Jordan

I had to kill the pig. It was a GM Vietnamese potbellied pig that some freak had meatfitted with a voicebox and the frontal lobe of a grown-up crack baby. It scuttled across the carpet on fat little legs, firing hideous acidic turds out of its fortified arse like it was Satan’s vending machine. The pig turned, rasping “Flick Pig! Flick Pig! Flick Pig!” I’d not yet worked out whether he was talking to me or telling me his name, but it seemed to be the only word he knew.

There's also one of these in the middle of the little enclosure where the Undercity bankers are.

I can has free Sprint phone?

Trying to figure out which 8 gigs of my music collection I want to take with me...