So I was musing the other day on a new project, a blog that would actually inspire me. See, the problem I’d run into was this: I didn’t want to fill this thing up with my everyday life and all it’s inane little observations. So I went and started a little armada of blogs. It’s so exciting, because now I can actually semi-justify it when I think of myself as a rear admiral in command of a flotila from the poop deck of my flagship. Regardless not a day after I started I was inspired. Inspired by pigs in a blanket. Ho-rah!

I love pigs in a blanket, but I’ve only ever had them once, many and many years ago. And they really were that delicious. I see no reason why I shouldn’t say that I love eating pigs. I find them incredibly delicious, even if they’re dirty and unclean beasts by any account. But I mean, I’m sure the thought that sausages are the ultimate irony of pig life has occured to everyone. To grow up just to be chopped up and stuffed into your own intestines is infinitely worse than growing up just to be butchered. But I realized something more, pigs in a blanket is the ultimate “fuck you” we could possibly give to a pig. It’s the cherry on the sundae, the bell in the tower, the gravy on the mashed potatoes, the uhm…antennae on the radio?. Not only are you making these horrible bundles of delicious irony (kinda like I was making those horrible little metaphors), but you’re suffocating it in a warm, delicious, golden crust. How much worse for the pig does it get, but then…how does it get any better for me? Mmm…

EDIT: woohoo, I went back in time and got an artistic rendering of my post by Michelangelo…..or Slugman from 5 minutes ago while I was playing FEAR :D
and I forgot to thank him on my blog lol. THANK YOU XP
(click for the full image!)
Art