He leads me to the speaker's stand, an I am dumbfounded. I am so scared, what I am thinking is, I got to pee, but I ain't gonna say it this time. Nope. So I just says, "I hope it is good," an stepped back away from the microphone.

"Wonderful," the president shouts when the applause dies down. "And now, let the tasting begin!"

All over the auditorium you can hear the sounds of cans poppin an bottles bein opened, an then you can see the people drinkin the new CokeCola. At first there is some ooohs and ahhs, an a few people be lookin at each other an noddin their heads. But then there come a cry from one of the little kids they has invited, says, "Ugggh! This shit is awful!" an spits it out. Then the other kids start doin the same thing, an in no time, seemed like everbody be spittin the New Coke on the floor an gaggin an cussin. Some people even spit it on other people, an this began to cause a disturbance out in the audience, an all of a sudden seems like a fight or somethin break out. Pretty soon, the people be thowin the cans an bottles of New Coke at us an at each other, too, an you can see all sorts of fists flyin an kickin an gougin, an tables turned over an all. Some of the ladies' dresses be ripped off, an they gone screamin out into the night. Cameras be flashin an the TV people is tryin to capture it all on film. Me an the president an Alfred an Mrs. Hopewell are just standin on the stage, dodgin the bottles an cans, an we are sort of dumbstruck. Somebody shouts, "Call the police!" But I am lookin out at the crowd, an the police seem to be in the middle of everthin themselfs.

After a little bit, the whole thing spills out onto the street, an we hear a lot of sirens an so on. The president an me an Alfred an Mrs. Hopewell try to make our way out, but we get caught up in the thing, too, an it ain't long fore Mrs. Hopewell's dress is ripped off. We is covered with Coke an shit, an also with stuff from cupcakes an Moon Pies, which the CokeCola Company has thoughtfully handed out with the New Coke. Somebody shouts that the mayor of Atlanta has declared "a state of emergency," on account of there is a riot, an afore it is all over, they has busted out all the winders on Peachtree Street an looted most of the stores, an a few people is now settin fire to the buildins.

We is all standin under the awnin outside the CokeCola headquarters when somebody recognize me, shouts, "There he is!" an before I know it, about a thousan people commenced chasin me, includin the president of CokeCola an Alfred an even Mrs. Hopewell, who is only wearin her underpants! This ain't somethin I got to think about long! I start runnin fast as I can, across the Interstate an up hills an side roads, rocks an bottles landin all around me. Shit, seems like I been here before. Anyhow, I outrunned the mob, cause that is my specialty, but let me say this: It was scary!

Pretty soon, I found mysef on a ole two-lane highway leadin I knew not where, but along come a pair of headlights an I stuck out my thumb. The headlights stopped, an lo an behole, it was a pickup truck. I ast the driver where he was headed, an he say, "North, to West Virginia," but that if I want a ride, I gotta ride in the back, account of he's got a passenger in the front. I look over at the passenger, an damn if it weren't a great big ole sow pig, must of weighed four hundrit pounds, settin there gruntin an pantin.

"This is a registered Poland China swine," the feller say. "Name's Gurtrude. Gonna make me rich one day, so she gotta ride in the cab. But you can bunk out in the back, there. Them other hogs is just common swine. Might root you around a little, but they don't mean no harm."

Anyhow, I got on the truck an away we went. They was about a dozen of them pigs in there with me, oinkin an squeelin an gruntin an all, but after a while they settled down an give me some livin space. Pretty soon it begun to rain. What I am thinkin is, I have had my ups an downs.

About sunup that next mornin the pickup done pull up at a truck stop, an the driver gets out an comes around to the back.

"Say," he says, "you sleep okay?"

"Pretty good," I answer. At this point I am lyin under a hog that is twice as big as me, but at least it kept me warm.

"Let's go in an get a cup of coffee an somethin to eat," he says. "By the way, my name's McGivver."

Outside the restaurant is a newspaper box with a copy of The Atlanta Constitution, headline says: MORON WOULD-BE INVENTOR CAUSES RIOT IN CITY.

The story reads somethin like this:

A sometime Alabama encyclopedia salesman who professed knowledge of a new formula for the CokeCola Company caused one of the most violent riots in Atlanta's history yesterday when his scam was uncovered before several thousand of this city's most prominent citizens.

The incident broke out at about 7 P.M. when Forrest Gump, an itinerant tinkerer and peddler of phony reference books, was introduced by the president of the CokeCola Company as having conceived a new brand of the nation's favorite soft drink.

Witnesses said that when the new concoction was served to the audience for the first time, it induced a violent reaction in all present, which included the mayor and his wife, as well as various council members and their spouses and corporate chairpeople of all descriptions.

Police called to the scene described the melee as "uncontrollable" and told of horrible depredations inflicted on Atlanta's most fashionable citizens, including the ripping off of women's gowns and dresses and fighting and throwing objects of all descriptions.

At some point, the affair spilled out into the streets and turned into a riot, causing extensive damage in the chic downtown area. One source prominent in Atlanta's high society who wished to be unnamed said: "It was the wust thing I ever seen since Lester Maddox begun handin out them axe handles at his restaurant back in sixty-four."

Little is known of the perpetrator, Mr. Gump, who witnesses said fled the scene shortly after the brouhaha started. Sources said that Gump, thought to be in his early forties, was once a football player at the University of Alabama.

An assistant football coach at Georgia Tech who wished to remain anonymous recalled that "Yeah, I remember that Gump feller. Wadn't too smart, but the sombitch sure could run."

Police have put out an all-points bulletin for Gump, and the CokeCola Company, headquartered here, has offered a $1 million reward for his capture, dead or alive....

Anyhow, I kind of hid the newspaper an we went on into the restaurant an set down, an Mister McGivver begun tellin me about his farmin operation in West Virginia.

"It ain't too big right now," he says, "but someday, I'm gonna be the greatest hog raiser in the world."

"Yeah?" I says. "That's nice."

"Nice—shit on nice, Gump. It's a dirty, low-down, smelly business, but there's money in it. 'Bring home the bacon' and all that crap. You just gotta be flexible. The hogs don't take a whole lot of work, but there are other problems to contend with."

"Such as what?" I ast.

"Well, for one thing, the people in Coalville, the little town where my farm is, they all the time complainin about the smell. Now, I admit that hogs smell, but the hell with that, Gump. Business is business. I got a thousand hogs and all they do is eat and shit all day. Of course it's gonna smell. I got used to it, why can't they?"

Anyhow, he goes on for a while about the hog bidness, an then he ast me about mysef.

"Say," he says, "was you involved in that disturbance in Atlanta last night? It looked like some kind of riot was goin on."

"Well, not exactly," I says, which I guess was sort of a lie, but I just didn't want to get into all that right now.