As most of you who follow this insightful column know, I have always dedicated myself to truthful and hard-hitting reporting. This week, I’m sorry to say, I have been stymied by editorial protocol because of a pig.
Hold on for a second. That’s not quite true. First of all, I was going to do a bit on the media hysteria associated with global warming but started laughing so hard that I cracked a rib. My bosses thought I should chill and look elsewhere for material. It was excellent advice. One should never attack the clueless.
Someone else brought it to my attention that the social idiot icon Paris Hilton was back in the slammer again and suggested that I do an in-depth portrait about the poor maligned ditz. Luckily, before I could hit a single keystroke, my inner personage said, “Who really gives a serious $^it about a jerkette with an IQ lower than her miniature pet’s dog chow?”
So, instead, I went in search of something really important that wouldn’t be construed as an international toxic waste of time, thus, this pig report.
Several weeks ago, Kate Brumback, an Associated Press writer stated in an article on Brietbart.com that in the area of Montgomery, Ala., “an 11-year-old Alabama boy used a pistol to kill a wild hog his father says weighed a staggering 1,051 pounds and measured 9-feet-4 from the tip of its snout to the base of its tail. Think hams as big as car tires.”
I was stunned by the jpeg image and was going to insert a picture of the jumbo swine with this column but was thwarted by a cautious editorial decision. It seems that certain cretins have been known to falsify such critters and my handlers wanted to go the extra mile to protect my credibility... . It was then I snapped another rib. I can barely breathe now, but I deeply appreciate the concern.
Moving on, the kid Jamison said that, “It feels really good. It’s a good accomplishment. I probably won’t ever kill anything else that big.”
He claims he shot the beast eight times with a .50-caliber revolver and chased it for three hours through steep woods before finishing it off with a point-blank shot. The critter was supposedly so big that trees had to be cut down and a backhoe brought in to haul the kid’s pending dump truck full of sausage out of the woods.
Great story, but something about part of his remarks made me wince. Why? Because I’ve fired a .50 revolver and it knocked the hell out of my exceptionally manly firing stance. So how could a kid, who would easily fit into carry-on luggage, put eight .50-cal slugs into a thousand pound pissed-off porker bookin’ through the toolies without knocking his preadolescent ’bama-butt backward so many times that the term “wedgie” becomes a personal fashion statement?
Easy answer: no way. I thought something smelled, and it wasn’t the dead hog.
Let’s stop here a minute. Why do I even care about this purported massive ham-on-the-hoof hosing? Because a mob of you miscreants who follow “Unhinged Alaska” became unglued and forwarded sympathy e-mails alluding to the fact that my mutant dog’s daddy may have been clipped by some Alabama smurf with a honkin’ handgun.
Not so. My dog Howard’s papa is not the beast with 5-inch tusks dead in a creek bed on the 2,500-acre Lost Creek Plantation. This allegation about Howard’s possible lineage is bogus. He was probably something much more unattractive.
Yes, the animal measured 54 inches around the head, 74 inches around the shoulders and 11 inches from the eyes to the end of its snout, but that description also mirrors Howard’s mommy whose DNA reflects she was, at least, part musk ox. So the mystery continues. What is Howard? Who cares?
Oh yeah, by the way, on Saturday, June 2, 2007, a blip in the Anchorage Daily News confirmed my suspicions.
Get this from Fruithurst, Ala.: “The huge hog that became known as ‘Monster Pig’ after being hunted and killed by an 11-year-old boy had another name: Fred. The not-so-wild pig had been raised on an Alabama farm and was sold to the Lost Creek Plantation just four days before it was shot there in a 150-acre fenced area. “
I told you ... lies, all lies.
Anybody want a dog?
Nick C. Varney can be reached at NCVarney@gmail.com if he isn’t trying to convince his editor that he really doesn’t need counseling.
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