A razorback is a feral pig.
Those of you not from around here probably don’t spend a lot of time thinking about this. We locals know well, better than I certainly want to, that the razorback pig is the mascot of various University of Arkansas sports teams.
Wikipedia claims that in 2008, an estimated four million feral hogs caused around $800 million property damage. The cite for this is a New York Times article the title of which mentions “400 pounds of fury.”
Here’s a clip describing a movie apparently made in 1984: “A wild, vicious pig terrorizes the Australian outback. The first victim is a small child who is killed . . .” Don’t think I’ll be ordering that one up on Netflicks.
Goodsearch tells me a razorback is also some kind of equipment you can mount on a sniper rifle. More about this I really don’t want to know.
Can’t you just picture the computer that designs my algorithm? ::scratching its hard-drive:: “This chick likes wild pigs, leopard rugs, and rifles? Check! Stuff about safaris, on its way!”
Before dawn this morning, yet again, Bugs started making claw-launch gestures. I fended him off with my Cesar pointing thing and then, when he persisted, with indications toward the squirt-bottle (sorry Jackson). So I’m still fine over here –
– but, just so you know, in between episodes I had a dream that Bugs was a little cat-sized razorback. A feral baby-killer rifle-app.
Bugs is glued to OutTV at the moment, meditating on two little bunnies in the front yard. Here’s the attitude I don’t think is happening:
“Gosh, Mom. I’m so sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”