Hey, Pig. Whatcha doing?
“Don’t you ‘Hey, Pig’ me, punk! The Pig’s out here sweatin’ and frettin’, tryin’ to make it right for the boys and girls out there so they can MAKE IT, and you come around here, what, once a month? Say ‘Hey, Pig’ every four weeks?”
“Wait! I know what you are now! You’re a period!”
“Monthly menace! Get what you need and skedaddle back to that brokedown present o’ yours! That’s your game!”
Pig, that is not my game. I have no game.
“That’s what all the ladies say, too!”
“Aw, the Pig’s just pulling your leg a li’l bit. Didn’t mean nothin’ by it.”
You could visit, y’know. You have access to a Time Sheath. Brent’s here all the time. Had to chase Garcia out of Soldier Field at least twice.
“Nah. I’ve taken a look, and you done fucked up damn near everything! Fightin’ in the streets and hatred in the air!”
That was going on in your time, too.
“That’s what I’m sayin’! Supposed to get smarter, aintcha? World’s doin’ the exact same bullshit fifty years along! Enough to put a Pig in his cups!”
Well, it didn’t take too much to do that, did it?
“Heh, no. You know the ol’ Pig’ll take a drink.”
“Besides, ain’t no place for a bluesman no more. When’s the last time you saw one out in the wild?”
Been a while.
“What now, you scribblin’ simp!?”
Why are you guys so blurry?
“Don’t be puttin’ that on the Pig! Your magic typewriter done goofed us all up!”
Yeah, could be.