PORKLOGUE: Two reasons to celebrate this week. The Dolphins are 2-3 with a shot to get to .500 before the BYE and the Porcine Odyssey is old enough to drink! Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee. Hey, look who’s in town. Our old friend Jeff Fisher. Ahh, Jeff Fisher the jerk that reminds me of every woman who ever refused to sleep with me.
PIGGY IS IN IN HIS BATHROOM LOOKING INTO THE MIRROR. THE HOT WATER IS RUNNING AND HE IS HOLDING HIS RAZOR AND PUTTING SHAVING CREAM ON HIS FACE
The Flying Pig: What a great win (to himself) Now we can get to .500 by beating Jeff Fisher’s Rams. After I finish shaving, I will grab Wedge and Psychic GPS and we will be off to the game!
A Voice: (in an Italian accent) Piggy, Don’t do-et
The Flying Pig: What, who is that?
A Voice: Its ah-mi Piggy
The Flying Pig: Super Mario?
A Voice: No Piggy. Its ah-mi – Mustachio!
The Flying Pig: Mustachio? I don’t know a Mustachio…Where are you?
The Flying Pig: Oh, my razor…of course…eh…don’t do what?
Mustachio: Yes, Piggy. Please, don’t do-et. Don’t shave. Not the mustache. Please Piggy..
The Flying Pig: Why can’t I shave my mustache?
Mustachio: Its-ah bad luck Piggy. The Rams are in town. I love the Rams. Please don’t shave the mustache for Mustachio…please.
The Flying Pig: Okay, I guess I can grow the mustache for the game
Mustachio: Oh Grazie Piggy. You are a great prosciutto.
The Flying Pig: What?
Mustachio: Piggy. My wife, sheze-ah deli slicer. In exchange for your mustache I’m gonnah make you into a delicious sandwich. A little mozzarella, some pomodoro, some olio d’olivia and pane. Ahh delizioso!
The Flying Pig: I’m don’t want to be a sandwich! I tell you what…I won’t shave, if you give me some intel on the Rams.
Mustachio: Oh Piggy. You drive a hard bargain – but – ehhhhh…okay
The Flying Pig: Let me get Wedge and GPS
Mustachio: Okay Piggy…but first let me show you my Cortland Finnegan impression
The Flying Pig: Okay…go for it
A MINUTE PASSES AND PIGGY JUST STARES AT MUSTACHIO WAITING FOR AN IMPRESSION
The Flying Pig: um…nothing….hmmm…I take it there is no impression…
ANOTHER MINUTE PASSES. MUSTACHIO IS JUST STARING BACK AT PIGGY
The Flying Pig: Okay, it looks like you aren’t going to do anything…(turning around) let me get my friends for the Rams intel…
MUSTACHIO SLAPS PIGGY IN THE BACK OF THE HEAD WHEN HIS BACK IS TURNED
Mustachio: TA-DAH! Cortland Finnegan! (Mustachio bows)
The Flying Pig: Ouch! (holding his head) What a cheap shot! (Angrily turning around and walking into the main room in the barn) Hey Wedge?
Wedge: Hey Piggy. Ready for the Rams game?
The Flying Pig: You grew a mustache too?
Wedge: Yeah. I was talking to your razor, Mustachio. And he agreed to tell me about the Rams if I grew one. But he hasn’t told me anything yet. so…..
The Flying Pig: Me too! Come with me (walking to the bathroom) Mustachio is about to tell us about the Rams!
PIGGY AND WEDGE WALK IN THE BATHROOM AND CONFRONT MUSTACHIO
Mustachio: Buon Giorno Wedge!
The Flying Pig: Mustachio, you told him if he grew a mustache you would tell him about the Rams too….and then you didn’t tell him
Mustachio: Oh…eh….I meant I would make him into a sandwich. Mrs. Mustachio, eh, she makes the best alien sandwiches.
