where's the other crowbar?
whoever boarded up this place did a good job so i'm going to need them both.
perhaps you shouldn't open it then.
you probably shouldn't engage in any premature waking of-
-there is no dragon, g.
get over it.
no, there's no dragon down the street. we don't know what's behind these boards.
not until we remove them, no.
for all we know, poor maggie the cat is an oddly coloured fish.
just a dead cat.
nothing to do with-
we think the dragon is down the street but really it is behind board number one.
there. is. no. dra-
i'm not going to get sucked into this any further.
where is the other crowbar, g?
i gave it to penelope.
of course you did.
by Lliam Amor, Dan Beeston and the Goatlord.
©2009 Dan Beeston
Dead. Cat. Lyin' on the roo-oof.
Eatin' silly creatures as they come lookin' fo' dragons.
I was always taught to beware the sharp teeth inside pussies. Though I had been armed with this forewarnment, I was most put out when the first one I stroked scratched me with its claws. When I related this to a friend, she replied, "yeah, doncha just hate it when they fight back."
Not understanding what she meant, I quietly nodded. She was older and a lot bigger than I was so I presumed it was some wise insight that would dawn on me at some later stage in life.
I am always reminded of the last time we saw each other. She had this strange half smile as she was escorted from the dock to the awaiting prison transport.
She liked cheese too. I wonder if that means I'll grow up to be a lesbian.