, is it my imagination or am I smelling bacon all of a sudd--holy shit! Lassie needs more sunscreen! I'm outtie.