Today, I went snail hunting. This was for my ART GCSE. ART GCSE, OK? Not just 'cos I was a loser. And the experience of snail hunting was... woah. Intense, I tells ya. It was fucking intense. This set of a chain of ecents that would go on to change my life, and EXISTANCE AS WE KNOW IT... forever.
Cities were toppled.
Dictators killed.
Revolutions achieved.
The questions that have bugged us for the eternal millenia were solved.
I'm a changed man. Here's my countdown of what happened, in beautiful prose:
Thomas looked left and right, checking out every inch of the undergrowth. All was silent. But something was out there - his finely trained hunter's senses never missed a thing. Something was out there. Watching. Waiting. Far away, a bird chirped. The sound was strangely alien in his terrible landscape.
Thomas sank back down to the ground, and crawled on his belly. Suddenly, he stopped. Cocked his head to the side. He picked something out from the silence. It wasn't a sound, as such. More a presence. To the left. About a metre.
A single drop of sweat ran down his long manly nose and plopped to the ground. He stopped breathing. Turned. Yes, there it was. He saw a flash of it's scaly hide. It was now or never.
He darted forward and grabbed the snail in two hands. YES! He had succeeded! But suddenly, he stopped, turned in panic.
Too late. The other two snails leapt from above, ripping open his arm with one slash of their fiendish claws. Thomas screamed loudly at this terrible pain, then, in one fluid move, ripped the bowie knife from its holster on his thigh and SLASHED one of the snails through the eye. It screamed and fell backwards. The other retreated a step. Thomas, using the powers of Kung Fu taught by his wise and ancient master of Manliness, Olee Gie, performed a suckerpunch to its throat. It fell backwards, gurgling and spitting burning acid at Thomas's boot, burning through the inch thick leather. Thomas unholstered his AK47 Flamethrower, setting it to 'Fry' as he went, and hit the snail with fifteen thousand rounds of compressed head powered bullets, spraying it's guts all over the
Ok, this is not how it happened.
I wandered around in the cold for about 15 minutes in my garden. I found two snails, one big and one small. For the sake of clearness, they shall be known as biggy and smally. For now. Once in my room, only smally decided to wake up and start crawling around. Bless. Biggy just sat there and started oozing shit all over my desk. So I threw him out of the window.
MURDER! Yes, I know. But he was probably already dead. But just to be safe, tonight at 1.45, I'm gonna get up. I'm gonna find the body. I'm gonna drive it into an abandoned woodland somewhere. And I'm gonna bury it. And I'm gonna get away with it too! MWAHAHAHAH!
Anyway.
Smally then had to be named. Cos, you know, Smally is a shit name.
After a MSN vote (See, HOW COOL AM I?) it got the following series of names: Cassie, Sammy, Lance, Sniffles, Mr Sniffles, Jeff and finally Mr Jeff. I mean, how do you top Mr Jeff? You don't. You twat. So I didn't try to. Mr Jeff it was.
Mr Jeff crawled all over the jam jar (WITH WATER AND LETTUCE) that I'd provided for it, happy as larry. I decided that he needed more water, so I poured, like, half a glass in there. You know, to be safe.
I LEFT HIM ALONE FOR LIKE HALF AN HOUR.
When I returned, he was floating in the water. Motionless. Silent (well, he wasn't that talkative beforehand, but ANYWAY). Dead? Oh no. I picked up his tiny body in my hands, then sank to my knees.
"WHY GOD, WHY! NAAAAAAARGH! A PLAGUE ON BOTH YOUR HOUSES! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! MR JEEEEEEEEEFFFFFFF! WHYYYYYYYY? TAKE ME INSTEAD! AAAAAARGH!"
I wept many a tear. Ish. Before leaving Mr Jeff's dead corpse on the tin of golden syrup. I now had two corpses to dispose of, and I didn't know if I had the power to dig TWO graves. It was all going pearshaped. Here was my situation:
1: I'd kidnapped two snails from the garden.
2: I'd murdered one.
3: I'd locked the other one up in a jar.
4: I'd DROWNED the other one.
5: Would you leave me alone with your young children?
Shit. But then. The miraculous happened.
MR JEFF RETURNED TO LIFE!
Like some sort of heavenly visiter, his little eyes emerged from under his shell and he rose from the dead. He was fine! I had had my sins expunged. But then I realised. Mr Jeff wasn't the proper name for him after all. This snail had lived. He'd died. And then he'd risen from the dead once again. Dear God.
Mr Jeff Christ the Snail has now been moved to a much larger jam jar, and is looking forward to his first booking as a life model. For me.
Kill zombie-snails with: a big motherfuckin' pool of water.
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