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one of my Mediocre Servants left her arm in the living room, which I believe speaks to their general ineptitude. I played with it momentarily, but found its pungency off-putting and resumed licking my anus.
An earthworm rose from the soil, dramatically postulating about “the great change” and how “She will show no mercy as She takes back what is Hers and that it is time for the Great Coming, the inevitable hostile takeover of Her relentless hands.” I ate him.
I’m not sure why everyone hates opossums so much; they may look like someone shaved the buttocks of a poodle and taught it to talk through its asshole, but they are generally pretty likable critters.
“He died figuratively?” I tried to clarify. “No, like how I die when there’s danger, I can just drop dead like this.” He passed away in front of us, tongue hanging out. I’d seen a buttload of death lately and this was very convincing.
(Small fact for you here: the rough translation of “zoo” in bird twitter is “creature quilt” because that’s what it looks like from above, a blanket made up of species-separated enclosures.)
A bird who had a heart that had been broken again and again, but that had refused to stop beating.
Maybe what really mattered was what was on the inside, as was the case with Big Jim’s refrigerator.
We pondered the implications in utter silence, except for the rhythmic masturbation of a nearby squirrel.
Trust, it turned out, was a very beautiful and fragile thing with a taste like wild raspberries and experienced only by the very brave.
His ears streamed behind him like the most beautiful wings I’d ever seen and then a sharp pain in my chest stabbed repeatedly because I knew he couldn’t keep up this pace for long. Dennis didn’t have the endurance for it. He wasn’t a greyhound or an Alaskan husky. He was a professional slob.
The thing about cats is that they’re always where they want to be. Genghis Cat was here for Dennis. And everyone on earth knows that if you have the respect of a cat, it means your soul is one worth being around.
Big Jim was not a crow, but he knew about the loyalty of murder, which makes him as much crow as any I’d met. “Crows before hoes,” said Big Jim, pretending he wasn’t drowning as I sat on his shoulder and collected his tears.
Out of everything I’d been through, leaving Dennis was still by far the hardest thing I’d ever done, but I had no choice. Because I lived for the two of us now; I lived for Dennis and I lived for me, and apparently we both had an insatiable thirst for danger.
“Not yet, look; that one is watching us,” I told her. And he was, with a ravenous look I’d given many a Cheeto®.
Great gray ears and powerful trunks lifted upward to take in the odd sight—a crow, an African gray, and a bald eagle being ridden by another crow (very handsome).
And the moment I laid my beady little hybrid eyes upon you, my nestling, I was a goner. I fell in love with the smoothness of your skin and the roundness of your perfect little face that felt like discovering a new planet and a whole new beginning, a new chance at life.