When the Lucilles were at the beach the other day, we saw this bird skittering around kinda awkwardly. Like he was off-balance cuz he was one-legged or something. As he got closer we noticed that he was, indeed, off-balance cuz he was one-legged. Actually he was one-and-a-half-legged. One of the girls got all PETA-ish and started feeling sorry for it and wondered out loud what could have happened to the missing lower portion of its fractional leg.
There were plenty of theories: bird fight (cage match? BWAHAHAHAHAHA), run over by one of those little golf cart thingies that people drive all over the beach, bitten off by a predator, accidentally smashed with a rock, purposely smashed with a rock by an unsupervised little shi+ kid, farm-implement incident that required emergency amputation.
And my theory. He gnawed it off himself. Because he was a dirty bird who was into S&M and bondage and discipline-role-playing and he got strapped down forgot the safe word (hello? cracker? pretty bird?) and was unable to get himself free because his mate got distracted by something shiny or some tourist throwing Alka Seltzer to make the birds blow up or was dodging rocks being thrown by an unsupervised little shi+ kid.
At least he got the drumstick.
Now. This got me thinking that, although MyPoolBoy and I are not into any of that WEIRD crap to get our kicks, we do have an understanding of sorts that could be construed as a "safe word."
That word is OW.
As in "OW, get off my hair" and "OW, who left the remote control on the bed" and "OW, you need to cut your toenails."
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