Arthur Graham’s Reviews > The After-Life Story of Pork Knuckles Malone > Status Update

All pigs must die If they want to be your friend they lie All pigs must die Before they take over your mind

“I lied. I never loved you. What kind of man loves a pig? The only reason I tried to stop my pa from chainsawing you was you weren’t fat enough. You were a tiny, pathetic pig and you made a tiny, pathetic ham. I wish you had never snuck into my bed that night. I wish you had stayed lost. I wish you’d get lost now.”

Daryl worked up a sweat jumping up and down. He had heard punk rock before, mainly during visits with his aunt and uncle, but he had never seen the appeal. Now though, as his heart slam danced around his chest, he got it. His uncle sang: I like Dick Nixon He’s a funny guy But not as funny As a penis in the eye I like ham!

Like Hitler, Zzz hated humans. That was the one human he made an exception for, the human who had done the most to rid the world of humankind so flies could rise to power. Humans thought Hitler only hated the Jews and other so-called mongrel races, but Zzz had watched all the documentaries on the wall of TVs and knew otherwise. He saw the truth in the man’s eyes—fly eyes.

The drag queens snapped their fingers and sashayed on higher heels than Albert had ever seen anywhere near a farm, and in colors that could likely be spotted from space against the browns and golds of this part of Wisconsin.
They tied him to a tree. As strong as farm work had made him, he couldn’t resist the twelve of them.

The boy probably went to give his pet a proper burial. A shame, but a shame Albert could respect. He had made a mistake letting the boy develop a relationship with the animal, but if the boy was out burying the thing, at least he was seeing the relationship through to the natural conclusion. Now that he thought of it, making the boy eat the ham would have been perverse.

Pa kept the pig pinned with one hand and grabbed the chainsaw with the other. Clenching the starter rope between his teeth, he tugged it to life, releasing a white cloud that wrapped around him and his son. “Pigs don’t do goodbyes,” he said, as the saw cut into pork neck and thousands of drops of blood pierced the smoke.