WRESTLING WITH CROCODILES

I had seen him before. No one forgets scales like that. Never mind that he's had a bath since the last time - those teeth and that long ugly tail are instantly recognizable. And that big carnivorous grin!
Even with the fake moustache.

He was drinking a Manhattan - two maraschino cherries and an eye-ball.
Briefly, I wondered why he seemed blind in one eye.


"If your eye falls on a table, pick it up"


The man didn't say cocktail, he said table. He was talking about furniture. Why does a giant lizard need furniture?
Reptiles aren't known for dining normally, they sink their fangs into the animal and thrash around till it's dead. Maybe he was protective of his moustache. That was probably where his only friends lived. Any moment now he'd pull out a knife and fork, and worry some smaller creature to death with them.

I dreaded the moment that a dead animal flopped onto the bar. Slaughtering small mammals just didn't seem right in a drinking establishment. If they're old enough to drink, they're old enough to observe making fools of themselves.
Planning to eat them seems so shortsighted.
I was surprised he couldn't see that.
Oh wait, eyeball missing.
No wonder he looked bloodshot.

Never drink with giant lizards. They get into your foxhole and you had better pray that you stocked it with decomposing chickens.
Without the chickens and a ladder you'll have a hard time of it.
Best thing: a rutting frenzy. It distracts them. Watch out for the flailing tails.
Worst thing: election time. That's when they grow teeth, and their eyes get bloodshot.

There's something in a cocktail glass staring at me. It looks mean and bloody.
If it knew what it was doing, it would worry about the long tongue hovering overhead instead.
Any moment now, that crocodile is going to sink his fangs into the helpless Manhattan and thrash it to death.

Run away, little orphan eyeball, run away! Escape!

Never let the bastard lick you.


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