My brow became steadily more furrowed as I witness the remarkable oaf of a stallion…slowly…slide…backward straight on his ass. Unbelievable. Totally inexplicable. With a disturbed look in my eye, I glanced at “Teeny” once or twice, wondering if he were seeing what I was seeing, because I was pretty sure it was the most incredible thing I had ever seen in my own outlandish life. Never before have I watched a full grown stallion slide so gracefully onto his bottom before, as though the shit were choreographed. Sure, it wasn’t as graceful as I’m making it out to be, but dammit I doubt I could plop on my ass like that even if I tried.

Mr. Snowy seemed a hell of a lot more balanced than this shmuck happily sprawled in front of me. In fact, Whitey seemed more than mentally stable—he seemed wrong-footed in a way, which I guess he should’ve been, seeing as…well. This was happening. I don’t know, I’m not the most normal little bitch in the world, I guess. I….hmm.

Well.

Anyway, he humored my skewed, hasty request and went ahead and approached us with this lingering drawl to his step, like he was big shit or something. And maybe he was, but in my book, he was just a cat attempting to help me out with what was turning into the weirdest shit I had ever dealt with. Well, I think he was trying to help me out. In his own way. By spewing fancy words.

“Vam—what?” I said sharply, my smug air of disgust turning to one of blank confusion as I turned to the white stallion, a brow cocked. “Vamoo—what the fuck is a vamoose?” I shot at him, kind of forgetting about the living shit rolling about in the sand for just a moment as I tried to process this…strange new addition to my vocab. “Is that a thing? Is that an animal? Are you calling him names, or something? Are you casting a speAAAHHGLAGHGH!!!“

--and I was SCREAMING, no, SHRIEKING all of a sudden because IT was touching me, that fat, dirty bastard was touching me, and not only that, it was grabbing me with that slimy, grisly, sloppy, gross-as-all-FUCK mouth, and it was in my hair, and he was grabbing my hair and it was getting all over the place and there was no escape and--

--and—

--and—

--and I just stood there, screaming like a little bitch (shut up), not knowing what was going on or what to do or how to avoid it, but my face was yanked downward and my nose was closer to him than it ever needed to be and the funk, oh boy, the funk was slamming into my nose like a heavy ball of iron, and he was dragging me and I was trying to drag myself away from him and a little strand of saliva dripped from his mouth and oh god--

--oh god--

--I probably would’ve stood there the entire night in shock of what was happening, that something as grody and unbelievably disgusting as Funkmeister was actually touching me and slobbering all over me. Or maybe I would have started stomping the shit out of him eventually in blind fury, completely crazy with whatever vain rage I had stored in my coat-pocket. But somewhere amidst the screaming and the disbelief and the horror of it all was the little inkling of knowledge, somewhere deep in the back of my mind, that Jiji’s feather wasn’t too far away from where his lips currently grasped my bang. And if he happened to get his gross little lips on that-- well. Game over.

So my body finally reacted with something that made sense, and I zap!ed my ass out of there.

When I reappeared a split second later, I was further up the beach a little ways, deeper into the ebb of the tide because I guess I subconsciously pined for the salt water to dunk my head in and drown myself. Which is pretty much what happened, except I didn’t drown myself; rather, I tipped my head close to the surface of the churning ocean waves, letting my violated bang drift into the water, hoping the salt would wash out whatever diseases that had snuck its way into my hair. To help the current along, I did this kind of awkward crab-shuffle along the shallow part of the ocean’s current, dragging my hair against the tide so that the water would flow through my hair with greater force. And all the while I did that, I whimpered and growled to myself, full of all kinds of self-pity and rage it was dizzying. “Freaking hairy-ass mole,” I muttered painfully to myself, my head bent awkwardly and my steps clumsy as I went to great lengths to wash any evidence of his mouth from my person, “the ass he popped off of don’t even want him no more…aaaaggggghh so gross….”




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