c is for cat

Rules for Anchorites

Letters from Proxima Thule


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Oh porcine undead
Your ectoplasmic bristles
Are so very soft

In life, just a pig
In death, a half rack of ribs
In ghost form, sexy

Don't fight it, ghost pig
Our blissful union feels right
This was meant to be

And when we are done
The containment unit waits
Back in the basement

You win. I don't know what yet, but surely you ought to win something.

Edit: Ah, I know! A ghostly glow-in-the-dark haunch of prosciutto!

Edited at 2010-07-01 08:22 pm (UTC)

Ok, you can rock me to sleep tonight.

"a half rack of ribs
In ghost form, sexy"

Having dismembered my fair share of pigs, this visual is deeply wrong and crystal clear.


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