Red Meat

There is shakiness in the morning, and in the most basic of terms, the desire to pull the safety pins from my arm in the midst of the summer hanging baskets. It’s fucking beautiful. Apparently the size of my pupils grew to the point where they nearly swallowed me whole; a relaxing effect of the little cream-coloured ones, just like the slackening in my red meat consumption, or my bladder control. Just that one time.

We’d had a conversation in the car about devouring the taxidermy, and I was greatly disenchanted by your lack of enthusiasm. Later, the fox with the deer antlers slowly made his way up the outside stairs, and as I turned down the volume on the television, I could hear the knives in his hooves clinking together with each difficult step. I turned to face you to ask you to run with me, but you were already asleep. I made sure the window was left open for almost easy access and locked myself in the bathroom.


5 thoughts on “Red Meat

  1. The fox with the deer antlers reminded me of one of the worst jokes I’ve ever read, where two idiots go hunting. The one idiot gets the bright idea that he can scare the deer back through camp, which the deer actually does so there were three idiots I guess… anyway so the one idiot comes back and says, “Did you shoot ‘im?” And the other idiot says, “No, I never saw no deer. Just a guy with a chair on his head, but he never seen one neither.”

    One of my friends got green-conscious and employed a cloth diaper (you probably call those nappies) service. You stick the safety pins in your clothes where you can quickly reach them later (especially if he’s a squirter) cuz if you set them down, the baby picks them up. That cloth stuff didn’t last but a week, or I’d be imagining the pins stuck in my arms next time, which is arguably better than imagining them stuck in her baby.


    1. The worst jokes are always the best. On the way back from Manchester on Friday, my friend showed me a joke in a magasine which was so terrible I almost choked to death on my Fanta.

      ‘A farmer has, for the first time in history, managed to successfully grow a field of vibrators. He now has a problem with squatters.’


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