As I lounge here in my parlor penning this missive, a mere 20 feet away there is a dead pig in a big blue plastic tub with ice in it. Tomorrow morning, Doc Hastings and Tallahassee going to cook it all day long while inside Mama Lasagna and I will pretend it isn't happening. As you know, I grew up in the country but we never actually cooked a whole pig, we just ate the parts of the pig that came pre-packaged in disc-form so I'm sort of weirded out by the whole deal. I guess I am prety disassociated from the whole "where the meat actually comes from" business, so maybe this will be good for my mind. Anyway I felt it was necessary to pay some respects to old Ichabod. Tomorrow a bunch of nerds are going to set fire to you and then eat you.
There is a new Wigu Comic about making deals.>
