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 Category:  General Fiction
  Posted: January 12, 2019      Views: 41

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Exceptional
This work has reached the exceptional level
animal crackers yarn 586 words
"President Blacky" by LIJ Red



When he had assured himself that all his wives were settled down for the night, high in the white pine with the smelly crust on the ground beneath, Blacky, the claret gamecock, strolled down to the hollow mountain where his old pal, the Two-leg, lived. He flew up on the back porch bannister, repressing the urge to sound his challenge.

The flickering thing with the unnatural voice was active in the front cavern of the hollow mountain. The recliner was leaned far back and two lumpy feet lifted on the footrest. Even his calm old Two leg was agitated this night. He seldom energized the flickering thing, declaring it sheer BS.

Lightfoot, the seal-point siamese cat with half a tail, sat on the window sill, curious about the unrest among the two-legs. Blacky looked twice, Lightfoot's shadow was too long and dark.

"Greetings, Foot. Hello, 'Iggins." he said.

Lightfoot glanced at him and purred. Her shadow, the jetblack feral tom known to the two leg as Higgins--'Iggins--growled, "Hello, drumsticks."

"The two-legs are choosing a leader," Lightfoot said.

"Choosing? You mean the ancient tradition of the smartest and strongest taking the leadership is not being honored? This will not work." Blacky was alarmed.

"One of the prospects is a sow," 'Iggins said. "The other a blustering capon with no spurs."

"Tragic!" Blacky replied. "No wonder all the two-legs cackle and squawk."

"There is a faction of two-legs who wish to abandon all traditions, destroy all history, emasculate the males, erase the genders, and have others make all their decisions and do their work. They want a leadership of unlimited power to protect them. Then they want to be princes and princesses, all of them," Lightfoot said.

"Have you ever heard such folly? Power only feeds itself," Blacky sighed.

"One of them frets about a vast migration of outsiders, who wish to live with a minimum of work and have no affection for the older residents." said 'Iggins.

"That is the way of the two-leg. The darker ones have a certain unity, the pale are a wailing rabble headed for slaughter." Lightfoot polished her nails on the windowframe.

The bald head in the recliner roared, "Foot, dammit, quit wrecking the trim."

Lightfoot ignored him. "He rattles the keys on the small flickering contraption, and makes notes and sighs. He yells nonsense at times. Like 'Every taxpayer is paying six hundred bucks a year to feed and doctor and school the illegals. Not me, by God, I'm 'way below poverty and ain't paid a cent o' tax since I retired.'"

Iggins licked his foot and wiped his nose. "Once he moaned 'Seven billion, six hundred twenty million, more than two for every acre of farmland. And the ocean grabbing more acres every year. Woe, woe, calamity.'"

Lightfoot yawned. "Another time he said, 'So my share of the national debt is sixty-eight thousand, eh? Well, they can kiss mah aiss. ' He says that often, but I have yet to meet his donkey."

"Do you think there is danger, Blacky? What would you do if you had to lead the whole nation, not just your flock?" 'Iggins inquired.

"First I would burn all the flickering boxes, and shoot those who appear on them spreading hate and discontent," Blacky said. "Good night. I must away to the roost."

"Good night, Wishbone." 'Iggins' eyes were green fire in the inky shadow below the window.

The flickering box was a melee of agitated two-leg voices as Blacky marched away to the white pine.
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