Monday, November 07, 2005

Winter Strays

It's a bunched up, twitchy feeling, to be hunted by winter strays. "This shouldn't be happening!" That's what the twitches are saying. The bunched up feeling is in seldom-used muscles, so lulled by generations of alternatively powered locomotion that they don't even fully comprehend the peril they're in, and know only that they're weary.

It was supposed to have been settled, and long ago at that--we have the giant brains and opposable thumbs, which really should trump canine jaws and the traction four legs and claws do afford. Except that every once in a while it doesn't.

"Goddamn spay and neuter your pets you assholes!!!"

This is what you hysterically shriek as you stumble across frozen, empty streets and scramble, snotty and weeping down culverts.

Then the winter strays catch you and eat your face off because they've had a lot more practice scrambling down culverts.

And while it's happening, you really, really wish it wasn't, 'cause having your face eaten off by winter strays actually isn't much fun at all.

You say, "Oh, no!!! I wish this wasn't happening--I really wish winter strays weren't eating my face off." (Or some variant thereof, probably with cursing.)

And then at some point, when you have very little face left, you ask a higher power for assistance. But receive no response because you forgot to say "please". Which is perfectly understandable since it's very difficult to remember to be polite when winter strays are eating your face off--but still, rules are rules.

Then the winter strays finish you off with a snarly, throat ripping frenzy and your last coherent thought is what a bunched up, twitchy day this has turned out to be.

You'll notice I'm saying "you" a lot. Know why? I'll tell you why. It's because I'm Latigo Flint and I do an astounding number of push-ups every morning--on my knuckles, not my palms--and when winter strays try to eat my face off, I tear them apart with my bare hands and eat their hearts.


(And I suppose it helps that I live in Los Angeles where the streets don't freeze, thus negating the four-legged traction advantage... but mostly it's the push-ups.)

10 Comments:

At 11:54 PM, Blogger Lightning Bug's Butt said...

Push-ups. Yeah, they help. But why not give the strays the business end of a six-gun?

 
At 11:59 PM, Blogger Wulfenjarl said...

AND!! You shuck iron.

And conquer baristas.

Never forget it.

 
At 6:32 AM, Blogger Monkeypotpie said...

Up here in the wilds of Wisconsin we always carry cheese in our pockets, just for that reason. Winter strays can't resist a good block of cheddar.

 
At 6:45 AM, Anonymous The Macek Collective said...

Strays know that the face is the tenderest of meat. At least on humans.

 
At 11:09 AM, Blogger Junkie70 said...

I never leave home without my fencing mask Latigo. Besides, I'm pretty sure the strays haven't formulated a plan around this defense. hen they do, I'll keep your readers posted, if by miracle, they leave my eyes intact.

 
At 12:04 PM, Blogger OldHorsetailSnake said...

And, of course, to the escaped pythons, who find winter stray to be one of the easiest food to get, since there are so many of them.

If only pythons didn't taste like chicken....

 
At 2:39 PM, Blogger Blog ho said...

the strays in LA are male prostitutes. i'm told.

 
At 4:11 PM, Blogger Peter said...

Culverts and extreme cold are to be avoided when the winter stray season is upon us.

 
At 5:22 PM, Blogger greta said...

Funnily enough, just this week I have tamed a local stray, using nothing but my sassy Australian charm and a pack of beefy Schmackos. He only tried to tear my face off three times.
Here's the little scamp now.
I am thinking of naming him after you.

 
At 11:40 PM, Blogger Latigo Flint said...

Because, and keep this to yourself LBB, they are actually only authentic replicas. This world has gone all sissy and cruel--equally.

This is true Wulf--I do shuck iron. And faster than anyone has before. (The rest is open to interpretation I suppose.)

You are as wise as you are curious Monkeypotpie. For your foresight and cheese I salute you! Salute you, do you hear?!!!

Oh they're wicked clever Macek, the strays of winter are. Wicked clever I say.

Hmm Junkie, that's a pretty good tactic... for a while. But if I know winter strays, and trust me, I know winter strays, they'll find a way in. They always find a way in.

Hey Old Hoss!!! It's actually that chicken tastes like python! I'm disappointed; I thought if anyone would know that it would've been you.

Doesn't mean they can't eat faces off with the worst of them Ho.

True Peter. Can't be avoided all the time though. The culverts call to us. They always have.

It would be a great honor Greta. That fierce little bugger almost has the squint right and everything. (He needs to work on the underlying pain and anguish of course. His squint is currently a little too pensive and not tortured enough.)

 

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