Preacher’s Pig Wins the Lottery

Oinksworth squealed with ticket tight,
Granny laughed ’til near frostbite.
He scratched the card with muddy trot,
Then fainted cold in the pumpkin lot.
The preacher cried, “It’s heaven’s will!”
As cameras came from over the hill.
The pig wore shades and Gucci shoes,
Snubbed the mayor and dodged the news.
Ma baked a cake, called it divine,
Pa tried to claim the pig was mine.
Lou pitched a show, “Swine and Gold,”
But Oinksworth hired agents bold.
He bought the church, replaced each pew,
With troughs of pearls and tofu stew.
Now Sundays smell like cedar ham,
And offerings go through Instagram.
If pigs start scratching cards near you,
Just bow down fast–your reign is through.

Alan Nafzger (editor@bohiney.com)

Last Updated on May 31, 2024 by Alan Nafzger