Breton’s famous pig often lurched in a series of off-kilter jokes, flogging its backside with its tail to keep off the flies and pestilence of a thousand. And one day it stopped, and someone asked, ”Shall we? Shall we? Shall we…” almost a hundred times over and over. The pig gave no milk, only that its sucklings could inherit a sense of their own demise and fend off the creatures they would not create themselves.
Breton’s famous pig was large and girthy, and ate constantly; incessantly chewing its own feces and drool, which covered its slimy maw and most of the nostrils; these nostrils billowing out a constant stream of mucus with each putrid exhalation.
Breton’s famous swine was pink and green. It stood there smelling and hairy; it never danced or moved for that matter. Everyone who saw it immediately turned up their noses and began to vomit, not seeing the true nature of this porcine being. It could not be slaughtered, this famous big pig of Breton’s, but it still never died, ever, so it just kept on growing, and stinking, and putrefying the air and the ground which it inhabited.