Hogzilla II: The Spawning of Frankenhog [Part II: Going Holy Hog]

 

Hogzilla II: The Spawning of Frankenhog

PART II: Going Holy Hog

      [Full frontal camera shot of the Hogzilla head from Hogzilla 1, rising over a 

flaming bed of coals.  It stops and stays suspended, on its own.]

      [Camera switches to a shot of a hooded figure, full frontal, with a shadowy face.  

Slowly, the hooded figure raises both hands, holding aloft what looks like a consecrated 

communion wafer, except that, instead of the color white, the wafer is brown with the 

rough, textured look of a pork rind.]

      Voices Under [chanting in whispers]:  YEOOS GIP OOW.  YEOOS GIP OOW.

      [Camera now switches into a close-up profile shot of a human mouth.  The 

tongue is extended out.  We see the right hand of the hooded figure carefully placing 

the pork rind wafer on the tongue.  The tongue remains extended as the hand leaves 

the frame, then returns, holding a squeeze can of cheese spread.  The hand squeezes 

a dollop of the spread onto the wafer.  The mouth slowly brings in the tongue to chew 

and swallow the wafer.]

      Hooded Figure [intoning]: Take, and eat, for this is my white meat!

      VU [the whispers rising into a louder chant]: YEOOS GIP OOW.  YEOOS GIP 

OOW.

      [Camera abruptly switches to a long shot of a flatbed truck speeding across a 

highway down South, Arkansas way.  The truck is hauling a huge black plastic bag on 

its bed, filled totally with … something.]

      [Switch to the inside of the cab, where two backwoods hunters are drinking cans 

of beer and smoking cigarettes.  Duke is driving and Earl is in the passenger seat.]

      Duke [with a cackle]:  I still can’t believe it, Earl.  Like I say, I think we got us back 

there not just any old Hogzilla, but the Frankenhog himself.

      Earl [taking a drink of his beer, a drag on his cigarette]: Don’t know if you can 

rightly call that thing a “him”.  Maybe more of an “it”.

      Duke: Oh, hell, Earl, I mean …

      Earl: Hell yourself, Duke, we don’t know for sure if it’s the damned Frankenhog.  

People are still talking like it’s a made-up story by that World Daily News paper.

      Duke: Now, Earl, you know they don’t make up any of them stories they print, it’s 

all true, especially about the Frankenhog.  You weren’t thinking it was any old Hogzilla 

when you were aiming your 12 gauge between its beady little eyes.  You said yourself 

those were beady little human looking eyes.

      Earl [shaking his head, sipping his beer]: Yeah, I knows it, but now I’m thinking, 

it’s too good to be true, man.  What with all those other Hogzillas running around these 

days.  So many of the critters: we were lucky to get the first of the body bags specially 

made to hold all of them.

      Duke: Come on, man. [He takes his hand off the steering wheel to reach for the 

ashtray and his smoke.  He takes a drag.]. I still think we caught us the almighty 

Frankenhog in its tracks.  You watch, we are going to make the front page of the World 

Daily News, son, posing next to that slab of Frankenhog back there.

      Earl: Ain’t nobody hoping more for that than me.  There’d we be, in the magazine 

racks at the Walmart checkouts, for all the family to see.  Just think on it.

      Duke: Now you’re talking sense.  You got to believe that’s the Frankhog we 

bagged and it’s ours!

      Earl [sipping his beer, deep in thought]: Yeah but … you still got to say there are 

lots of Hogzillas out there these days.  You just never know if they are coming or going 

or …

      [Earl is interrupted when the beer spills in his lap as the truck gives out a heavy 

jolt.]

      Earl: Hey, what the …

      Duke: Damn, I didn’t even see that speed bump.

      Earl: Speed bump?  In the middle of Highway 66?  You think, Duke?

      [The truck jolts again as frame goes blank.]

      VU: YEOOS GIP OOW!  YEOOS GIP OOW!

      [Camera switches to an upward shot of two men staring down into an unseen pit 

as they lean with their shoulders on the top of a chain link fence.  One man, Sam, is 

dressed in denim overalls and checkered shirt.  The other man, Reverend Joe, is in a 

black business suit with black tie and white starched shirt.]

      Sam [gazing down, with a perplexed expression on his face]:  Thank you kindly 

for coming over to see this, Reverend.  I figured, if anyone could explain it, it’d be you.

      Rev. Joe [staring below, solemnly]: I am always happy to provide any comfort I 

can.

      Sam: Comfort is what I need, and Southern Comfort ain’t gonna do it this time.

      [Rev. Joe clears his throat loudly.]

