Wednesday, October 13, 2004


A Dinner Lost

The wino looked down into his small fire. Time to cook up that fish he’d found. God, it was smelly. But, he thought, I’ve had worse. At least I managed to get this bottle of wine with them cans. That’ll wash it down jes’ fine.

He picked up a sharpened stick to spit the fish and began to insert the stick into the rear of his dinner. No sooner did he begin to stick it into the fish’s butthole, though, than the thing began wiggling furiously and whining.

The wino removed the stick and looked at the thing more carefully.

My god, he realized. This isn’t a fish. This is a tiny human. How could that be? Was he seeing things? DT’s setting in? He poked it with the stick again, and again it emitted a high pitched whine, its tiny ugly face screwed up, and its legs began running frantically.

Fuck this, the wino thought, and he put the creature down. He watched as it ran away into the dark night, screaming eeeeeeeeeeeeeeiiiiiiiiii!

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