I didn't realize until this morning that the sight of a soon-to-be-delicious dead pig soaking brine would bother people. To me, it looks like food, but a couple of readers (like Aaron) are whining that it makes their little tum-tums hurt.

I should have seen this coming. A lot of yankees read this blog. And Aaron, God help him, was raised by a liberal college professor.

I remember something funny that happened a long time ago. Aaron came to Florida to visit me over winter break from Columbia. We were hanging out at my mother's condo, and my mother was rummaging around in the kitchen. While the three of us were talking, my mother pulled her .38 out of a cookie jar. Aaron was severely traumatized. I'm sure that for a second, he thought a pogrom was starting. No, the gun just happened to be in the jar, and she had forgotten it was in there.

My southern and rural readers (and those raised in the South Bronx) are now asking themselves, "What is the point of this story? What happened that's worth writing about? What's so interesting about a gun in a cookie jar?" Right, exactly. Same principle applies to the pig. It's just chow. Although I admit, when I stuck the brine and the pig in the fridge last night, I mumbled something about how Jeff Dahmer's fridge must have had a similar look.

It's a good thing none of you were around the summer my grandfather and my uncle decided to raise hogs. I was in Kentucky that summer, working on the farm. One day we drove to the hog lot with a couple of extra hired hands. I had no idea what we were going to do. Imagine my distress when everyone started grabbing pigs, holding them down, and cutting out their gonads. I was probably eleven. I ran back to the house and announced, "You would not BELIEVE what they're doing to those pigs." It's a wonder I'm not a militant vegan.

My dad, sensitive soul that he is, loves to tell that story to people over dinner. He thinks it's hilarious.

Okay, the truck is loaded. The pig is bagged. The stuffing is prepared. I found a curved needle to sew up the pig with. I also found a spool of fishing wire in case we decide to go that route instead.

Pray for our souls. Well, Val's soul. I AM a lawyer.