War Pig step out of Seaside by Maliborc rehab facility, breathe deep. Air taste good, Pig’s eyes clear…game day!
Two weeks inside, Pig sober up. War Pig flex strong. Many hours in rehab facility gym, lifting boulders, channeling sober rage. Many squished goblin spotters.
On street groupie sows shriek, grasp at War Pig’s Orchood as he slide behind wheel of brand new Lamborkghini. Pig toss large bag of Orcaine out window, put pedal on floor, skid out of lot, bloody-thudding through delirious fan swarm.
Pig arrive at stadium. In locker room, Kobold jock strap slaves clearing Pig’s locker of half-empty bottles and syringes. Pig take groin massage while Coach Bort strung out shouting “These season 2 champs, boyos! Green pride, blue die!” Chanting frothing frenzy mount, Pig pull on mask…
Crowd scream, sun shine bright, whistle go. Pork kick away to slithering reptiles. Cowardly snakes play conservative, Pork charge, break biggest lizard, steal ball.
War Pig watch as Chuck Bacon race towards end zone, when dirty Liz smash War Pig from behind. Pig hear femur snap, writhe in agony, call out “medic!!” But no medic come…
As stretcher squigs carry Pig to sideline, Coach Bort and ApothOrkary, Anus KevOrkian, emerge from locker room tunnel. Both degenerates soaked in piss, been engaging in Coach Bort’s water sports perversion.
War Pig crippled due to Coach Bort negligent peepee sickness. Pig writhe on sideline, consider retirement from this backwards organization, as teammates cough up lead, lose in shame.