A Story about Rotten Pork

My roommate doesn’t eat pork (something about swine in Bible = no pork) and so when someone gave her a huge pot roast, she went out and buried it. I didn’t know this, she never mentioned it to me.  One day one of our cats killed a rabbit and left it on the front porch.

So I called her up and said the cat killed a rabbit. She tells me to bury it. I’m a wuss, I hate dead animals, but I gave in, got the shovel and managed to flip the rabbit onto the shovel. Our yard is about 2 acres, it’s pretty big, so I walked around for a while, trying to find a dirt patch where the dirt is soft so I didn’t have to work up a hernia trying to dig up a hole. I find one place, so I started to dig up dirt.

After about 5 shovelfuls, I hit something. I bend down and peer in the hole, and to my horror I see something pink, fleshy, and rotten. “Oh crap, a human brain!” I’m seriously freaking here, all those horror movies I ever watched are catching up to me. I run in the house and call my roommate, and told her what happened. In the middle of the story, she starts laughing. “Of all the places, you had to pick a spot where I buried a pot roast 4 months ago? That is really funny!” I’m not laughing, I’m still trying to shake off the heebie jeebies.

The funny thing is, apparently I didn’t pack the dirt in the hole enough or something, because the next day an animal had dug up the spot and ate up most of the rotten, raw pork.  Yummy!

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