A pungent postbellum
The Cani-Corvine War, it seems, is over at last — brief, but furious. And it turned out to be something of a rout. The dog forces, with their excessive and seemingly inexhaustible firepower, simply overwhelmed their cunning grease-feathered foes.
Mr. Nero's crow armies surely had it coming. At best, they overplayed a shaky hand against a well-heeled and connected lot. More likely, they took a slobbery, blank grin as a sign of incompetence. Understandable. Stupidity, maybe. But incompetence? Nev- . . . well, not often, let's say.
For their part, the local dogs now seem rather pleased with themselves. Inasmuch as that's any kind of change from the norm, I feel I should point out that had the cats been left to deal with this crow menace themselves, there would have been no war. We solve our problems by stealth and shadow, with quick blades and unseen death. But dogs fight like they poop — noisy, sloppy, and out in the open. All fanfare and no subtlety.
Now, 48 hours after the cease-fire, I have completed a rough survey of the field. The burning, sulfury smell of canine ordnance still fouls the air. Every so often, a distant pop breaks the peace (cleanup crews detonating unexploded rounds, most likely). I have seen but one crow — a roughed-up and bewildered youngster wandering in endless circles on a neighboring rooftop. War is all hell.
Clearly, this affair leaves a palpable gap in leadership among the feathered. The last thing we need is endless clashes between disorganized gangs of thuggish survivors struggling for power. We need a solid and trusted captain up there if order is to be restored in the skies. We need the Cawfather back.
Don Croleone hasn't been heard from since before Mr. Nero started this little insurrection. And despite their darker dealings, the Corva Nostra are nothing if not organized and disciplined. Now, with Nero on the run (or, if there is any justice, blown to small bits and winding his way towards a labrador's colon), it is time for a corvo molto rispettato to once again pull these scattered and shaken soldiers under his wing.
I'm sure the dogs won't protest. Reconstruction has never been their strong suit.
Mr. Nero's crow armies surely had it coming. At best, they overplayed a shaky hand against a well-heeled and connected lot. More likely, they took a slobbery, blank grin as a sign of incompetence. Understandable. Stupidity, maybe. But incompetence? Nev- . . . well, not often, let's say.
For their part, the local dogs now seem rather pleased with themselves. Inasmuch as that's any kind of change from the norm, I feel I should point out that had the cats been left to deal with this crow menace themselves, there would have been no war. We solve our problems by stealth and shadow, with quick blades and unseen death. But dogs fight like they poop — noisy, sloppy, and out in the open. All fanfare and no subtlety.
Now, 48 hours after the cease-fire, I have completed a rough survey of the field. The burning, sulfury smell of canine ordnance still fouls the air. Every so often, a distant pop breaks the peace (cleanup crews detonating unexploded rounds, most likely). I have seen but one crow — a roughed-up and bewildered youngster wandering in endless circles on a neighboring rooftop. War is all hell.
Clearly, this affair leaves a palpable gap in leadership among the feathered. The last thing we need is endless clashes between disorganized gangs of thuggish survivors struggling for power. We need a solid and trusted captain up there if order is to be restored in the skies. We need the Cawfather back.
Don Croleone hasn't been heard from since before Mr. Nero started this little insurrection. And despite their darker dealings, the Corva Nostra are nothing if not organized and disciplined. Now, with Nero on the run (or, if there is any justice, blown to small bits and winding his way towards a labrador's colon), it is time for a corvo molto rispettato to once again pull these scattered and shaken soldiers under his wing.
I'm sure the dogs won't protest. Reconstruction has never been their strong suit.
so sayeth Shmool on Saturday, July 08, 2006
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home