My pet dinosaur, Noam, prefers to attack books, and sangria wine. One cannot just give these things to her- Noam absolutely must hunt her meals, or she will not eat at all, and - "Waaaagghh!"
So this meant leaving the backdoor open, at feeding time, so Noam could get to the bookshelves.
Thankfully, this house has an overabundance of poor prose along its shelves. But anyway
Today, something most unfortunate occured.
Well what used to be today was when Noam got loose, and went after an ice-cream truck. Far as I know, my pet dinosaur has no craving for ice cream, nor human flesh... but the ice cream truck driver had been drinking sangria wine, and he had been pulled over by a flock of schoolchildren.(they smelled like books) .
Noam has many fine qualities. Discrimination during a feeding frenzy is not one of them.
The ice cream truck is crunched in half, gushing aortal chocolate. The driver is nowhere to be found, nor the jugs of cheap sangria wine he kept under the drivers seat. Strewn across my neighborhood are diminutive bloody ribcages, tiny limbs ripped asunder, ghastly visages of caramel and gore. The local ravens love it.
"BAD NOAM! BAD DINOSAUR! BAD! BAD!BAD!"
So I'm thinking about taking Noam to the pound. I dunno... I'm the only friend this poor cenzoic puke lizard has.
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