It’s anybody’s guess whether either the filthy pig or the stupid cow will pretend to be embarrassed tomorrow as they clomp softly back to their respective pastures, blinded by hangovers and trying to piece together their spotty memories of last night’s events.
Nobody can say for sure whether they’ll be condemned or even cast out for their fatty forbidden affair. All we can know for sure is that, when the moon is but a sliver in the sky and the gates are left open by an inattentive or sympathetic farmer, these star-crossed, genetically incompatible lovers will meet again.
And it will be glorious.1
1. By which we mean “yucky.”