Tuesday, January 16, 2007

Lapdogs of the Serengeti

Where hours ago the majestic beast grazed the morning plain, unaware that it was
enjoying its last meal, there were now only traces of blood. The carcass of the
Prime Rib had been dragged through the brush to the pack's dining area. It was
here that the pack leader chose to feast upon the spoils of the morning hunt. The
other animals of the pack awaiting their turn. The number two dog sat calmly, yet
ever alert, lest a piece of the animal fall to the ground and be wasted. The
number three dog sat motionless, his eyes trained as each bit of flesh went from
the plate to the leader's mouth. The leader became aware that the number three
dog had begun to salivate, his body visibly shaking, his sit stay beginning to
resemble an attack crouch. The leader, weakened by age and infirmity paid little
attention to the upstart who up until this moment had never challenged the
authority of number one. The number three dog merely considered his options and
concluded, I may not have the capacity to finish him off at one sitting, but I
damned well have the capability to give it a shot! It was at that moment that
the cleanly sliced piece of meat hurtled through the air and landed at the lesser
member's feet. Both junior pack members ate ravenously their share and gradually
peace returned to the groups energy. The leader chuckled to himself that he knew
what was happening within the pack. He knew that the others would love nothing
more to take him down and claim pack dominance and, but for a lack of opposable
thumbs and language skills so that they could order pizza, they might attempt
such a coup. The leader tossed back his head, momentarily exposing his throat,
and roared, "That's all there is! Now go lay down you fucking fucks!"


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