So there I was, minding my own business last night, when my neighbor tells me, "Go 'round back. There's something I want you to see." Because he is Spanish, naturally my curiosity was piqued.
And that's when I first encountered the pig in the tree: the 200-pound pig with no name which had been found on Madison Avenue in the middle of the street in the middle of the night with a bullet in its head, and had been run over only once, and discovered by my other neighbor who was on his way somewhere but was considerate enough to call and alert my Spanish neighbor, who promptly drove out and scooped it up, took it home, and tied it to a tree in the backyard, all before anyone else in Memphis could lay claim to our prize.
So, we stood looking at it, contemplating the delicious beast, and wondering what we had done to deserve this gift from the heavens above. Was this some reward for carrying out the Lord's work? I can't speak for the others in the group, but I hadn't even been to church in two full weeks, and that was only to see Al Green preach.
After several seconds of silence, and some mindless banter about salvation, I helpfully suggested we stuff an apple in the pig's mouth and take its picture.
Alas, none of us had an apple on our persons.
So, the pig remained hanging, dead of course, not feeling a thing as its digestive organs were removed, and consequently played with.
Then, as there was nothing else to do, we ripped out the pig's heart.
And ate it with fava beans and a nice chianti.
