Girded Loins

hell noWhen alarm bells started to ring where there was no smoke and no fire I had my suspicions aplenty. Then my suspicions were confirmed. Unhinged guard dogs began to bark and slobber on the killing fields. The guard dogs were purist German. The techno-yuppie dweeb who lives next door to me when he is not technically commuting to Silicon Valley to subjugate hoards of dazed universal shoppers was bouncing on his beloved green riding lawnmower from John Deere. He whistled like a green cricket while he worked. The evidence reconfirmed he was missing an aesthetic gene. The green John Deere seat had custom padding. It had green vinyl trim that flat out gleamed. Form approximated content. Sort of.


The techno-yuppie dweeb was preparing a stage for the appearance of the pampered white cat adoringly possessed by his porcelain wife.  He had planted drab flowers all in a row. Measurements were quasi-precise. He fondled a chain saw beside him on the seat that leaked pure viscosity. His porcelain wife remained indoors, concerned, and watchful. She took copious notes in green ink. She stayed strictly indoors during harsh daylight hours knitting kitty booties. The guard dogs were unsure what to expect. They ran in excited ellipses. The guard dogs were recent hires.

As a Benedict Arnold to my species in the epic war against clueless human enablers of venal cats who murder beautiful birds, I had my ear stuck firmly to the ground. The other ear was attuned to ethereal wisps in nearby orbit. As a logical consequence, I became aware that the war was escalating. That proved to be clear a enough phenomenon to cause measures to be taken. The sneaky humans on the wrong side of demarcation were upping their ante. What a bunch of soon to be proven losers. I girded my loins in steely preparation for combat.

pink tutu2

The alarms on the battleground resonated from iron attachments to gates, stanchions, sprinklers, robotic objects. Loose screws had been tightened. Modules became activated. Spotlights soon blazed on the stage now policed by the dogs. Slobber became lather and froth. The dogs in an unscripted display marked turf in the only way they knew how. How must it feel, I mused, to be be a slavish German guard dog protecting a soft white pussy? You’ll learn to get it and get it good. And take it. Then the dogs whimpered as the white cat appeared on the stage. The soft skin under all that ruffled white fur was pink. But they stayed rigidly in line and they took it in the only way they knew how. And where. Just as I predicted, the battle had begun.

red v blue

I put on my medium sized big boy pants with plenty of pockets, a shirt with equality in stripes and sleeves, a hard helmet equipped with built-in wi-fi. Then I waited for the tawny owl to appear from above and tell me what to do. The owls in the forest were hooting up an aysmmetrical storm like Ornette Coleman on alto. The lovely wife of the tawny owl, Thee Mrs., who was able to replicate any voice in the history of rhythm & blues since Clyde MacPhatter, was soaring. She boosted her elevation with a series of dynamic figure-eights, some inverted. Then she started to wail both parts of the wack harmony between Ike and Tina Tina back in the day. The tawny started to laugh his fucking ass off.

I stirred a big pot of brown beer in its incipient stage while I waited for my assignment. I tuned into James Brown on Pandora. I drank one bottle of a prior brown beer that was fully mature while I worked. I did not whistle but I bopped to the beat that I heard often in my head.

.p funk 2.

The human enablers had marshaled troops at conveniently located John Deere dealerships throughout the parched state of California. The best deals popped up fully financed in back rooms pimped out in plastic, vinyl, spandex, and acrylics. The acrylics retained the murky smell of red dirt, dust, and soot. The heftiest consumers wore synthetic satin shorts, faux leather vests, faux silk panties, fake flip-flops. Green was the big style leader by far when it came to your common every day top notch colors. Big and bold and bright kicked ass daily as the new shit brown. The historic drought in California had been a great boon for sales of green riding mowers from green John Deere. Sterilized grass grew green all year round when properly soaked according to the owners manual with pilfered water piped from majestic mountains hundreds of miles away. According to the owners manual, green was a guaranteed right, not merely an entitlement. Look at a dollar bill. What color ink do you see? Like, duh.

richie rich

All the techno-yuppie dweeb saw when he looked at his green lawn was purist love. What value to what power is a quantified life crammed with desirable consumer goods without sterilized purist love? Purist love consists of one dull essence added to one tepid pot in one way and one way only, the right way. No twisted aesthetic gene needed. No additional ingredients, or taste either. Count on it. Not as long as the rows remain straight, neat, and narrow, and John Deere is on standby to whack weeds. The porcelain wife could opt to have and to hold the pampered white cat butt up against her milky white breasts but the man was rolling in the green.

Until, that is, the avian empire began to whack back.

When I heard the bombs bursting in air before splattering, I exclaimed, “Oh, boy.”

By the time the tawny owl appeared on a low hanging branch of the redwood tree near my back door, I was itching to prove my worth. The brown beer was simmering in its pot and I was unleashed to be free while still dangerously white. Sort of.

“What do you want me to do? I’ll do anything.”

“You’d best step to the rear, and watch out for the whiteness of your back.”

“Aw, gee,” I whimpered, “Is that all?”

“You can thank me later.”

Flinging shit as a first strike tactical offensive weapon, though effective on the defensive end as well, has been a proven cluster-buster since way back. It is often considered to be a sign of intelligence in many enterprising religious, political, bureaucratic, and sociopathic primates able to smear with both hands, ass, and feet while still climbing, and who may even earn brownie points on a smelly slip and sliding scale for accuracy.  But that’s all just a bunch of human aping. As a tactic, it was first utilized by beautiful birds more than forty million years ago.

eocene bird

The creased khakis of the clueless human enablers became blighted by stains as soon as the shit started to fall. Stubborn stains like that were not going to come out in any wash. Not even purist white bleach from Germany would work. A tell-all test pattern repeated, repeated, repeated. That darn missing aesthetic gene might have come in handy after all. Now, it was too darn late. There was no mercy to be bought from John Deere dealers. No bovine bleating helped. Once prime green turf turned into pallid, ghostly muck. Many human enablers fled in panic. Formerly fixed odds on stock options plunged. John Deere pistons sputtered, spit, and stalled. Rows of stay at home pansies from Walmart were trampled and collapsed. Regurgitated bones, bills, claws, and teeth fell right along with the shit. Not only owls, but hawks, grebes, gulls, crows, jays, and swallows contributed. Plenty more shit remained in reserve. Beautiful birds climbed higher into rarefied air. Each victory was savory and sweet.

red tail hawk

In the glorious aftermath, while the beautiful birds celebrated high on the mountaintop, at an exalted elevation where I am unable to travel due to limitations in the achievement of higher consciousness, I settled for less. Why continue to deny, deny, deny like some puerile human enabler? Why not surrender a worthless token of your artificial self esteem? Less is not more as they would have you believe, whoever they are, no matter what they are selling, but less is not nothing either. To have and to hold less is not going to cause indelible shit stains that cling to permanent press acrylics. Did you know that on Mars your shit may become weightless? Did you know that many cocky men who waddle like penguins and ducks while suffering from defective gravity reactions are really hiding from the humiliation of shit stains? Where else do you think those silly splayed feet come from? If I have learned anything of import after turning traitorous to my species in the war to eliminate human waste it has been don’t stay as dumb as you are and fight for more shit to smear on your side of an invisible wall.

About marclevytoo

writer of fiction
This entry was posted in animals, birds, environment, humor, writing, wtf and tagged , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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