Specimens of long pig struggle from their mound
Sky-splitting screams starkly resound
My veins circulate a steady stream of spite
For their mewling humbug has turned quite trite

It wasn’t too pleasant when the taunts started to singe
When **** forced me into a balancing act across society’s fringe

One by one, I separate my courses from the flock
Store their tender bits inside of Ma’s favored crock
I then engage in a vigorous process of toil
Lower frantic faces into water made to boil
Skin hastily detaches, tongues flop lopsided
Scalded fists clench and eyes bulge cross-sighted

I scurry on webs of scorn
Maim my prey with marks of malice
Eat torn hearts with mine retaining its layer of callous
These lesser swine are absorbed into my design
Their bodies gorged on with generous gouts of fine wine
“Oh, I do hope not to get too drunk”
-I think while chewing on an especially splendid chunk