Armadillo By Morning - A Thigh of Relief

SAGA SG and I were perched high atop the patio of the “Pleasant Pervert” (not actual name) having some late lunch when he had somehow convinced me to try the veggie wrap. This quite obviously contradicts the cannibal code in every single way, but I honestly thought that it may actually contain thin slices of vegetarians… I was sadly disappointed - again. I’ve eaten plenty of vegans in my time; now I know what makes them all taste so gamey. I couldn’t stomach the last half of my “food” so I sat back with my virgin-cocktail (made from the blood of real “virgins” – or so they say, they must have a farm somewhere) and it was then that I saw her.

The first wild redhead that we caught sight of was prowling through the patio furniture like a long-limbed she-wolf, she had apparently been there long before we arrived but like most flame haired vixens, her pale cotton skin camouflaged her against the bare white walls. She was a beautiful thing to witness, her feral nature barely contained by blistering blue eyes. Her hair appeared to catch flame in the warmth of the afternoon sun as she sought the air for the scent of frightened Scotsman (their prey of choice). Thankfully, SAGA and I were downwind from her so his kilt candy didn’t betray our prime position, we could watch her at length with little fear of being attacked. She was magnificent, but nothing could prepare us for what we were to witness next.

From the shadows came a second undomesticated redhead (SAGA saw her first but was immobile with fright), she was equally stunning and just as lithe – my mouth fell agape. We had heard rumblings of the occasional misfit sighting of two scarlet locked ladies within the same day, but never vying for the same territory and never with specimens like this. It only took a second for them to size each other up from opposite sides of the deck, it was an intense exchange. Being somewhat of a redhead connoisseur (or so I thought) I surmised that the two scarlets were preparing to perform a dominance dance or perchance engage in crimson combat right in front of us! When I was young I heard that those of red mane were like Siamese fighting fish, if two of them were indeed within close proximity, they’d attempt to kill and subsequently eat each other. Needless to say, we had to stick around to find out. We sat quietly in our corner and monitored the sexy beasts, hoping that if they did decide to pounce at each other that we may be privy to a free meal of freckled white thighs a la carte.

They arched their backs slightly and progressed towards each other, we couldn’t believe our luck - we quietly shuffled forward in our seats. The smaller of the two tried to act casual, fumbling with her cigarettes and tapping her four inch heel on the patio floor to perhaps signal a possible attack. The other tried to avert her attention elsewhere in an effort to either distract or deter - she wore her tattoos like warpaint. As they approached each other I turned to SG and said, “I have an Armadillo in my pants!”


The reds stopped dead in their tracks, looked to us just a few scant meters away and just like that, they were gone. I had blown it, spooked by the Armadillo trying to eat its way through my jeans or by the fact that I verbally disrupted their display – they darted off into oblivion, never to be seen again… leaving nothing but a horny Scot, a regretful cannibal and an unfed Armadillo.

iPod played "George Strait - Amarillo By Morning" while posting