I'm going to become Chove.
Just kidding, I'm already Chove.
That was a funny leak.
Leaking in the river.
Sometimes, I leak blood into the river but only while the goats are swimming; if I'm bleeding they stay away from me and I can just hang out with the sharks and with officer shank.
"Britton!" I called out, but it just sounded like a neigh to him, so he didn't even look. For all he knew, I was just making crepes with the other horses. With mother horse. She's a great cook. Slappin' up vegetarian burgers left and right, and the occasional beef patty made from fresh hog. I just wanted to tell Britton that Butch was in town. What he doesn't know won't hurt him, I guess.
Butch can't hurt him. He can't lay lie a hand on Brittie Brit, or Britton for that matter. Brittie Brit won't go home, she's been living in Britton's house for the past couple of weeks, and Butch it looking for her. He's thirstin' for bloooooood. No. He's more thirsty for water and saliva than blood.
Butch still hasn't accepted that he's fat.
Brittie Brit came to Britton's door one evening, sobbing, saying that Butch was going to kiss her back bone. She has open wounds on her backbones due to an operation last September, and they haven't fully healed. They hadn't fully healed and then they opened back up when Butch pulled the skin around them apart. Now they're oozing green puss and are swollen. Britton said he could call the carraige to bring the doc in. Inspection time. I remember when the doc gave birth to Britton and kept the placenta in the oven too long. He burnt the life out of it, and it smelled like burnt blood for days in the kitchen.
Butch is heading over now. He wants to suckle upon Brittie Brita Brit's iPod and back sores. She'll have none of it.
Butch, you're nasty. You have to put ketchup on it first. That's the farmer's seasoning for backsores. Helix the cat even knows this family recipe secret. Tiggly Tat even knows this recipe secret. And he can't even read!
