It is a bloody mess...

Bits of animal are strewn everywhere - skins adorn wrecked cars in fetching, tragic ways, severed limbs hang from lamp-posts, and blood stains the eye-catching Victorian cobbled streets. The animals are all dead, ok? Don't worry, we won't have to talk about them anymore after today. Unless you want to, of course, dear reader; hunched over your drinks in the pub, perhaps, or in the classroom, hunched over your drinks. Perhaps, in the creche or nursery (Kindergarten, you filthy Yanks [You're probably clean. I apologise]) you sit around in groups, hunched over your drinks, discussing my blog. Or herds of shoppers, rushing for Christmas gifts, meeting old friends by coincidence, hunch over their drinks to discuss my blog.
  But I doubt it.

No, you aren't seeing this.
Just keep moving.

  Anyway, back to the animals. All dead. Good stuff. I mean, not for the animals of course. Actually, a few of them were pretty endangered, so its probably a bad thing they killed each other. But you, YOU BASTARDS, you're too selfish to see it that way. You just saw the animals as an annoyance, you're glad they're out of the way. You little fuckers, you couldn't give a damn about the ecosystems affected, could you? The delicate balances of nature are unwinding, precious beings lost to us now, their knowledge and beauty fading. But this means nothing to you Sons of Bitches, who care nothing f... Wait a second, we could eat them!

  I voiced this though to Max, who quickly helped me set up a barbecue. Piling up the dead beasts, we began to feast. Good stuff, completly justified the large-scale animal death. Yum!

Stupid, stupid animals.

These animals all have beliefs
they will kill for... You've been warned.
Image via Wikipedia

The rain falls down, on me, on the town, on the several factions of animals gathered in various corners and openings, facing each other, branding weapons and waving banners. Stupid, humdrum town, monotony only broken by the occasional struggle between animal factions.

  To be honest, I regretted the day the Town Council had agreed a grant to teach political ideology to animals. Indeed, everyone had been a lot happier before hand - the animals, ignorant as they were (except the dolphins) had been happy in their ignorance, the townsfolk had been worry-free, and I, I had had one less ridiculous enemy to fear.

  Max had rescued me from the Nazi Kangaroos. I didn't know what Kangaroos were doing here, and Max arriving in tights and a string vest had done little to alleviate my perplexed condition. He didn't really understand costumes, you see. Anyway, now battle-lines were drawn - the Kangaroos and Koalas formed the largest groups, but anarchist bears, neoconservative bees and Maoist tortoises were arming themselves at the sidelines. Near me, showing a deep misunderstanding of their ideology, a group of pacifist kittens set up a machine-gun post.

  This was going to be messy.

Animal radicalism

Now Imagine this, but with some Kangaroos...  American History X [Blu-ray]

I had run as fast as my little legs would carry me. Fortunately, the legs of the Koalas were significantly shorter, so I managed to quickly put some distance between myself and themselves. That was as far as my luck held out.

 My new captors looked at me distastefully. Tall, ridiculous, hunched over, they studied me with an air of disinterest. Their leader reclined on his throne, an armchair faded in the sunlight. Around us, a warehouse of some sorts, full of discarded packing crates and ancient straw. At tables, my Kangaroo captors prepared their weapons. The leader, Swastika tattooed on his chest like Edward Norton (In American History X. Edward Norton isn't a Nazi in general. I hope) glared down at me, slowly thumping a mace into his paw.

This was getting ridiculous now. To be captured by one group of politically-minded, radical animals is one thing, but to be held by extremist critters at both ends of the spectrum is just unlikely.