Take That, You Swine!

Sorry for having been going off topic as of late, but sometimes I feel like getting my opinion down on random crap that I come across from time to time. This post however, will cover the favorite pig of Angry Time.. Master Dunkirt. I know how much you guys love this fat fuck but trust me, he's not lovable at all.. he's a disgusting asshole. So as you read this post you must picture me with a huge smile on my face.

Before getting too far ahead of myself I am going to introduce you guys to my grab bag of this post's analogies. The analogies will come from a little game that we used to play when we were kids, known as, Pass The Pigs. You can probably barely read the important parts of the photo but just know any terms that you are probably completely confused with that I use are illustrated in that photo. Feel free to go back and forth referencing the photo each time I mention something that makes no sense, chances are it will be there.

The day that I am looking back on was one of my happiest times. Female Boss decided that Dunkirt needed a checkup. Realizing that trying to force the glutinous Dunkirt into her car and schlepping him down to the vet was going to be a hell of a lot more trouble than what it's worth, she decided that calling up a Vet that made house calls was the way to go. This being the first visit said Vet was making to the house I really had no idea what to expect and without going into too much detail, burn it into your brain that it left Dunkirt with such a feeling of dread that the tub of pork fat that he is would never be the same whenever the Vet returned to the investment property.

Flash forward a couple of years now. The Vet has made about one visit each year and Dunkirt is none too pleased when he does. Recalling that I have said that Dunkirt is a disgusting asshole, do know that he is not stupid.. not in the slightest sense. In fact, he is so smart that he can read Female Boss' mood when its that time of the year. Don't ask me how but the pig fuckin knows and makes it absolutely clear that he is pissed the fuck off. Most of these days would end with Female Boss saying things like, "Jeezus, the bill for that was $350.00, my goal was for it to cost around $250.00 or less!" First of all, how anyone can make it their "goal" to have something cost a certain amount is beyond the capacity by which I am able to reason, secondly, if you want to spend a specific amount of money shouldn't this be discussed with the Vet in the first place? Oh, another thing she used to say after feeling ripped off was, "Well, at least it wasn't $450.00 right?" Yeah, good rationale you idiot. Even better, at least it wasn't $25,000 right!? Stupid fucking moron.

Eyes back on the prize. The day that I am now talking about actually happened but a few days ago. It was a day that wouldn't end with the boring and predictable commentary of Female Boss. This day would end unlike any other. This was indeed, a great day...

It is the start of the day and I am just arriving at work. Female Boss is trying to corral Dunkirt into an area of the yard that he and I both know means the Vet is coming. Instead of giving a wide berth to these two loathsome characters, I offer my services. Female Boss tells me that there is not much that I can do to help the situation. The clock ticks and Dunkirt is a nervous mess, he is actually creating a hooting bellow from the depths of his belly that is quite forboding. This only twists the smirk on my face and I slow my gait into the office reveling in his despair.

Before I can open the door to the investment property I catch a van pulling up in my periphery. Ah, the time has come.

With my eyes fixated on the pig and a grin growing wider and wider on my face I see Dunkirt begin to lurch. Female Boss tries to grab hold of his blubberous sides but Dunkirt shakes free. Female Boss jumps in front of him causing him to reverse course and panic even more. The Vet has now jumped out of the van. His scent is now in the air and Dunkirt starts to scream louder than you can imagine. Female Boss, failing to keep him in the general vicinity lunges for the runaway porker. Showing a bit of agility she grabs hold of Dunkirt's rear leg but a few twitches and he is free just before the Vet could get his cold grip upon his hind quarters. Dunkirt jukes left, then right.. he is now headed for me and the front door. Perpetuating the madness, I open the front door and begin to enter. Making sure to give Dunkirt just enough room I leave the door cracked.

At this point, Male Boss has now stirred from the sitting room couch. The Vet helps Female Boss onto her feet and both are now giving chase to Dunkirt. With the spirit of a triceratops, Dunkirt slams into the door knocking it wide open against the wall. Male Boss, with socks on slips along the tile floor trying to catch up to the beast. I slyly step aside and watch as Dunkirt barrels down the hallway like a ham running away from Christmas. Male Boss dashes after him and in come Female Boss and the Vet. Male Boss is the first to let Dunkirt know that the jig is up. With no where left to run but into closed doors, and trust me he knocks the shit out of them desperately trying to escape, the hallway proves to be his undoing. Dunkirt now sees all three of his captors drawing in on him, he screams and screams but the cries for mercy fall on deaf ears. There is no getting out of this one, Dunkirt.