Wedge: I don’t want to be a sandwich…Is that some sort of earthling custom
The Flying Pig: No! Its definitely not a custom. It’s just gross
Mustachio: No Piggy. Its-ah good. First you slow roast the alien, then you take the alien and you-ah slice him reeeeaaaal thin. My wife is a deli slicer, you know… Then a little cheese, then two minoscolo olives… (Mustachio brings one of his hands to his lips and kisses it)
The Flying Pig: Enough! Tell us about the Rams
Mustachio: Okay…okay…But first let me do an impression for Wedge…
Wedge: Oh, good… I like impressions
A MINUTE PASSES AND WEDGE JUST STARES AT MUSTACHIO WAITING FOR AN IMPRESSION
ANOTHER MINUTE PASSES. MUSTACHIO IS JUST STARING BACK AT WEDGE
Wedge: Okay…looks like no impression. I’m going to go get GPS (turning around)
MUSTACHIO KICKS WEDGE IN THE BACK AND WEDGE FALLLS DOWN
Mustachio: TA-DAH! Cortland Finnegan everyone!
Psychic GPS: (walking in the bathroom) Hey what’s going on in here…Oh there you are Mustachio. When are you going to tell me about the Rams?
Wedge: You too GPS?
Mustachio: Oh look how handsome you all look with your mustaches. I’m going to tell you about the rams later GPS, but first, let me make you into a sandwich, no?
The Flying Pig: An sandwich? He is a piece of electronics equipment? You can’t eat him. Mustachio…What about the Rams!
Psychic GPS: I am slightly offended that Piggy refers to me as a piece of equipment, but I assure you, I cannot be eaten.
Mustachio: My wife, eh, she make an incredible electronic sandwich. First, you take the GPs and you slice him in the deli slicer, my wife can do that, then you bread him and fry him up nice. The you put a little pomodoro sauce and some mozzarella on a bread. Magnifico!
The Flying Pig: Nobody wants to be a sandwich. tell us about the Rams!
Mustachio: Ahhhh. Scusa, Piggy I-ah almost forgot. But primo, can you take me a ride on your helicopter. Like Jeff Fisher, I love the helicopters!
The Flying Pig: I guess we can do that…Get to the choppa!
Psychic GPS: Cohagan!
Wedge: Its not a tumah!
PIGGY, WEDGE, GPS AND MUSTACHIO ARE ON THE HELICOPTER. WEDGE IS FLYING IT.
Mustachio: Que Bella. What a view! It reminds me of the first time I saw Mrs. Mustachio it was 1999. We were in a little village is Southern Italy. I was the butcher’s razor then. It was depressing. He had no facial hair and he only used me to shave his arm pits. I was going to jump off the sink and end my life. But suddenly he ordered some new equipment. And when she arrived…amore! I told her right away. Let get out of this place. Lets go to America. We can go to America where they have a ton of deli meat. You’re going to love it my sweet slicer…And you know what? She came with me. we fell in love and we moved to St. Louis to watch the greatest show on turf. The Rams won the Super Bowl that year and we ate like pigs…eh…scusa Piggy…but then no more Super Bowls. And she left me. (crying) She left me for another razor, a razor with four blades.
The Flying Pig: Okay. Is there something about the Rams in this story
Mustachio: Oh, please Piggy. Let me make you into a Sopressata. I know she will take me back if I bring her a Sopressata.
The Flying Pig: No! The Rams. Now! GPS. Show him what we do with guests in the helicopter that don’t cooperate
Mustachio: Oh no Piggy. Mustachio is your friend . I’m-ah just so lonely since Mrs. Mustachio left me. (wiping his tears) Four blades…Do you know how hard that is to compete with. You get such a smooth shave
Mustachio: But you want the Rams…Mustachio will tell you about the Rams. There is our franchise – Sam Bradford. And by franchise I mean the testa di cazzo we pay all that money too. Sure Bradford looked good early but the last three games he has had a quarterback of under 70 in each game and against Chicago, come la fame, under 40 points!
Mustachio: And worst of all our best wide receiver is out! But the Rams do have Steven Jackson. He is built like a cavallo, but he hasn’t scored a rushing touchdown this season. And against the Dolphins…well…you guys are not too shabby at stopping the run eh
Mustachio: To be perfectly honest Piggy, we are not very good on offense. 29th in yards per game, 23rd in points per game. Its not very pretty. But on defense. We are 14th in yards against and 9th in points against (raising his eyebrow) not too bad eh. We got one guy with 6 sacks so far. Robert Quinn (clapping his hands together) He is a beast.
THE HELICOPTER LANDS AT THE STADIUM BEFORE THE GAME
The Flying Pig: Okay. That will do. We will keep our end of the bargain and wear our mustaches throughout the game.
Psychic GPS: For your trouble (handing a small ham to Mustachio and whispering) Don’t tell Piggy
The Flying Pig: Go Dolphins