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ubidubikid #1 wrote:nice poem. deppressing again. and now I've got an emmensly annoying song in my head.
ubidubikid #1 wrote:nice poem. deppressing again. and now I've got an emmensly annoying song in my head.
Zankou 2.0 wrote:ubidubikid #1 wrote:nice poem. deppressing again. and now I've got an emmensly annoying song in my head.
How is it depressing?
I posit that it is not the poem that is depressing, but your inherent nature.
A Leopard’s Meal
Tonight, clouds were absent from the brilliant African sky. Flying insects buzzed around, irritating the tails of sleeping leopards. Beasts of prey, they lounged languorously, still warm from the afternoon sun, recently set. One of them woke for a brief moment to see a jeep thunder past in the distance. Unconcerned, it lowered its head and went back to sleep.
The two women in the jeep didn’t see the leopards in the distance, but they knew they were there. Their tracking system told them so, and it was rarely wrong. Their hair was whipped around by the wind, and when they turned to talk it blinded them and stung their faces. They drove onward, over a well-beaten dirt road until they came to a small farmhouse. The dust inside stirred with their entrance. The shorter of the two moved over to the cupboard and drew out two bottles.
“You know, Caplin, I don’t think this will work.” The other said.
Caplin pulled over some glasses. “Of course it will. Ol’ Bando said it would.” One of the bottles was lifted and an amber liquid poured out, splashing into a glass and mixing with some clear liquid that was being poured by the other hand.
“Yeah, but Old Bando also says you can stop a shark from eating you by punching it in the nose.”
“I don’t see a problem with that.” Caplin replied.
“We’re in Central Africa, and Old Bando gets about by taking the bus into the city, and he doesn’t know anyone outside of the village.”
“Just shows he knows his stuff.” She flicked a lighter out of her pocket and set the mixture alight, causing a small explosion, followed by Caplin quickly drinking it. She burped loudly. It is a well known fact that drinking alcohol that has been set on fire is a definite way to get one drunk incredibly quickly. The only downside is that a person gets drunk incredibly quickly.
“Wellllll. I don’t th-think I’m quite drunk yet. You wa-want one, Lynn?”
Caplin clumsily made another explosive drink, setting fire to a few passing mosquitoes. She offered it to Lynn, who quickly drank it and flopped into a rickety chair.
“This doesn’t taste too bad!” she exclaimed.
Caplin picked up an envelope from the table. It was addressed to the Wantago Leopard Preserve. She ripped open the letter and quickly scanned it. The words ‘OVERDUE’ written in large red letters across the top.
“Oh. An-another bill.”
Lynn made another explosive drink and grabbed the bill.
“What’re we gonna do ‘bout this, Cap? I had an aunty once who didn’t pay a bill an-and they set fire to her house!”
Caplin crinkled her nose. “I don’t think they’re ‘lowed to do that. Prob’ly fer the insurance or something.”
“No no no. A guy came over to the house, an’ he was wearin’ a suit, right? Then the house caught fire!” Lynn exploded another drink for the both of them.
“Golly. I like it here! I don-don’t wanna get burnt.” Cap said despondently.
“Then... we need some money, Cap.” Lynn put the bill back on the table.
Another round of drinks was exploded before they spoke again.
“We-we’re jusht zoologists, we don’t haf any money!” Caplin rubbed her eyes with the palms of her hands.
“If we don’t fig’re out a way to shavesh shome money we could lose our grant an’ get shent back to Australia, Cap.” Lynn exploded another drink and disconsolately read through the bill again.
They sat in silence for a moment, trying desperately to think of ways to save money. Unfortunately, the exploding drinks had rather reduced their ability to think properly.
Lynn’s eyes went wide. “What if... what if we got a bunch of pigsh, right, and put ‘em near the leopards?”
“Nah, that won’t work. Pigsh cosht muh-money and beshidesh, there aren’t many pigsh around here.” Caplin replied.
“Then... what about dead people? Lynn asked.
Caplin thought for a brief moment. Her brow furrowed. “No, that won’t work either. Leopardsh won’t eat dead meat. Hash to be alive an’ runnin’.”
Lynn quietened down again. Then she mixed another exploding drink, and a group of neurons fired in her brain. “Voodoo!” She exclaimed, leaping to her feet. Cap’s eyes went wide.
“Yeah! Voodoo! We’ll bring people back to life and feed them to the leopardsh! Brilliant!”
Cap leapt over to the computer in the corner of the room and turned it on. Lynn began pacing around the room excitedly. “We’ll get shome dead bodies from Ken! You know he worksh i-in a cafeter- cremateramum- crematorium now, right? And he’sh only jusht down the road!”
“Hey! I found a DIY guide on voodoo!” Cap exclaimed, the blue glow of the computer screen illuminating the fire in her eyes as she read through the article, looking for a spell to bring back the dead.
* * *
A dead African body lay slumped on the floor of the farmhouse. It didn’t have any clothes on. Caplin and Lynn stood over it.
“Well.” Lynn said, folding her arms.
“Yep.” Caplin replied.
They stood watching the corpse for a few more minutes, until Caplin picked up the half-empty bottles and made two more explosive drinks.
“Thanks,” Lynn said, quickly drinking the mixture, fire and all.
“Sho. That’sh a dead body, ish it?”
“I’m pretty shure it ish.”
“No chance of it coming back on it’sh own, then?” Caplin asked, stepping back.
