Tuesday, May 11, 2004
it had to happen sooner or later...
so i'm re-posting a classic freakup from the days of yore, because i'm that legendarily lazy. and because this is one of my favorite posts i've ever done and i'm pretty proud (hehe) of it. and maybe some of you haven't read it because you started reading after i posted it. it's the one from october 14 of last year, concerning hogwashes. here it jolly well is.
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I just got back from a hogwash, and boy, was it ever fun. If you had seen the color of those hogs before we washed them, you'd swear they weren't even the same species as the clean hogs. But they were. Now, don't be turned off by the word "hog"... these fine, divine specimens of swine were as clean as they could possibly be. After we washed them, that is. Before we washed them, you can just take all your usual negative connotations of the word "hog" and apply them to these hogs, because hooooooo-doggies, was them hogs ever sloppier'n a pail o' pigeon poo. (and i say that in the most countrified of ways.)
Now, the basic mechanics of a hogwash are simple: you get yourself a pail (not of pigeon poo) and a paintbrush (preferably of penguin plumage), or in the painful absence of a paintbrush, pick a pancake (of plum or parsley, perhaps) and approach the perimeter of the pig pen. Pause, patiently pleading the pigs to permit your presence. Presently, pounce on the pig in closest proximity. Procure a pint of Pine-Sol, then pour prudently on the precariously positioned pig. Perspire. Perpetually paint the pigskin with Pine-Sol till permeated. Pack a potato in the pig's piehole, then pick up your person and park it on the patio, post-haste. Perfect.
I hope you can join me at the next hogwash. Peter Piper's going to be there.
so i'm re-posting a classic freakup from the days of yore, because i'm that legendarily lazy. and because this is one of my favorite posts i've ever done and i'm pretty proud (hehe) of it. and maybe some of you haven't read it because you started reading after i posted it. it's the one from october 14 of last year, concerning hogwashes. here it jolly well is.
---
I just got back from a hogwash, and boy, was it ever fun. If you had seen the color of those hogs before we washed them, you'd swear they weren't even the same species as the clean hogs. But they were. Now, don't be turned off by the word "hog"... these fine, divine specimens of swine were as clean as they could possibly be. After we washed them, that is. Before we washed them, you can just take all your usual negative connotations of the word "hog" and apply them to these hogs, because hooooooo-doggies, was them hogs ever sloppier'n a pail o' pigeon poo. (and i say that in the most countrified of ways.)
Now, the basic mechanics of a hogwash are simple: you get yourself a pail (not of pigeon poo) and a paintbrush (preferably of penguin plumage), or in the painful absence of a paintbrush, pick a pancake (of plum or parsley, perhaps) and approach the perimeter of the pig pen. Pause, patiently pleading the pigs to permit your presence. Presently, pounce on the pig in closest proximity. Procure a pint of Pine-Sol, then pour prudently on the precariously positioned pig. Perspire. Perpetually paint the pigskin with Pine-Sol till permeated. Pack a potato in the pig's piehole, then pick up your person and park it on the patio, post-haste. Perfect.
I hope you can join me at the next hogwash. Peter Piper's going to be there.
