South Africa 10: Horrible.

This is Horrible. Not the adjective, the chicken. This is Horrible the chicken. What a horrible-looking little monster he is. I actually screamed when I first saw him. Not like, "AHH!", either. I mean, like, a high-pitched, sustained wail of horror. Like in a movie when the girl finds a dead body. I even did the thing where I put my fists up on either side of my mouth. THAT kind of scream. I sobbed for a few minutes while Michael held me. Devon offered to burn it and salt the earth where it stood, but Lisa talked me out of it. Eventually I fell in love with Horrible. Now I love him. I love him so much of my own free will and am in no way being controlled by invisible tendrils of hatred which snake from his black soul around half the planet, twitching my muscles and mind like the strings of a nightmare marionette constructed from the bones of babies.
Ahem.
Horrible the chicken is my hero.
And if he is not your hero, then you have never really had a hero before.

Peacocks. Or Guinea fowl. Whatever. They're not Horrible the chicken, so they are but bit players on the grand stage of life.

Bunnies. Cute little bunnies. They were cute and little and bunnies, and they hopped gaily to and fro. But they had to stay in the shade. One hopped into the light.
One word:
Bunnicula.
Is it hot in here, OR DID I JUST TOTALLY BLOW YOUR MIND?!?


I'm a tease. These are the baby lions I was ranting about earlier. They were pretty cute, too. I was scared to death, not that they were going to hurt me, just that I was going to start sneezing and never ever ever stop. But I took some drugs, and everything was fine.
Yup, nothing helps me relax like a good dose of mescaline. Yes, sir.