Lynn assured her that she was pretty sure that it wouldn’t come back to life of its own volition, unless as a zombie. And she was pretty sure that those weren’t around yet. Surely she would be the first to know.
“Sho. Let’sh drag the body into the circle, then.”Caplin said. They both grabbed hold of an arm and pulled the body into the middle of the circle that was drawn as per instructions, even with real chicken blood. Caplin put her hands on her hips.
“Are you shure thish voodoo thing’ll work?” Caplin asked.
“Shure it will. It’sh got chicken blood an’ everyfin!” Lynn replied.
While the principles of voodoo are often strange and mysterious, the main similarity which often assures success is chicken blood. Why this is so is an enormous mystery in informed circles, and the chickens sure aren’t telling anybody. Caplin and Lynn looked at the printout.
“I’m havin’ shecond thoughtsh.” Lynn said.
* * *
There was a red glow, followed by a flash of light that felt like what would happen if a bear tried to hug, say, an incoming truck. As the glow receded, the pain went away, leaving the two women lying on the floor, splayed at uncomfortable angles. The body in the circle didn’t move. Caplin was the first to recover, and sat up. Deciding this was not a good idea at all, she fell back down. Twenty minutes later, when she thought she could will up the courage to get up, she struggled over to the table, made an exploding drink and downed it to drown out the pain. As soon as she could move her eyes without causing what seemed like serious facial trauma, she looked at Lynn, who was moaning softly to herself, still lying on the floor. Caplin made another small explosion and carried it over to Lynn, who drank it gratefully. Then she made four more, and when she decided it was helping, she made four for Lynn.
Eventually, they became as sprightly as they had been before they had everything inside them knocked into different places. Only then did they notice that there wasn’t a dead little African man lying on the floor.
“Where’sh he gone, Cap?” Lynn asked, looking around the room quickly. Caplin no longer cared. The leopards could all go off and eat a circus for all she cared.
“Dunno. Don’t care.” She replied, and got up to go to the toilet.
Lynn heard a scream, followed by Caplin running out of the toilet.
“He’sh in the loo.” She said, zipping up the front of her pants.
“What’sh he doing in there?” Lynn asked.
“What d-do you think he’sh doin’ in there?” Cap retorted.
Lynn nodded, understanding. “Let’sh jusht leave him to it, then.”
Five minutes later, when the reanimated man had not come out of the toilet, Lynn went over to see how he was going. He had fallen over and lay slumped on his face.
“He’sh dead again, Cap.”
Caplin tentatively peered through the doorway, and saw his chest heaving slightly with each breath. “No he’sh not. He’sh breathin’, see?”
“Oh. Why’sh he all shlumped over then?” Lynn asked.
“Well, he wash dead earlier to-today. That short of thing takesh a while to get over, you’d think.”
They both watched as he rolled over and discharged a loud burp. Then he beamed widely and scratched his stomach.
“Or maybe he’sh jusht an idiot,” she concluded.
Something itched at the back of Lynn’s mind. “Oh! Oh!” She exclaimed. “He’sh got brain damage!”
Caplin looked at Lynn. “Pleash exshplain,” she replied, pouring another explosive drink for the both of them. By this time, one would think that the copious amount of alcohol that they had both consumed, coupled with the recent body trauma and having encountered the living dead would have put them both in a very unconscious state. But the both of them were university students, and the only thing that could deal with more alcohol than them were usually thirty metres long, weighed over a hundred tonnes and sucked krill through enormous teeth. They were good at this kind of thing.
“Shee, when people die, their brainsh die too!” Lynn said excitedly. ‘An’, an’, the neuronsh don’t fire propl’y in coma pashintsh an’ shuch!”
“Sho. We’ve got a ushelesh zombie that can’t even run away from leopardsh, sho we can’t shave money there. Great idea, Lynn.” Caplin said sarcastically.
Lynn had another idea. “Maybe they will! He wuh-went to the toilet, didnee?”
“Lynn, that’sh dishgushting. I don’t shee how that appliesh.” Caplin replied, stretching.
Lynn leapt to her feet. “Inshtinct! He needed to go to the loo, sho he went! He di-“ Lynn hiccupped. “He didn’t know what to do nexsht, sho he shtopped!”
“Sho yo-you’re shaying, if we jusht stick ‘im near the leopardsh, he’ll run away?”
“Yep!” Lynn beamed.
Caplin got up from her seat and put on a jacket. “Then let’sh get him in the jeep.”
He didn’t resist when the two zoologists put him in the back of the dusty jeep, amongst piles of research notes and forgotten or empty specimen jars. He just smiled sluggishly. It never occurred to him that he was part of one big ill-constructed metaphor, especially when the two women threw him off the side of the jeep and left him naked near a pack of hungry leopards. He didn’t know that the women had stopped nearby and were seeing if he would get eaten. He didn’t know that if it worked, he would be helping to solve the money troubles of a pair of zoologists, if they remembered anything by the next morning. He couldn’t. He wasn’t smart enough. The only thing he did know was that those leopards had awfully pointy teeth, and staying near them was a sure way to get perforated. Soon enough, he learnt something. The only thing he would, in fact, ever learn. He learned that no matter how fast he ran, leopards were a great deal faster.
Ubi Dubius wrote:Now I have to hit the law library. Are zombies persons under the law? Is the destruction of a zombie murder? There's got to be a lower court case on this somewhere . . .
Capellini wrote:it's about how young and pneumatic females in academia
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