A Visit with the Hog Rat

Hog Rat or Hog Rag or Bog Rag or Bog Rat lives in the old burrow underneath the widow’s armpit that used to occupied by Continuous Spider (a Fell Beast whose Legges Doe Forme a Continuum There Byeing One Leg Betwixt Everie Othere Paire off Legges).

This inconvenient Bog Bag (if that is his true description — sources have gone silent since the gas seeped in from “The Bog”) cannot be described, but only alluded to, nevertheless he is about five feet tall, one hundred and eighty pounds, has the shoulders of an ape, the torso of a hog, and the face of a rat, his limbs being those of a Glass Lizard or Serpent (ie lacks ’em!) and is entirely ignorant of his lack of musical talent.

He will gash you with his tusks but it is only because he thinks you don’t like him.

Some of the sages who occasionally blast through town on motorbikes to tell us to stop feeling so fuckin’ sorry for ourselves say: you don’t like him because you are worried he will gash you with his tusks!

Some of the sages who occasionally show up to distribute food and cocaine to our children say: there’s no answer to the question, do you dislike Hog Fat/Hog Rat/Big Fat/Old Cat cause he will attack you or does he attack you cause he can guess you don’t like him.

But the sage Grandpa says: It’s cause of his Bad Smell.

But the sage Grandpa says: his music’s not so bad if you really try and like it!

But the sage Grandma says: send him back to the Bog & tell them {TRY AGAIN!}

But the sage Grandpa says: Maybe he shouldn’t be called HOTGRAT — maybe he is his own thing and shouldn’t be compared to HOG or RAT and that offends him.

But my friend Abby says: let’s go skipping across the lawn at the edge of town at the very purplest last moment of a summer night, and maybe we will swim in it — it’s a brook.


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