Getafe Petcock

Getafe Petcock grew up in a family of malcontents from New Madrid, his great grandmamma never once saying gazoontite or God bless when she sneezed or honked her drupaceous nose. ‘Getafe with him one could dare something Big , or…’ God bless Petcock, may he come to Big things in this life. The Maracay Aragua women’s auxiliary sold 25 peacock feather hatbands, 4 leucosis chickens (retrovirus Avian Sarcoma) 32 septum’s, a tincture of bees’ pollen and 27 ½ beautifully coloured daisy hatpins. The Witness, having witnessed a man riding on the back of a pig said ‘…by jive, what a strange sight indeed…’. It was the day before the Feast of Alexander and the streets we a litter with pigs and men, some riding atop, a gay sight indeed, others rousting them with good hard whacks to the pork-belly, hide and fur corkscrewing into the street. Out of the corner of his eye Getafe Petcock espied a man whacking a pig, the pig bucking wildly. ‘…hey you there, leave that poor pig be, you’ll surely hide him to death…’. Not bothering to look, his face blued with anger and bile, the man said ‘…leave be you say…I’ll show you leave be…’ and with that gave the pig a good hard whack, the pig bending at the knees and collapsing to the asphalt snorting. ‘…I’ll have the rector’s assistant on your ass before you can say Jimmy crack corn, you stupid man you…’ shouted Getafe Petcock blinded with rage. The pig, foaled into a birthing crouch, its snorting piercing the man’s temper with piggish contempt, slid over onto its belly and fell dead, the man behind, riding atop his pig smiling gleefully, whispering into the sow’s ear ‘...that one’d make a fine purse, big enough for any women’s oddities...’.