series1bk3.3.1

 

I sit without the wit to cover my lap,  crapped on in cramped crevices with cretins' excreta, bleating my protest to a deaf world, enfurled in whirlwind problems of graver consequence. Menstruating more than monthly, I clutch my crutch in defensive gesture, instilling a will in others to fill my platter full of bullshit taunts. The dawn will reveal the man - or mouse! Aroused with dragon's breath at the tenth hour, I glower my warning glare from staring eyes, sizing up potential opponents, and flaunting a daunting garb - as macho as a Mexican bandero's.      And those who cannot beat me to the draw      shall stumble down the ladder one place more.