Mr. Farley’s Pig Relations, A Poem by Chris Russell

Purple hippos were falling out of the sky. A tornado has sucked up the Purple Whirple Ice Cream Twist along with the lot of their ceramic, purple hippos surrounding the parking lot. They were coming down. One almost landed on Ronny. “If that landed on me, I would have been pissed,” he said. “I wish it had killed you,” I said. I heard a big one land on the other side of the street in the woods. We ran over to see, expecting to find a crash zone of broken ceramic and dust. But it was walking. However, upon closer inspection of its rear end we decided it must have been one of Mr. Farley’s prize-winning pigs he usually does up all purple for the parade. “I bet they won’t be having the parade now,” Ronny said. “Certainly not after an F4” I said. “That was a real whopper,” he said. “Biggest one I’ve seen in a couple of years,” I said. The purple pig ran through the underbrush. Mr. Farley was chasing it when it reared up on its hind legs and grew what looked like human hands. It looked like they were having a conversation in squeal. Then Mr. Farley got down on all fours and started really oinking. The purple hippo was actually Mrs. Farley covered in some sort of purple paint. “Jesus, do you see what I see?” Ronny said. “I see it,” I said. “That’s just wrong,” he said. They were coming this way so we hid behind a tree. “It’s definitely not right,” I said. After about three hours the pig talk had finally subsided. “Do you think it’s safe to make a run for it?” Ronny said. “Huck a rock over there and see if they chase after it,” I said. “You huck a rock!” He said. “There’s a perfect rock right by your foot,” I said. “He picked it up and tossed it over by me. “Now it’s by your foot,” he said. I picked it up and threw it and the backyard exploded. I’d hit the propane tank on his grill, which was when an alien came around the tree and slapped me in the face. It had wicked B.O., and there was only one person in the world with B.O. that bad: Numnuts McAllister. He took off his mask. He’d dressed for the parade as well. “I’m surprised your ball stink didn’t give away our position,” I said. “What’s up guys? Did you see that explosion?” He said. “No,” I said. I heard a stick break. We grabbed McAllister by his green arms and pulled him down into the sand. “If Mayor Farley knew we’d caught him having pig relations with his wife like that he’d ruin us,” I said. I heard another stick break. He was close. Mr. Farley came around the tree on all fours and I stared into his eyes for about a minute. He went to each one of us, almost like he was testing us. Then he let out a squeal and ate Ronny. “He was weak,” Mr. Farley said.

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