The Eturi
Part 1 - Genesis


I shall tell you of the first Eturi.
I shall tell you how the seas did not want them--
Coughing them up on the shore
Like water from the lungs of a drowning man.


They were unseemly things.
Arms stretched sinewy from their sockets
Fingers tipped with bulbs
And dripping a sticky mucus
Tearing flesh off prey caught in their hands
On teeth with edges like sawed-off metal.


Their stomachs--
A swollen gelatinous sack of a belly
Mottled with spots and partially translucent
Allowed for an uninhibited view onto the trophy of their latest meal
As it slowly digests.


The Eturi were humanoid only by their incipience
To foul the word--
Human.


The land was bare rock and mud then.
The Eturi were kings
Nothing lived that could challenge their predominance
For nothing lived,
There were yet no plants or other animals
Nothing to eat.


On all fours, they scrabbled the earth for food
Stiff-arming on knuckles
And the tippy toes of their feet
Lip-******* the dirt
Pumping their bellies full of mud and sand
Licking the rocks and chewing clay--
Always hungry
Scouring from beach--to desert--to canyon--to cracked earth--to volcano
Anything to eat.


Until starving, their belly made its final demand--
They must feed.


The first to fall to hunger was unexpected.
A look
From one Eturi upon another
A look that may have been casual or even sincere
Suddenly took on a thoughtful gaze
Then a deliberate stare.


Soon a second Eturi took up that gaze
Then a third,
No words passed between them
Their eyes were like the baying of hounds
Calling the others to them
Swelling into a pack
Drinking the scent of their gaze--
Silent
Coiling
Hunger so close to the surface
The air was almost chewy.


When the other Eturi turned
And saw their eyes upon him
The eyes of his brothers and sisters
The look in their eyes,
He could barely register protest
Before they were on him--
Ripping flesh from muscle
Muscle from bone
Bones snapped to **** out the marrow.
The Eturi was eaten
Before he died.


Survival did not go to the biggest and strongest
For they had the most to eat.
No, survival went to the scrawniest
The smelliest
The most deformed
Those with unappealing prickles of hair
For they were the most unsavory.


And out of this interspecial gorging
Bred a trait
That would become their greatest and most lasting legacy--
Cunning.


For what mattered resourcefulness
Self-preservation
Or strength of the will to live,
If you could predict the hunger in others
And twist them to your own?


It was said that the Land was so moved
Upon seeing the Eturi,
That taking the earth in her hands
She tore open her own breast
And drew forth life
In plants and grasses and fruit and trees and rich vegetation
And to lure other animals--
That anything
The Eturi may feed on anything
Anything but themselves.


But so the Eturi were
So when the Land gave up its last blossom
So would the Eturi always be.

On My Mind

This is what's going on in my mind,
not sure to be mean or kind.
I could amaze you with a riddle,
maybe play with my wooden fiddle.
Chop people into tiny bits,
buy a stripper and see her ****.
Does love even really exist,
will **** ooze from my cyst.
Wisdom I could dazzle,
take a shower and forget the towel.
Make you laugh, make you smile,
that's just my kind of style.
How much I hate your guts,
Dickie Roberts said nucking futs.
Are any of us really even here,
maybe face myself a fear.
Sing you a groovy song,
smoke from a huge ****.
Go dance the night away,
check out my hips as they sway.
How I hate to wipe my ***,
dogs always have the smelliest gas.
Drink shots til I puke,
always listen to Jesse Duke.
Am I alive or am I dead,
writing naked in my bed.
Now you see how my mind works,
if not, you're just stupid jerks.
So many thoughts, I can't even mention,
but I think by now I have your attention.

Do pigs know they are the ugliest,
dirtiest,
smelliest
most repulsive animal on the farm?
They must not,
because otherwise
how would they gain the strength
to wake up each morning
and walk about the farm
and eat slop?
They must not know how ugly they are,
otherwise they would lock themselves away.

I wish I were as ignorant as a pig.

It was back in his hey day
when elves used to be nimble
Sitting all day listening to stuff
Sat on a shiny silver thimble.

They were their bar stools at the bar
drinking dandelion beer till drunk
It was a powerful brew that blew their socks off
Revealing their toes that really stunk.

Feet washing was not their thing
Dandelion beer was more their cup of tea
They had to wait till the peas dropped
to have a nice bath in the pod of the pea.

You can imagine elves in a line at the bar
All taking their first swig of the beer
They pow, their socks would all shoot off
a picture that to you and me is most queer.

Then the stench of smelly, ***** feet
Giggling was the order then of the day.
They would see who had the smelliest toes
Sniffing and giggling along the way.

The one that won had to down a jug
of the powerful dandelion beer with froth
Then roll the victor under the table to sleep
and cover him up with the tablecloth.

The little winner with stinky feet
snoring while the others giggled.
Then with daisies stuck to the side of his face
The drunken victor wriggled.

"Roll me home, will you, my chaps, roll me home"
They did as they were told and parked him by a tree
to steady himself when asleep they thought.
On returning ten hours later, he had rolled free.

He was slumped under a mushroom, upside down
He had obviously been singing his heart out.
On went his socks up he stood sort of upright
Tottered off to see what the fuss was about.

He did not get very far, he tripped over a leaf
His eyes closed shut and off he slept till sober
Which was a day or three, this drunken elf
certainly had a day definitely to remember.

In my younger years I was in darkness
yet trying to hide from it. I kept my hair short and my body *****.
I dressed like a boy and tried my best to be the smelliest kid.
At night in my room before bed
I would sit and look at those parts of my body.
Those parts I wished I didn’t have.
I would then take my tiny little blade out of my tiny little tin
And I would cut.
I would cut tiny little patches of tiny little cuts
All over those parts of my body
If it's ****** and gross and I’m ***** and ugly
Then why does he return every night

It's said that a dog is "man's best friend."
To me they're a pain in the ****.
Usually, when I see a dog,
I see a mangy mutt.

Yipping, barking, slobbering, howling,
Shedding, pooping, and such,
Dogs are very high maintenance creatures,
Which can be a bit much.

I cringe when they run up to me
And want to spray them with mace
When after licking their rear, they try
To lick me in the face.

And cleaning up after them? My goodness!
It would make me gag
To pick up a giant pile of ****
With my hand in a plastic bag.

They can let the smelliest farts.
Granted, so can we.
But we can leave the room, or at least
Say, "Please pardon me."

And when they get sick, they crap all over
And ***** and make a mess.
It makes me want to throw up as well
And find a rapid egress.

Sometimes they'll ruin household items
By chewing on this or that.
And I will scream the loudest curse
Whenever I step where they shat.

Some dogs are much more tolerable
Than others, I'll admit.
If I pet one, I'm being nice
And not a hypocrite.

Dogs, I know, bring lots of joy
To people's lives. That's fine.
But I expect their pets to behave.
That's the bottom line.

I'm sure I'm in the minority
To feel the way I do.
But everyone has the right to share
His or her point of view.

Dog lovers will probably say
I'm just a grumpy old man.
Perhaps, but when it comes to dogs,
I'm simply not a fan.

-by Bob B (1-26-24)