      Sam [hurriedly]: Oh, sorry, Reverend.  Just that, I don’t know what I’m thinking 

these days, seeing what’s going on down there.

      Rev. Joe [shaking his head]: I understand.

      Sam: It’s the God Damned-est thing I ever …

      [Rev. Joe clears his throat, louder.]

      Sam: There I go again.  Forgive me, Reverend, but even the vet himself can’t 

explain it.  Used to be, you could count on them down there being like they always 

were: crowding around amongst their kind, going nowhere in particular, just waiting for 

someone to fill the feeding trough before we led them off.

      Rev. Joe: Anything I can do to help.

      Sam: I mean, look at them.  Moving around in circles.  Like they’re caught in 

some whirlpool, going down some drain, only it ain’t draining.

      [Sounds of rhythmic grunting arise from down below.]

      Sam: Hear them, Reverend?  It’s not like they’re just making some casual-like 

grunting noises, it’s like they’re … chanting them out together now.

      Rev. Joe [frowning]: I’m reminded of the story in the Bible.  Matthew 8:28, Verse 

34.  When our Lord Jesus Christ cast out the demons from two possessed men and 

sent them into a large herd of pigs.  The pigs themselves became possessed, making 

them rush to a steep bank of a lake where they threw themselves in.

      [Sam turns his head to Rev. Joe and stares at him in disbelief.]

      Sam: Now why would the Lord want to do that to a herd of innocent pigs?

      Rev. Joe: It is a question I have never been able to answer.  Just as I cannot 

answer your question right at this instant.

      Sam: You thinking maybe my pigs are wanting to all-of-a-sudden suicide 

themselves then, like they did in Jonestown, those people down there?

      Rev. Joe [silent for a moment, then he says in a whisper to himself]: Perhaps 

they were seeking immersion in baptism?  To make the unclean … clean?

      [The rhythmic grunting heightens, like a perverse singsong.]

      Sam: Reverend, what is going on down there?  They’re moving quicker and 

quicker in their circling they’re doing.

      Rev. Joe [suddenly wide-eyed, in shock]: We must … we must … pray the circle 

will be broken!

      Sam: Reverend?

      [Frame goes blank.]

      Voice of Hooded Figure: Take, and eat, for this is my white meat!

      [Frame now fills with a camera shot of the living room of an old farmhouse.  Worn 

down couches, a ragged carpet, portraits of big-eyed children on the wall, a rocking 

chair.  We see an elderly woman named Dorothy, stout and fleshy, sitting in an armchair 

and dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief.]

      [Now entering the frame from the front door he just opened is a tall, spindly man 

named Ned in denim overalls, wearing a soft dented hat, with a billy goat beard on his 

heavily wrinkled face.]

      Ned [removing a handkerchief from the back of his overalls and wiping down his 

neck]: Well, Dorothy, I think we finished doing what we had to do on the South 40, but it 

is hotter than a Fourth of July barbecue in Death Valley out there.

      [Dorothy does not answer as she continues to dab her eyes and sniffle.]

      Ned: Oh, now Dorothy, what are you carrying on about now?

      Dorothy [with a sigh]: It’s Donald, Ned, he’s still in there.

      Ned: Still in his room, huh?

      Dorothy [sniffling]: Ever since they took off his favorite Western for the Monster 

Truck Pull other night on the TV.

      Ned [taking off his hat and scratches his head]: That boy does love his Western 

show.  How long has he been in there now?

      Dorothy [with a cry]: Three. Whole. Days. Hasn’t touched his food or anything.

      Ned [still scratching his head]: Oh, I don’t know, Dorothy. He gets that way with 

those mood swings of his.

      Dorothy: But Ned, he’s so quiet, not even a tiny grunt out of him.

      Ned: Now you know they didn’t take off his Western show for good. Didn’t you tell 

him that?

      Dorothy [sniffling]: I guess, no, I guess I didn’t. I was too bothered, him running to 

his room and locking himself up in there all of a sudden and all.

      Ned: Well, don’t fret, we’ll go to his bedroom right now and we’ll both tell him 

together, how’s that?  When he hears his Western’ll be back on tonight, he’ll come out.  

You know Donald, the day he misses his Western show is the day pigs’ll start flying.

      [Camera switches to a shot of a red bedroom door.  Freeze frame.  Then we hear 

one, large thump that shakes the door.]

      [Frame goes blank.]

      VU [very loud]: YEOOS GIP OOW!  YEOOS GIP OOW!  YEOOS! GIP! OOW!

      [Camera returns to the Hogzilla I hog head, suspended over the coals.  Its eyes 

suddenly flash redder than flames beneath it.]

      [to be continued.]

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