Lizards are lazy. They don’t work–as far as I can see–and they don’t exert themselves to mingle socially. They don’t even volunteer for worthwhile charities like the Crippled Chickens Overseas or Planned Pundithood. The loathesome things mostly lie on sidewalks, curbs, porches, rocks, piles of mulch, basking in the sun, eating God knows what (bugs, they say), waiting for me to pounce and end their miserable homeless existences.
I’m sure they get entitlements from their liberal lizard government to enable them to lead such useless, lonely lives, whipping their coily tales about when disturbed from their slumber. But they wouldn’t work in a pie factory, I’m told: It’s so easy for them to exist within their scurrilous underground economy. I’ve heard that their ability to re-grow lost tails is somehow financed by law-abiding taxpayers unaware of the extent of the lizard dole.
More importantly, there are too many lizards. Their population must be managed. Like deer, for instance, or the prolific caper poopers (rabbits they call them). Unfortunately, we can’t build fences with small enough openings to halt lizards with a wanderlust… But I am on it.
I’ve caught three of the little skulkers so far. The first I chomped and chewed but then nearly gagged as it squirmed in my mouth, secreting some foul substance… The next two I merely dispatched with a quick chomp, and I didn’t swallow. They don’t taste like chicken either. But they do provide me with sport. There’s nothing finer than a stroll with my hume on a sluggish sunny afternoon, with lizards scurrying across the sidewalk at the sight of my magnificence on the prowl. Glory days! Oh wondrous life!