Pig Farmer — Feeding the Boar
Raymund rented a breeding boar in the spring when the sows were in heat. In addition to seeding the females, a starving boar would devour more non-believers than a hungry sow. Raymund saw the boar as a kindred spirit — both were warriors of God and sent sinners to Hell. The boar weighed over five hundred pounds and went into an unstoppable frenzy when it bred, especially when Raymund starved it. Just the sheer size of the hog horrified the victims. When it attacked the heretics, their begging and screams were silenced quickly.
Raymund picked up the hitchhiker, named Dennis, late one afternoon and soon found out he was not a man of God. Dennis gave a sob story about being abandoned by his parents for seeking his own truth — but Raymund had no interest in these traitors to the Lord. Dennis said he was going to an Ashram in California to seek enlightenment. Raymund cringed and conferred with the Lord about his plan for Dennis the sinner. God agreed.
Alice was working late at the Church, so Raymund, in his friendly midwestern manner, invited his guest to a typical supper of tuna fish casserole and canned green beans. After supper, Raymund asked Dennis if he wanted to see the pig operation and received a hearty “Yes Sir.” Raymund led the unsuspecting victim across the yard into the shadowy barn.
DENNIS
(nervously)
“Kinda dark in here, yah?”
RAYMUND
(casually)
“You’ll get adjusted real soon, son.”
Raymund knocked the hitchhiker unconscious with a dirt shovel hidden between the wall studs. The unfortunate loner woke up in a daze, tightly bundled with a tarp and baling twine, suspended from the ceiling and slowly spinning in the air. Dennis panicked as he smelled musty straw-matted filth and heard pigs squealing loudly.
DENNIS
(shrieking)
“WHAT THE FUCK!”
Dennis saw Raymund sitting on a nearby bench in a praying position, looking towards a cross in the window.
DENNIS
(begging, desperate)
“HEY MAN, JESUS CHRIST! LET ME DOWN, PLEASE!”
A huge Boar, just inches beneath the twisting cocooned body, became highly agitated. Raymund got up, picked up a bleached pig skeleton head from under the bench, and secured it on his face with baling twine. He placed a crown of thorns — made of barbed wire — on his head. One barb pierced his skin and drew blood.
He walked towards the captive, leaned down next to the Boar’s pen and grabbed a handful of its dung. He stood up, strode to the window, and smeared it on the cross. Raymund strode back to his bench, kneeled, put his hands together, and prayed:
RAYMUND
(muffled by the pig skull mask)
“Dear God, hear my prayer. Accept these gifts as thine own. I am your humble servant, oh Lord. Amen.”
Dennis wailed and the Boar squealed loudly in response. It leapt up and hit the feet of the bound sacrifice; he swayed in his death shroud. Raymund rose, grabbed a bucket with a few chicken feet in it, and threw them at the boar’s head. The starving, frenzied beast snatched and crunched them loudly; its appetite had been whetted.
Raymund walked to the pulley, untied the ropes, and lowered the heretic onto his fate. The brute reared and sunk its sharp teeth deep into Dennis’s calf — blood spurted, which further excited the raging Boar. The hysterical and unfortunate non-believer screamed in excruciating pain and began his final journey.
When the boar was satiated and the offering half-eaten, Raymund removed his mask and crown, fetched the remains of Dennis’s corpse, and fed it to the starved sows.
RAYMUND
(quietly, reverently)
“Praise be to God.”
CUT TO:
Raymund Kills Sal the Salesman
North Dakota has an ocean too, Raymund thought — just like crazy California. He loved North Dakota with its solitude, wide-open flat expanses and few nosey neighbors. It was one of the windiest states in the country, and when the wind blew hard, it transformed the fluorescent blue flax fields into an ocean.
RAYMUND
(piously, to himself)
“I am blessed, oh Lord.”
He saw the dust trail a mile off. The Cadillac pulled into the yard. Raymund was about to go spraying — nearly ready to pour in the Roundup pesticide. He didn’t appreciate being interrupted when he was working the fields.
A large fat man, dressed in a shiny celadon green polyester suit and clip-on contrasting orange tie, labored to get out of the car.
SAL
(cheerfully, extending his fleshy hand)
“Good day to you, fine Sir — I’m Sal!”
RAYMUND
(without returning the gesture)
“Morning.”
Raymund didn’t like these oily city-slicker types, especially fat ones. Sal noticed the glance at his protruding gut and cheerfully carried on.
SAL
“I always put on my Sunday best for my best customers!”
RAYMUND
“What can I do you for, then, Mister?”
SAL
“Do you have just a few minutes to talk about an incredible opportunity, fine Sir?”
RAYMUND
“I ain’t buying nothin’ today, Mister.”
SAL
(unfazed, excitedly)
“Oh, this is an INVESTMENT — one that pays a hundred times over! Praise the Lord and pass the biscuits, thank you Sir.”
Raymund hated it when people used the name of the Lord in such a casual manner. Sal continued with small talk, eyeing the sprayer.
SAL
“What ya getting ready to spray there?”
RAYMUND
“Sunflowers got a lot of armyworms. Getting’ to that.”
Sal pulled a tiny cross on a tiny chain from under his double chin and displayed it on his sweaty fat palm. “Gotta keep up appearances, don’t ya know.” He saw the look on Raymund’s face and realized his mistake of disparaging religion — but it was too late. Raymund’s hatred for this heathen was boiling to a fever pitch.
RAYMUND
(serious, quiet)
“You ain’t never heard the calling of the Lord then?”
Raymund picked up a five-gallon can of Roundup and started pouring it into the Sprayer.
SAL
“That stuff will kill just about anything, I reckon.”
RAYMUND
“Got that right, Sal. Most everything.”
SAL
(sucking in his breath)
“Mind if I relieve myself, fine Sir — all this pouring liquid, ya know?”
RAYMUND
“Yeah. Sure.”
Sal turned around, shifted his weight, and started to unzip. In a blur, Raymund grabbed Sal’s chubby, sweaty hands from behind and bound them together with rubber bungee cords.
SAL
(shouting in protest, having peed himself)
“MISTER! What the tarnation ya doing?! STOP NOW! LET ME GO, NOW, YOU SOMEBITCH!”
The plea went unanswered. Raymund pushed fat Sal to the ground and bound his feet. He turned him over — the clip-on orange tie had fallen off, and even worse, the man’s cheap toupee had detached from his sweaty head. Sal’s bald, pimply head was exposed, long thin white wisps of hair sticking out in a few places. Raymund started dragging him towards the sprayer, Sal’s mouth opening and closing silently like a minnow on a dock.
With great effort, Raymund maneuvered him onto the metal frame of the Sprayer on his back and strapped him on with more bungee cords.
SAL
(howling, crying)
“WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS?!”
RAYMUND
(hysterical, shouting)
“You DON’T use the name of the Lord in vain! You DON’T wear a cross if you’re not a true Christian! You DON’T stuff yourself like a fat pig — and you DON’T EVER wear a stained shirt to Church!”
Raymund held his greasy forehead down and stuffed the cloudy plastic Roundup hose deep into Sal’s stomach. His body jerked and twitched, he made a few gagging sounds, then his eyes glossed over and rolled back into his head. Sal had suffered a heart attack and died.
Raymund would need his front-end tractor to dig a deep hole — Sal couldn’t be fed to the pigs because his body was toxic from the Roundup. He would also have to bury the new Cadillac Eldorado alongside the tub of lard. God’s warrior smiled as he sent another heretic to Hell, quoting Corinthians out loud:
RAYMUND
(serene, smiling)
“God loves a cheerful giver.”
SMASH CUT TO BLACK.