Monster Spank reminded me that in all the hubub I forgot to pick up my creepy critters at the Taxidermist's. These are the two furry scoundrels I found mucking about around my shed in the woods last time I was there. I successfully hunted, shot and murdered them and wanted to memorialize my kills in stuffed formation. I must go the Taxidermist's today to pick them up and mount them above my fireplace in the shed. They are sure to enhance my stay deep in these haunted boo-woods.
48 comments:
Oh the buffoons try! They try to foul up the fun but they will not succeed! Congratulations on your kills MM. Mighty fine shotwork.
I was looking for my brothers and I see here that you have killed them. At first I was sad but now, I realize, their lives were worthless and amounting to nothing. I am glad they can at least serve as decoration in your shed.
My kitty is perched high atop my donkey. They move in unison.
I heart creepy critters.
I am still watching from the telephone pole, MM.
Furry rotten meats and darkness.
The woods are scary if you are truly alone.
Anonymous, the woods are not scary if you can embrace your darkened inner core. I can.
gothra
I love you anonymously
that is good anonymous as I only love anonymously. I like to wear an executioner's mask.
I like to execute. I am an executive.
these critters display their disloyalty to nature haughtily. They deserved slaughter MM. Looking at them I want to scratch around in some wood chips, lifting my legs up high and turning to and fro, do you know what I mean? I will dig and slither, creating a good lay nest where I will view the departed, obnoxious iconry. I feel the pulse of the forest this way.
Tomorrow I will bring a bag of wood chips to the beige and scatter the area around my pen with cedar. I think I will need 2 bags. The silver wine box bag will be chilled to the appropriate temperature and stored in the overhead compartment. Did you know the silver wine bag is referred to on the street as a "space bag?" Picnic time.
I covet your space bag FB. do not think poorly of me for this weakness.
Krix, covetousnous is encouraged, as are sloth, buggery and debauchery. Fairy, I love your to and fro moves in the woodchips. I can see you darting about with leopard-like intentions. I am moving my legs into right-angled format in honor of you. I am squatting and walking widely with arms waving. The dance performs itself.
Note: when the space bag is consumed it can be turned into a sarong, or doo-rag, or diaper, etc. Handy, handy, handy!!
Does it cause weight loss? Remember those silver weight loss pants you could buy on tv? And ambervision?
I would like to get one of those space bags. I am seeking transient liminality. The space bag will confuse onlookers, I will become of time and not of space.
100% C1alis free gift Leroy coltsfoot. My spacebag decontrol earthmove middleberry.
I think Quazar thinks you have his space bag FB. I will try to explain that it belongs to you.
The space bag, when combined with sun, can induce the loss of fluids + tan! Good thinking MM. Combined with a lower back elastic stretch band the svelteness is an option for all!
Quazar I hope you and Quark will reveal more language. I am not up-to-date as they say and am bastardizing and cannibalizing your vocabulary for my own shallow ends. I cannot stop.
Quazar!! Listen up ham sandwick! earn money from home! space bag no pleas.
I Didn't Wait Any Longeer! Re:FYI! Good for Your Lifee! Space Bag New Meedz.
Cloudy flagrant Rolex b()()st your free sunshine Leroy mortgage bahrein fealty Mountain Man.
*gasp* QUAZAR!!! Do not talk like that to Mountain Man. He is a gracious host. I ask you now to apologize.
Free porn Mountain Man, free porn.
thank you Quazar. That's better.
your taxidermist is supreme! the critters appear fresh and could use a few more fatal blows... what is your weapon of choice? dont forget the spacebag on your next hunting extravaganza. my jowls, they hurt from regurgitated happiness.
MM, your critters remind of the furries that Ham paw spoke of the other night. Perhaps he will elaborate on this primal religious sect?
These furries are rampant in the quadrant of blameful mischief. I will await Ham's elaboration of possible religio-spiritual necesseties, but heretofore in and out my understanding is that they invade the domicile without regard to consequence or larger meaning-context. They may be distant cousins of the animals Ham is familiar with. They use their horns as hammers, they bite and chew through the outer covering and leave quivering vulnerable soft organs behind them. However they make marvelous bookends once stuffed.
me likey the chompchomp MM. I leave surprises for big goat man and trample prettiness. this is my way. You can try to keep me away but I am fearless.
I feel fodder like.
Krix. You are fodder for Zod. You are his sculptable plastiline queen.
MM! These are astonishing critters of the highest caliber. The one with the pointy ear-finials and the twisty feelers owns a "chopper"-style motorbike with a sidecar. It is the most fun for the passenger to ride in, getting bugs in the teeth.
Are the garments similar to unitard/footed pajamas? something like a baby suit?
you said tard...
Ham Paw, if you cut yourself in half, would each half regenerate and there would be two of you?
Motoring over concavities and convexities. In the light it's acid yellow, in the shade, it's puke green. There are trees that bear felt fruit. The motorwheels pull a payload of heavy rocks. The gears shift in response to the landscape, but the payload remains heavy heavy. The light is strong and hot and begins to cook me like a sausage on the grill. My body is slow, out of whack, but my mind bobs and weaves. Incoming missiles, preemptive strikes. It is full, it requires the numbs. The numbs feel good. Is this bad?
I wear my baby suit every day. It is handy and comfortable, it has stains down the front. I am large but in need of cuddles and care. I am Manbaby, embarrassment to self and others.
I keep a light on in the bedroom of my soul. I read by this light. I have read copiously for years but do not remember but one line of these manuscripts and that I dare not tell another for everything was written by my mind. I fear I have so totally assumed the identities of the characters, so totally integrated the philosophies of my studies that somewhere, a long time ago, I lost whatever whiff of self was left. And now it is dark.
Again.
Listen Mickey, you have a whiff of self. I cannot name it, but it is there just the same.
This Mickey is blurred by overreasoning and overtuning. He is malleable and ductile. He causes howling in the night nights, the croaking and whining of furry fanged hunters and amphibians. Mickey. Are you feeling berserk?
Your soul is rotting, as are all souls, do not take this personally. Your soul is to be bitten in a sandwich by someone.
Two different type of screeches. One is for evil and the other is for lettuce.
Squeaking wants to become screeching in the wee hours.
And whining, don't forget the whining. Like copulating felines, the screeching and whining and turmoiled purring of rutting cats.
I wants to spanks that manbaby! damnstraight. I'm gonna show him my piece.
When cats rut, what happens? Green plops?
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