A piggywig hamming it up.
Lear's representation is more traditional, but I like my swine in suits. There's something unsettling about a pig's bare ass. A phobia that probably owes it dark origins to the cartoon industry and its limited flesh palette.
And so he stands properly accoutred, just in case--
--because, there's the strong intimation that he is waiting for our protagonists to show. Angling his cane. Combing his whiskers. Making halfhearted attempts at the odd truffle to maintain appearances. But he rather prefers crisp linen, and white gloves, and the company of bees to more porkly pursuits. And when word floats down of two travellers in dusty wedding clothes entering the wood, he forgets that he's a pig at all. And so selects the most flattering of his poses and thrusts his snout high and sells the family ring for fame and a shilling.
2 comments:
Grabes, you've outdone yourself on this one.
that just made my evening, dude.
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