The pig-man had an unusual name. It was Pig Man. At least that is what he was called. No one knew his real name, which I will not speak here (because I don't know it). He felt good about his cake. It was a fine piece of cake. He looked closely at his cake, studied it's crumb structure in detail. He held the cake out away from him and admired the way the light fell across it's textured surface. Yes it really was a fine piece of cake. Pig Man felt really good about it.
He placed the cake down on a platter that he had made especially for the cake. The platter was made of genuine turtle-shell, he had killed and gutted the turtles himself. They were baby turtles that he had found on a beach one night, and very small, so he had had to kill a lot of them. He killed them with quick pounding from his heavy hoof. It felt good to snuff out the little turtles, but not as good as it felt to see his great piece of cake sitting there all soft and moist on the gleaming turtle-shell platter. He felt so good about his cake that he stood up and did a little piggy-dance. The piggy dance felt pretty good to him. He always thought he was a good dancer. He only messed up one part, which was the snout-spin, because he had tried to spin around without taking his eyes of his piece of cake. He didn't mind too much that he messed up the spin, cause after all, he still had that cake.
The cake looked almost too perfect in the afternoon light. It was so moist and full of flavour. He bet it was, anyway. He hadn't tasted the cake. Not yet. It would be a long time before he even got around to thinking about eating that fine, fine, piece of cake. No, right now, he just wanted to look at the cake. It felt really good, to just sit there and look at his cake. His delicious cake. He knew it was delicious cause a great cake was bound to be delicious. And this was a really great cake. It was so great that he wanted to get up and do another dance. Only he didn't do any dance cause he was worried that he might mess it up again, and he didn't want to mess up the piggy-dance in front of his cake.
No it was better to just sit. Just sit there with the cake. With his cake. I was his cake and he felt really good about it.
He placed the cake down on a platter that he had made especially for the cake. The platter was made of genuine turtle-shell, he had killed and gutted the turtles himself. They were baby turtles that he had found on a beach one night, and very small, so he had had to kill a lot of them. He killed them with quick pounding from his heavy hoof. It felt good to snuff out the little turtles, but not as good as it felt to see his great piece of cake sitting there all soft and moist on the gleaming turtle-shell platter. He felt so good about his cake that he stood up and did a little piggy-dance. The piggy dance felt pretty good to him. He always thought he was a good dancer. He only messed up one part, which was the snout-spin, because he had tried to spin around without taking his eyes of his piece of cake. He didn't mind too much that he messed up the spin, cause after all, he still had that cake.
The cake looked almost too perfect in the afternoon light. It was so moist and full of flavour. He bet it was, anyway. He hadn't tasted the cake. Not yet. It would be a long time before he even got around to thinking about eating that fine, fine, piece of cake. No, right now, he just wanted to look at the cake. It felt really good, to just sit there and look at his cake. His delicious cake. He knew it was delicious cause a great cake was bound to be delicious. And this was a really great cake. It was so great that he wanted to get up and do another dance. Only he didn't do any dance cause he was worried that he might mess it up again, and he didn't want to mess up the piggy-dance in front of his cake.
No it was better to just sit. Just sit there with the cake. With his cake. I was his cake and he felt really good about it.