if a finn poos in the woods...
against my better slothful instinct i went for a run last night. i was running out of light and when the trail changed from field to woods i never saw the rock, or the root, or the small berry, that caused me to twist my ankle; i just felt pain that flipped my vision to black and white.
- oh that was a bad one - i muttered through clenched teeth, hopping down the trail until i was forced to stop, doubled-up in pain. - oh motherfucker shitfuckcunt that was a bad one fuckmehard. when I straightened up i saw a doe standing in a tangle of multiflora rose 10yds away. she looked at me with wide liquid eyes.
- jesusFUCK that hurts.
- i imagine it does.
- i mean, like nailed in the nuts hurt.
- i wouldn't know.
- i wouldn't either. i'm just hypothesisin'. hey, are you one of them magic harts? like, will you give me 3 wishes or superpowers?
- i'm afraid not. she turned away. - wait. can I ask you a question that's been bugging me for a long time? she turned back to face me and cocked her head. - okay. why it is that the hunters out here never see deer but I see you guys EVrywhere – you're always jumpin through the woods and when i round a corner in the fields there's a whole group of you standing there staring at me. why is that?
- well, you're rather a celebrity in this area. a local attraction so to speak.
- me? really? - i considered this for a moment - it's because stuart said i ran like a gazelle isn't it. so i'm part of your pack. she snorted. i'm gonna say it was a sneeze.
- hardly. no, we know you by your name, Two-Legs Who Leaves Improbably Large Poos in Our Beds.
- oh. listen, i'm sorry about that.
- when we discovered the first one we thought the giants of old were returning, but then She Who Dances on Three Hoofs saw you entering and leaving one of our bedding areas. she called a gathering so we could see what you left. how DO you do that? it would seem very painful.
- it's not so bad. it's mostly fruit.
- i see. well, the acorns are good this time of year.
- i'll keep that in mind. she bowed her head, turned and began to pick her way through the underbrush.
- hey, take care with the hunters, eh?
- take care with that ankle – she echoed.
during my cooldown walk, i tried an acorn. it wasn't very good. but this morning my ankle doesn't hurt at all and there's not a spot of bruising.
7 comments:
You know she'll be in a pie some time later in the month, probably one of yours.
That's probably what they were looking at in the poo.
'Say Dances with Three Hooves, doesn't this human waste remind you of Stamps Like Cher a little? Haven't seen her in a while, you?'
'Nope. Heard she moved to Littlerock with Snorts like a Lohan.'
'Hummm.'
Glad your foot is okay though, that could have been nasty.
when i was @ univ, sir ed of dooool sustained a serious injury whilst bowling, occasioning the observation that Bowling is a Very Dangerous Sport, which has since been adapted to many other walks of life.
therefore, Football and Running and Upgrading Your OS and Being Venison are very dangerous sports.
Stamps Like Cher. hrrrrr.
it's fucking friday (also a v dangerous sport).
Velly, we are off into town to find a jumper. Velly I say.
i would like someone to help me off the balcony, but i do not think that is the type of jumper you're referring to.
Town on a Friday is a very dangerous sport too, best avoided I feel.
yes, there was a movie about that. omagh it was called??
Har, check your mail.
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