The Fusalario Hog

You never know who you’ll run into on the streets of New Avalon… or what’ll happen to them.

Years ago, I met the Hog; the crazy guy used to park cars outside the Echoes of Avalon Arena. He never scratched one, or peeled off a logo; the Hog was ridiculously honest. But even more impressive was his ear: from the parking lot, the guy would grit his teeth if he heard the bass was out of tune or if some idiot had plugged a 16-ohm plug into an 8-ohm input on an amp head… whatever that means.

I was waiting for the drummer from Whispers From Another World, who had ordered some special goodies from me. I was fucking freezing, almost pissing myself with the cold, when the Hog came up to me and offered me a swig of Sëlkensen. I’d never tried that stuff before. The Hog said it was vodka, but I tasted paraffin… and don’t ask me how I know what paraffin tastes like.

Anyway, when the drummer showed up, the Hog instantly told him that the bassist was a fourteenth of an octave off and that the guitarist was gonna blow the amp if he kept sticking his thingy in the wrong hole… and he wasn’t just talking about the instrument.

Four atomic joints, two more bottles of Sëlkensen, and a few mitochondrial coke toots later, the three of us were on stage sound-checking, singing Highway to Hell, and the Hog was no longer parking cars: he was now the stage manager for Whispers From Another World.

What a legend, the Fusalario Hog, dude oh.