Joined: 21 Nov 2008
Location: somewhere someplace driving yer drunk ass around
|Posted: Thu Oct 22, 2015 1:01 pm Post subject: It's a Good Day to Be a Buzzard
|With their two main flock culling adversaries Sheriff WTF Chuck and Billy Bender dead, Don the Nuclear Buzzard and Bingo Buzzard's flock multiplied like rats.
The Pour and Whore's 140 inch UDTV was on and every patron, employee and whore were glued to the set:
When the Alpha Dog predators die, two possibilities: the deceased Alpha Dogs are replaced by younger hungrier ultra violent killers. The second possibility is the prey is now the predators.
Don and Bingo's flocks rule this day.
The TV reporter narrates from the Channel 13 news chopper, high above US Highway 666. His name: Nelson "Bud" Nelson.
Nelson: Ladies and gentlemen, its all part of Nature's Grand Scheme: Killing and eating, killed and eaten. The buzzards stay away from Diablo after the Governor called out the National Guard and shot every buzzard in sight. Don and Bingo's flocks hide in the mountains until the heat was off.
As soon as the Governor declared the crisis over, the ravenous birds rained down ready to eat anything and everything in sight. A few brave souls take potshots at the flocks flying over town. They were dispatched with surgicalimpunity.
Some of the buzzards hunt tasty grub along US Highway 666.
Spotting their newly expired dinner, swooping down, landing on the scorching blacktop, gorging their nearly unquenchable gizzards, struck by the vapid laconic texting teenage driver piloting the family minivan slamming into the flock with a loud dull thwap, an explosion of blood and feathers, the victors become victims, more buzzards joining the party, the texting teenager realizing his deadly mistake, panics, over-compensates, crossing the center-line into the path of a semi truck full of chickens on their way to the slaughterhouse. Whom am I to judge? Let's just say there will be plenty of God's creatures eating well, or well, being eaten tonight. We'll leave you with this unbelievably bloody scene. My name is Nelson "Bud" Nelson. Good night.
Of course, all this scholarly discourse goes out the fucking window when you and yer crew of Besties are in the middle of US Highway 666 devouring the carcass of the depressed and newly compressed young man who jumped off the freeway overpass into morning rush hour traffic. It's a dangerous way to eat. Middle lane, beaks deep into the freshly tenderized meat, cars slamming on their brakes, most swerving to avoid the scrum, a few driven by buzzard hating maniacs, coming for you at 80 mph to take you out, rubberneckers, secondary crashers, traffic, police and news crew helicopters, and crews of your own kind trying to swoop in on your din-din! There's absolutely no time to contemplate WHY, because your plate is full, your heart is pounding in your feathered chest, and you are completely self realized and alive!
After every molecule of meat is devoured, and you're safely back soaring high in the wild blue yonder, one's mind may wander to the weighty issues of the day, but for right now, FORGET ABOUT IT!!