LogFAQs > #930763584

"I guess you have it all figured out," you barely contain your disgust.
"Mmm no sir, that's my older brother. He's up in Buffalo and just did the ol' Buffalo 96 with his wife last week."
"What on Earth is a Buffalo 96?" you blurt out in spite of yourself.
"It's like a 69, but both partners got their backs turned t'one 'nother and each person's tryna hide the fact that they're eatin' hot wings in bed," he explains.
"... Cool. I think I'm going to get g-" you stop your sentence as you notice a tuft of plumage from behind Craig. "What is that?"
Craig steps out of the way. "Oh this? He's my birdver."

Behind Craig is some sort of beaver-parrot hybrid. It's torso is covered in alternating splotches of brown fur and colorful feathers. It has wings, but they're covered entirely in fur and seem too heavy to lift. The birdver's long beaver tail begins thumping against the wall once he realizes he's been noticed. His head appears as a parrot's head, but with a large pair of buck teeth protruding from it. The tail thumping soon stops and is replaced with heavy, labored breathing.

Craig strokes the birdver's back as it seems to recoil from his touch. "Yeah, I've been tryna cross a bird with a mammal for some time now. He may not be perfect, but he's perfect to me. I don't have no kids of my own, so he's my Little Dumper."
You tear through the pages in your bag until you get to the L section. Sure enough, there's a prayer from Little Dumper. It reads, "Please kill me. I should not exist. The pain never ends, so end my life. I am an abomination," with a quantity 1,274 next to it. Little Dumper has made this prayer every day he has been alive.
"What can he do?" you ask, trying not to look directly at it.
"Well he can't fly none," Craig puts his hands on his hips. "And he don't build no dams. He can talk though."
"Really?"
"Well, sorta. It's more of a scream. Go on now, Little Dumper. Show this man right here how you scream so good for Daddy. Go on now," he commands.
Little Dumper continues to wheeze, but otherwise remains silent.
"Well he just did it right 'fore you walked on in here, he's probably all tuckered out now," Craig rationalizes his hybrid's disobedience.
"Well I.... I like him a lot. Ain't he just a brawl at a Checkers," you try to smile pitifully at the birdver.

A crash and a loud shriek of pain is heard from outside.
"Oh god dammit, Tony prolly fell off that ladder again," Craig shakes his head. "Can you go make sure he's alright? I gotta feed Little Dumper his wood chips."
You rush outside and see a couple people have already come over. Tony's ladder is tipped over onto the ground and Tony is splayed out on the pavement. He has pulled his pantleg up to his knee and revealed that his shin bone has punctured through his skin. Blood is draining down his leg.
Tony takes two fingers and runs it across the blood stream. He quickly sticks his fingers in his mouth and quivers for a moment. "Oh fuck yeeeeeah," he mutters.
"God that is so fucking hot," one of the bystanders comments as he pinches his own nipples.
"He's just fucking bleeding, Florida!" you shout.
The bystanders approach Tony and sample the blood pouring out of his lower leg before moaning in ecstasy.
"I'm getting a little woozy," Tony whispers while making direct eye contact with you. "Dehydration. If you know what I mean."
"No, Tony! Blood loss!" you cry. "Quickly, before you pass out, what's your blood type?"
"Horny," he replies.
"No!" you wince.
---

You don't have to put my thighs in the microwave.