Aporkalypse

We went to the Salt Lick last night for supper, an event which may come to be known in the pig community as the Aporkalypse. Occasionally, I'll eat a meal that leaves me full for 8 or 10 hours. With that one, I may not have to eat again until monsoon season (let us assume that monsoon season is a long time from now). If I were to get punched in the stomach right now, not only would I die, but the block would probably explode. Yes, it is a very attractive state.

As full as I am, I've eaten more at the Salt Lick before. Maybe two years ago, I was out there for someone's birthday. We were supposed to voyage down to 6th Street afterwards. I'm a man who likes his carousing just fine; I also enjoy the company of a good group. This night had all these factors going for it, but while everybody else went downtown, I went back to my apartment, laid in bed, and wailed for hours.

I was so full, I couldn't even sleep. I'd roll onto my stomach accidentally and let out a moan like I'd just been cattleprodded. You know how some people get the meat sweats? I went straight past that to the meat hallucinations. It was one of the most traumatic post-meal experiences I've ever had, and I still love the place. Such is the life of an idiot.