So, there is this pink pig ...
She's climbing up a mountain in a sparkly sateen lavender ball gown, with yellow
sunglasses on and a silver tiara. She is tasting and smelling everything. She snacks
on some orange zinnia's, smells some purple roses and does a 180 playfully
rubbing her back on some lime green grass scratching the wind with her hooves.
She gets to the top of a beautiful vista. She smiles and soaks in the rays. She
says, "I feel spec-TAC-u-" when the light flickers and goes out. The mountain
turns from lush greenery and floral to a slope of thin slippery mud. The pig slicks
down the mountain on her butt while yelling "luuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuur." Her dress
is flapping around her face showing her periwinkle bloomers. Her sunglasses are
suspended in air behind her on a yellow string. When she hits the bottom with a
HA-rumph! (which she affectionately calls the pit) it's quiet. She pauses, looks
around blankly, blinks once and with a willful sigh says, "Oh -- here again. I
know what to do, but why do they call it the blues when it feels more brown and
gray?"
She gently rolls over on to all four hooves. She brushes her ball gown into place
covering her butt. Her thinly coiled pink tail peers out. She lifts her head up,
gives it a shake, straightens her tiara and begins ascent once again. As she does,
her smile begins to shape up from the corners. She snorts. The lime green grass
begins to sprout. A few pink pansy's pop and the sun slips out from its hide n'
seek cloud.
This is the life, knows the pink pig, this is life.