The bagheaded boars and sows, with their sagging fat, their rolls blubbering against each other, and their ornate scarifications dug deep into their flesh, forever raw and forever red, rushed into their shelters of barbed wire and rebar. He truly was the God King and it felt good to be the God King. And It came as a command, with the strength of thunder and the strike of lighting. Had one thousand years passed already? "Bring out the runt." Daddy Pig said. Daddy Pig had the biggest knife and he felt proud whenever it weighed in his hoof, he could feel it thirsting, and all he thought of was Peppa the Powerful. There was no art in killing, not to them. They each held their ceremonial knives, forged from pots or perhaps pans, crude metal for a crude function. Rough sacks stained with soot and farmhouse filth. We gather here, on the hallowed ground of our virgin goddess Peppa the Powerful, for the Festival of Fun." "We gather here and join hooves today to take part in the giving of goodness, the reaping of crops, the sewing of futures well-earned, and the living of lives well lived.
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