SAN FRANCISCO, CA - A prize pig nearly got poked by a fat fucker at a farm just Northwest of San Francisco earlier today, but a dry Italian salami put an end to that, according to a witness.
Robert "Bob" Kuleto, already shaped like an enormous Seckel pear, was fattening himself up with leftover bread and Parmesan cheese rinds on the porch of his farmhouse when he decided he certainly would like a nice glass of Tuscan Chianti Classico, the witness said.
His assistant, Neil Hunter, on the other hand, suggested a Prosecco Rosé from Veneto might be a better match for the Parmesan cheese.
"Actually," said the witness, "he'd have been better off with a box of cheap 'quaffing wine' like White Zinfandel, what with all that leftover bread to consider."
Nevertheless, he said, the two remained unable to resolve their conflict, but "Bob" had a suggestion.
"So, Neil and 'Bob' ended up making a bet," said the witness.
According to the terms, if "Bob" liked the Chianti pairing better, Hunter would have to have sex with Pancetta, his next prize sow in line for slaughter; if he preferred the Prosecco Rosé, he would have sex with the pig himself.
"He seemed a little concerned when he tried the Parmesan with the Chianti - it's a pretty good match," the witness recalled. "Bob" had swirled the wine by moving the base of the glass in a small circle for far too long before finally lifting it, savoring the aroma of cherries and violets, then taking a sip.
"He cut the cheese," the witness said, "with the wine's dryness."
Cleansing his palate first, he then repeated virtually the same procedure with the Prosecco Rosé, catching hints of anise and flowers in the nose, tasting summer fruits as his eyes began to sparkle. Then, the wine's bright acidity and creamy mouthfeel began to interplay with the cheese's sharpness and fattiness, and he really bubbled over.
Smiling, he rose to shake Hunter's hand.
"I guess you win!" he said, grinning. "That was fantastic! Now, where is ol' Pancetta?
"Oh! There you are! Come here, girl!"
Fortunately for Pancetta, "Bob's" sopreseto soppressatta. Though he tried putting it in a jar of olive oil for some time, due to his advanced age, it had already lost more than thirty percent of its previous mass, and he was unable to make good on his own bet.
Just for kicks, Hunter went ahead and stimulated the appreciative sow's vulva orally anyway, enjoying her with a zesty Fume Blanc.
"I'd have joined in," said the witness, "but I don't drink wine."