He dug and dug and told them when they came that he was digging an altar hole to worship the Upside Down Devil (who seemed to be a mash-up of a flop-limbed, booze ensorcelled cartoon goat-god [complete with staggering hard on] and an old photograph of a Chinese war widow circa 1927 [covered in blood dark jelly, in mid twirl for the camera].)
You’re not digging for gold, you’re not digging for worms, you’re not digging for a place to hide a body? they asked asked out of the side of their mouths opposite their shotguns.
No, no, no, I only dig for the devil and I never find him cause he’s always upside down and stomping his feet right beneath mine and when I stop, he stops and then I can’t hear where he goes off to, but I figure he must jump in the air and fly off on those wings he’s always picking at with his great big claws.
That weren’t a sturdy enough excuse to use as body armor.