Greene's ghost picks you up in a spectral chariot drawn
by a team of pale Netherworld stallions. Greene seems
withdrawn and troubled. You ask him what's the matter
and he hisses, bearing his thin fangs at you.
Rotting hog asks you to meet him in the dumpster behind
"Charlie The Butcher's" at closing time. You
ask the hog if he has any brothers or sisters, but his
mouth gapes and the only response is a trickle of bloody
Greene tells you that in order to stay sane, he must
be constantly solving difficult math problems in his
head, and to "Leave [him] the Hell alone."
squeeze a colored pencil between the hog's toes, and
he proceeds to scribble an epic poem about love and
bravery, entitled "Horseradish Blues."
ghost takes you to an ice cream stand made out of an
old caboose and tells you how God threw him out of Heaven
for chewing tobacco and peeing in the sink. "If
you can't pee in the sink," Greene says, "then
where the fuck do you get off calling it Heaven?"
carry the hog to the beach for a relaxing sundown stroll,
but you are quickly overcome by seagulls, who pluck
the eyes out of your date and revel in fighting over
explaining to Greene that women are allowed to vote,
he violently takes you by the throat and chokes you
unconscious. When you wake up, you see Greene stooped
over a crushed waffle cone, trying to subtract the number
of crumbs from his own age divided by six.
use the hog's gaping lower jaw to uncork a bottle of
Chilean Merlot. As you pour it down his throat, his
stomach ruptures, spraying you with jellied maggots
and partially digested gruel.
Greene's ghost asks you if there has been to any advancement
in the thawing out of cryogenically frozen heads, and
wants to know how long you think a penis suspended in
liquid nitrogen is good for.
you drive, the hog manages put in his George Winston
tape, and points his eyeholes toward you longingly,
as the sweet sounds of a solitary piano play on the
your way to the bar, Greene bets you that he can chew
his way through the floor. Before you can respond he
does so, growling like an animal.
rotting hog, which you've learned is named Stephan,
hangs limply over your shoulder and runs its dry tongue
across your cheek as the two of you share a "Perfect
Appletini" at Fridays.
Lorne drops you off in front of your house, he promises
that you "Haven't seen the last of him, not by
a fucking long-shot," before disappearing in a
swirling black vortex.
you fling the hog back into his dumpster, a family of
raccoons fall to devouring him, but not before a tear-colored
liquid rolls down his cheek, and his withered lips mouth
the words of Dean Martin's touching hymn, "Return