Deason Terry

People are always looking for things to endure. Suffering is mostly self-inflicted. Like a madman looking for a cure to dwarfism and hypertrophy. Mingling and meandering and spinning round and round. What would be fun is when the crows come to town for their annual hunt; destroying countless pigeons along the way, taking cigarette butts and ashes from our doorsteps, and chewing off the bones left from those cretins down at the back alley quay.

"We need some words from our sponsors," the high fisher said, in a raspy voice.

And all the dolphins leapt from the pond screaming NEVER! NEVER! NEVER! repeatedly until one of the speakers exploded from the sky, fell down into the giraffe's face, causing the lions to laugh hysterically.

"Bring in the man," said the high fisher, the raspiness now gone, becoming more sinister.

The man came out, gagged within an inch of his flesh, eyes bulged, and his teats intact for all to see. He was nothing more but a spectacle now for the show of shows.

The cabaret has officially begun.

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