Pork Bomb

“Holy smokey joe,” cries the reporter, “look at the size of this crater that a hunk of pork made when it fell from the sky.” 

“There was an yuge explosion, and bits of bacon flew everywhere,” says an eyewitness.

Kablam! Additional pork lands in the town square, where we are standing. I get hit with ham-hock shrapnel. The worst part about this is that I don’t even like the taste of pork.

“Evacuate the village — more pork is falling!” yells the reporter.

A family of four is hastening by. The daughter screams: “Oh, mom, a little piece of pork fell on my dolly.”

At this moment, I instruct you, dear reader, to open up the cage and let the crows out. “Crows will eat anything,” I say. 

So the crows then clean up our town.