Loud banging noises.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
Told ya.
Emerging from a janitorial closet, replete with Peter Vaughn's special dildo collection (so he can go fuck himself - fuck that guy), and with the faint stank of interdimensional transportation embedded into the moldy flaps of his skin, the
little big pig who sends humans to the market and doesn't pussyfoot around with bullshit counting on their toes or anything before slaughtering them, Hotdog, emerges into the 24/7 hallway.
Oink, oink Oink oink oink oink ooink oink oink oink OINK-ooink ooink Oink oink OOINK oink Oooiinnkk Oooiiinnnkk Ooink ooiink? O.I.N.K. oink oink oink oink! O.I.N.K. oink Ooink-Oink-OINK. Oink oink Oink oink oink oink Oink Ooiin'k oink ooiink? Oink, oink oink, oink ooink, ooiinnk? Ooink O'ink oink, O'ink ooink oink oink ooink Oink oink oink oink oink oink oink ooiinnkk oink oink ooink Oink Ooiin'k ooink."
"Wait, was I last in this world or back in the FXW-verse where I am STILL the Universal Consilation Prize holder? A.K.A. the top dog pig! A.K.A. the Grand Poo-BOAR. Or was I in one of Mark Flynn's wet dreams? Ah, fuck it, who cares, amirite? While I'm here, I'm finna find that bitch Taco and put the meat into his tortilla if you catch The Brand's drift."
Or something.
Why Hotdog is narrating aloud is a mystery best left for the detectives of the world, like Sherlock Holmes and Batman. Or even my nosey fucking neighbour. I SEE YOU LOOKING OVER THE FENCE SHARON! TELL YOUR DOG TO SHUT THE FUCK UP NEXT TIME ONE OF MY FLY HONEYS IS SCREAMING MY NAME!
"Oink... ooin'k oink?"
Hotdog spies a tortilla of his own, and has some nasty fucking sour cream ready to lather on the roast beef.
As he shambles over to where Atara Raven is doing Atara Raven things (like, I dunno, failing to live up to expectations), he drops the sour cream on the ground and it spills everywhere. Yeah... it wasn't a euphemism. It was actual sour cream and I don't know if you know this, but pigs don't have hands so give the swine some credit for even lasting a couple of steps will ya?
"Oink ooiinnk."
The massive boar glares at Atara, blaming her because he's a petulant pissant incapable of accepting responsibility for his failings. Not that he has many. Did you know he's 3-0? Undefeated baby!
Atara finishes eating a taco of her own.
Again, not a euphemism.
But she's about to eat a Hotdog now and that is!
"Oink oink oink oink ooink ooink Oink oink oink ooink oink oink oink oink ooiinnkk."
"You look like some drunk skank I ran a train on back in my universe."
Indeed she does. And indeed he did, back when we were contractually obliged to Shove-It, but then kind of didn’t.
"Oink oink oink, ooink ooink, 'ooink O'ink ooink oink oink oink oink oink oink."
"So choo choo, lovey dovey, 'cause I'm about to do the same to you."
The living embodiment of meat sweats, Hotdog charges at Atara. She effortlessly moves out of the way causing the massive beast to
ram boar head first into the wall. He stumbles, knocking Atara to the ground with her shoulders down and the pig's bodyweight on just the tip of one of her fingers.
She rolls her eyes, barely inconvenienced.
Still, a referee, who just happened to be hanging around (and thinking God knows what) - because that's what Vinnie Lane thinks is a good use of company money (fuck that guy too) - begins a count.
1...
2…