This Here

Ordinary sanctions wouldn’t apply to the effervescent pigeon toes for too much longer, scrutinizing the woes of foreverpenguins—adept at taking their time when you just want to get a movin’ to the promised land (or at least the land referenced in books of yore). What really must happen is a distancing from tyrants and despots who normally would have built their empires upon the sweat equity of the under-the-tablers brought around from the time of the Immeasurable Reckoning.

The new standard—a babe in the woods—must rear itself without even a kindly wolf or flyover pigeon at its disposal! While certainly not necessary in this predicament, self-sabotage becomes more likely with each passing day as doubt does its dubious duty of doling out a deluge of doldrums, waiting to be conquered through a steady, dedicated hand (though it knows the chances are quite slim in this here forest).

Pheasants – 03:41GMT

Road woes continue for a small band of pheasants. They’ve lost three members already, a mother and two adolescent sons. We’re not sure whether they took a break at an inviting watering hole, or if they got shot by a wayward doorknob hunter. We’ll inform you as soon as we get confirmation of their whereabouts.

Turns out, a peasant got the pheasants. It doesn’t seem pleasant, and it isn’t, but even those of our species subjected to squalid conditions are entitled to the spoils of ingenuity when they come across it. The world’s pheasant population will recover in two weeks’ time, wish we could say the same for the countless massacred peasants, bless their hides.

I really wish I could use my arms—I have a crazy itch between my shoulder blades.