Predators and Prey - An Awkward Square Dance

And a Do-Si-Do!


Hey folks! Hot as hell out there, man ... careful out there in the sun. Heatstroke sneaks up on ya!

I've been busy as shit this past week, working daily for an old co-worker of mine, doing industrial clean-up. Hot and crappy, but work is motherfucking work, son. If I tried to live off of writing, well, my girl would leave me, ha ha, cuz I'd be a broke-ass burden on her.

So, anyway ... predators and their prey. It's a symbiotic relationship. One eats and the other dies. It's an icky old world out there - there's stuff running around, chasing down and eating other shit, all the fucking time. Think about that for a second, would ya? Right now, as you sit reading this bullshit, there are hundreds of thousands of horrific, ghastly scenes of murder unfolding all around you. Ladybugs are eating aphids. Aphids are sucking defenseless leaves dry. Ants are overwhelming a poor lone little beetle, and they are fucking tearing him apart while he screams and writhes. They are cutting off his legs with their jagged mandibles, one by one, as he vainly scrabbles to flee from their carnivorous intent.

Shit's fucked up, I know.

People are predators. We fucking predate on half the shit on the surface of this planet. Bloodthirsty bastards, we are! We've taken predation to previously undreamt-of levels of ghastly. Shit, we even (metaphorically and sometimes even physically) prey on each other! Sometimes, however, we are prey for other species of shit, too. Tigers eat us on occasion, and wolves. Parasitic amoebas infiltrate our bodies and make us die rather cruel deaths, as they feed on us from within. Mosquitoes feast happily on our life's blood every time we try to go outdoors in the summer. Human beings are simultaneously both the top predator AND beset by predators. It's a confusing state of affairs. It seems that the role of predator and preda-tee isn't static or well-defined in the least. Fuck, as I'm eating these potato chips, there are microscopic lice running around on my skin, eating dead skin cells just like I'm eating these fuckin' chips. The fuck, man? Weirds me out.




The Taste of Fear





The girl didn't struggle or fight against the intruder, didn't beg; she just urged him to "hurry, please hurry. Finish and get out of here." Donny slapped the bitch hard across the face and told her to shut the motherfuck up. She was crying, and normally that would get him harder than concrete, but the fear that propelled the tears was not for her own mortal safety. Donny knew that variety of fear quite well, knew its taste and smell intimately. The woman pinned to her kitchen floor beneath him was not afraid of him.




"Please, goddamn it! Hurry up and get out of here!" she shrieked up at him, and his cock abruptly went as soft as playdough. Teeth clenched in fury and confusion, Donny punched the young woman in the mouth and got off of her. He stalked out into her living room, pulling up his jeans as he went. The living room was awash in the strong glow of the moon, rising full above the apartment buildings across the street. He used the light to locate the knife in his bag.




Voice trembling uncontrollably, Donny called out, "Hey, I've got something for you, whore. I've got something else to stick in you." He turned back to the kitchen ... and, lit in harsh white relief by the full moon, a mutant horror of a wolf trotted through the door. Frozen in place, Donny numbly watched as the monstrous thing kicked the remnants of the girl's dress from one massive hind leg. Two large, yellow eyes found him. Her muzzle wrinkled back from teeth like daggers, and she growled. Piss ran down Donny's leg in a terrified stream, and the knife fell from his nerveless fingers. He had time to scream, but only once.

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