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Epic Proportions

In the quiet town of Mogg,
Lived a woman of a hog,
Who liked to feed from the trough,
Of everyone but herself.

She’d waddle ‘long the city streets,
On her two plowing, plodding feet,
Indenting the pavement as she’d seek,
A place to park her ass.

On the lower street she found,
Upon a firm plot of ground,
A restaurant owner sounding,
“Come in to my ‘All You Can Eat!’”

A low grumble, there was heard,
Among the mumbling of the Earth,
As she turned her tremendous girth,
In the direction of the smells.

“Oh, but all the hells!
Tell the priest to ring the bells!”
The people heard the mayor yell,
As her shadow passed his door.

Little children fled on home,
As down the cobbled street she roamed,
Salivating as she moaned,
When the cafe was in sight.

The people eating there inside,
Made every attempt to hide,
With their plates by their side,
And crossed themselves in prayer.

The owner by the counter,
Smiled plainly as she entered,
“Welcome to you, my friend,
Won’t you please take a seat?”

Across the whole country side,
And indeed the county wide,
A swell like a rising tide,
Rippled the ground as she sat.

“Mercy me,” the owner sighed,
“Try the ham, I must confide,
It’s the best you’re bound to find,
For miles and miles around.”

A roaring crack of doom,
Startled all around the room,
As her mouth parted to assume,
“I will have it.” And she did.

The owner clapped his hands,
And from the kitchen came a man,
Then three and six and ten,
Bearing platters on their shoulders.

“Eat, I do implore you,
For placed here before you,
Is the ham, I assure you,
Is sure to change your life.”

A cavernous grin from her
Ravenous whims,
like the cold northern wind,
Shuddered those who would see,

With a mighty, savage bite,
And with a moan in sheer delight,
Her work upon the ham was light.
“Very good,” she muttered forth.

“Indeed, indeed,” the owner grinned.
“And worry not ’bout mortal sins,
To glut is far from the worse thing.”
But his words were interrupted.

“Bring me more!” the mouth demanded.
The owner nodded, smiling, gladdened.
“Take it all, if you will have it.”
As the kitchen doors parted again.

One and three and six and ten,
The men came out, again, again,
One and three and six and ten,
The dishes stacked upon the floor.

A gurgle like flood waters toiling,
From her full intestines, roiling.
In the heat of the room, boiling,
She rested from her feast.

“Want some more?” the owner asked.
He smiled, presenting a mint as last,
“Or is it time to nap and fast?”
But she shooed the man away.

When the customers all had gone,
Save for the fat, sweating hog,
The owner approached with a log,
Of all she had consumed.

“Let us talk about the price,
For every single sliver, every slice,
For the wine and tax, let’s be nice,
And fair about this cost.”

“I cannot move,” the hog bemoaned.
“I’ve ate too much, but must go home.”
“Not quiet yet,” the owner groaned.
“Now!” he cried aloud.

From the kitchen came the men,
One and three and six and ten,
And set upon the fattened hen,
With cleavers, knives and clubs.

A panic set upon the hog,
Who could not move, due to her sloth,
As the butchers held her skin aloft,
And organized the bloody cuts.

The owner joined the party too,
And cleaved the pigs head clean in two,
“Why this will make a lovely stew!”
As her brains oozed from the crack.

Outside gathered a large crowd,
Who heard the deathly, chilling sounds,
From the farthest corners of the town,
And waited to see what happ’ed.

“Clean this up,” the owner chimed.
“We’ll open soon, and still on time!”
Outside the people formed a line,
And the owner clapped his hands.

When the blood was up from the floor,
The owner stepped up to the door,
And with a joyous voice implored,
His customers to step inside.

“Come in, come in! Please take a seat!
We’ve got a fresh supply of meat!
Come in to my ‘All You Can eat!’”
And I can tell you they certainly did.

Epic Proportions

johnmiller

Joined March 2008

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