so, i took a break from writing

sat outside - in the backyard - and had some one on one time w/Clem.

my fuzzy-footed rooster, cochin banny-type.

purchased @ a gas station in wilmington, ca.

unfortunately he didn't say much.

no, no, no.

the high-pitch cacophony of shrieks occurs @ 4:15 am.

on the dot.

every.

god.

damned.

morning.

but we chatted.

he stared.

and pooped.

and blinked.

and pecked @ my nipples.

and went through a series of tourette-like head jerks.

which has been captured, via a sony cybershot, for posterity.

hey, whaddya expect? i've been laid up for the last few days w/the pig flu...

i'm asking you to believe

hope

clem; rooster-type

its three in the morning and my rooster is crowing

its pitch black outside and this goddamn rooster is crowing

hes not crowing

hes screaming

saying fuck you chris mandia

im seriously considering throwing on some shoes

and strangling his ass

is that wrong?

because its three in the morning and my rooster is crowing

huh?

the sun is NOWHERE to be seen

NOWHERE

but this sonofabitch is screaming his lungs out

and he's only a banny

a midget chicken

with one hell of a shrill voice

it reminds of some hard-jawed militant feminist

calling for my castration

but he seems to have stopped

wait

wait

wait

yup.

there he goes...