There is some hesitation in the crowd. "Don't kiss the pig," warns a black-clad newbie girl who somehow escaped delurking.
Her bleary-eyed partner chuckles, glancing at the stack of bingo cards sitting at GT's feet, and shakes off the girl's cautionary grip. "I'm going to get a card," he says, running a hand through his indie-boy locks.
"It's not just the pig head," says the newbie girl in hushed agitation, "it's all the people who have kissed the pig before you."
"Aaah, c'mon," says the boy, heading off toward the bingo table. "He won't force me to kiss the pig. I'll give him money or something."
"YOU MUST KISS THE PIG!" shouts GodTodd. A brief pause follows. "No, no, it doesn't cost a damn thing," says GT in consternation. "What's wrong with you? Just kiss the pig. Kiss the pig. C'mon, c'mon kiss the pig. We'll take your picture. We'll take a picture of you kissing the pig. Just kiss the little piggy. KISS THE PIG! YOU MUST KISS THE PIG! Everyone's watching."
Eventually, the boy returns with a bingo card, much to the newbie girl's disgust. It's hard to resist a man like bartender GodTodd.