Tip jar

If you like CaB and wish to support it, you can use PayPal or KoFi. Thank you, and I hope you continue to enjoy the site - Neil.

Buy Me a Coffee at ko-fi.com

Support CaB

Recent

Welcome to Cook'd and Bomb'd. Please login or sign up.

March 29, 2024, 01:20:47 PM

Login with username, password and session length

It's December 13th and the geese have won!

Started by Glebe, November 08, 2019, 04:30:05 AM

Previous topic - Next topic

Glebe


NJ Uncut

I'D HONK LIKE A MOTHERFUCKER

And you know how much those motherfuckers honk.

seepage

depends whether the majority prefer the left wing or the right.


NJ Uncut

Quote from: seepage on November 08, 2019, 07:09:58 AM
depends whether the majority prefer the left wing or the right.

That's a great line. Duck milk shot out my nose, ruining the web server I'm meant to be fixing.

I'll send you the bill.


Cuellar


Cloud

Goose shit everywhere.  It honked.

But I learned to wear slip-on shoes so that they wouldn't keep undoing my laces


Gregory Torso

It's December 13th and the geese have won.

Each morning at 5 a.m. the reveille begins, the honking and hooting from pole-mounted speakers and we, the few of us left alive, file out of our rudimentary goose-built lodges onto the streets.
Fierce barnacle goose officers herd us in single file down to the lakes. More geese fly above in hard vees, cackling and barking, sharting down yellow-white globs to keep us in line, our shitty shepherds above.
We wade through a greasy bisque of feather oil, duck fat, waste and yolk. We take up our stations of work.

I am on gosling duty: twelve hours of supplying worms and grubs to a vast underground hive of mewling, fuzzy geese chicks. Feed, feed, feed. My fingers are scarred and mangled from countless beak snaps; I'm almost blind from the poor lighting in the tunnels. The huge Mother Goose squelches out eggs from her ovipositor, methodically, endlessly. Years of underground reproduction have left her flightless, limbless, just a pregnant pillow of greasy dark feathers and a beak shrieking for sustenance.

Serve the mother. Tend to the hatchlings. Maybe get a few strands of egg white mixed in with the goose gruel if we're lucky. Pray the ganders don't visit us in the night. People vanish, and all that is left behind are a few scuffle marks, downy fluff and whatever blood isn't hoovered up by the ravenous poultry police.

The geese have won, and we didn't even know we were at war until it was too late.

Glebe