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June 3, 2013
Blow past that hovel on the corner of the road that gets closed during mud season, and as you crane your head rightward – due to some eerily indescribable gravitational pull – you notice many exposed boulders dotting a veritable mud-lot.

And where are the pigs? Those rocks are showing for a reason: the porcine inhabitants of that pathetic space are now mere memories, and whilst they lived, breathed and ate everything in sight, including the subsoil, they feared not their eventual demise.

Now they may be pork chops, ham, or if they're extremely unlucky, the most grotesque “foods”: scrapple or sausage.