Right then and there, the Vet sweeps Dunkirt to the ground, razorback style (see Pass the Pigs). The shrieking reaches an alarming pitch as the Vet examines and gropes all of Dunkirt's unmentionables folding away in his rolls of bacony goodness taking away what dignity he has left. Enter, Vet's Assistant. The two men, with the help of Male Boss hoist the fat one up and drag him outside where there is more room to work, (Okay, maybe not like that but this is from Dunkirt's perspective!).

As the scene unfolds Dunkirt gets the full treatment. The excess of his hooves are clipped away with a tool that is far more rusted than that photo, sans comfortable orange grips and looks anything but pleasant. The Vet would grab Dunkirt by one hind leg and force him into a leaning jowler (see Pass the Pigs) as chunks of hoof would fly over his shoulder. Next, Dunkirt's hooves and teeth sanded down with a portable drill fit with the proper bit. I can almost imagine the smell coming off of Dunkirt from the friction and heat and it doesn't smell like what's for dinner. Amidst the chaos I see Female Boss off to the side standing some five feet away, hand placed over her mouth as she gasps in agony watching her precious pig get man-handled like a Mexican on a quest for some chorizo. Then, the picture becomes perfect. In the distance, the far end of the scene, somewhere in the background I can see Male Boss bobbing and weaving, laughing and squirming, with camera in hand taking snap shots of the whole thing. By the end of it all, Dunkirt was ruined. He lay there, motionless, violated and completely done with living. It was as if the Vet rolled a sider (see Pass the Pigs) and with that lowly roll had lost the match, so he left Dunkirt to lie there, on the grass, completely useless.

When the joy of it all finally left me, I tried and tried but could never get my hands on that camera nor locate what he ever did with those pictures. I truly wish I could find them just for my own personal photo album. I wouldn't dare post them here for the sake of anonymity but every now and again when I am feeling blue, I could turn to those sweet images and relive the time when Dunkirt was accosted by the local Vet and Male Boss saw it fit to catch it all for the sake of memories. It's just too bad that Male Boss keeps them hidden, hidden some place so secret that only he can visit the good times again and again.

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Phelps said:

I had to help load a pig into a pickup. It was, like Dunkirt, a pet pig. He was going off to a farm, but the husband of the owner, being a sick fuck much like Male Boss, had been telling this pig for years that he was going to have him slaughtered and cooked up.

So one night, a bunch of men turn up with a pickup and start trying to manhandle this pig into the truck. The pig (being, as you noted, very smart) thinks the jig is up. He starts fighting for his very life. He squeals. I mean, he SQUEALS.

And then right about the time we get him into the air to go into the back of the truck, he lets out with a clear as day, "no no no no no NO NO NO!!!"

So we get him into the truck, and my cousin looks at me, and asks, "did that pig say what--" and my former pig farmer uncle said, "that pig didn't say a GODDAMNED thing." By his tone, further discussion was not under consideration.

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February 06, 2009 | url
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Seamaiden said:

	Might be Pigmania, a favorite in my own home when I was a child (raising pigs for 4H). Good times, leaning jowler, mega points! Now let's go play some pong.
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February 06, 2009
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Northe said:

	Hahah. Holy crap that is nuts, Phelps. Dunkirt tends to just screech like a son of a bitch, no coherent words just yet. And yes Seamaiden, gotta love Pass the Pigs, but I never have rolled the coveted double leaning jowler. Now if yer talkin' double snouters, watch out cuz those come by the bushel!
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February 06, 2009 | url
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iDog said:

Ahh Pass the Pigs/Pigmania brings back good memories. I can picture Dunkirt now in a leaning jowler ... classic.

When I was younger we had a pair pigs on our farm. The day we got them they were the cutest and sweetest little things. We named them Piggly and Wiggly. About a year later they tried to knock me down and take a bite out of my leg. All I can say is after that incident the butcher showed up and we had plenty of ham and bacon for the rest of the year.

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February 10, 2009
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Northe said:

	Yup.. Dunkirt was cool as fuck 'till that one day. I'll probably right about our falling out in the future. Now I give a shit about him.
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