C’est en Francais Pour Que ca Sonne Exotique or “The Night the Aardvark Cried”

aardvark2 Gather around children so the tale can be told, of the night the aardvark cried.
It is a tale that may sound absurd, indeed you may say I have lied.

The nights had been cold on the African savannah, so cold as to chill to the bone.
But this was the domain of the aardvark, it was the aardvark’s humble home.

The termites and the ants were being eradicated by the humans who were rude.
This was bad for the aardvarks as those pests had been their food.

aardvark3Tonight the aardvark was starving, with this statement I do not jest.
He sadly decided to turn on the humans, it was them he had to digest.

The first to fall was Henry James, the second Marsha Tyed.
Smothered to death by the aardvark as he sat on each face and cried.

The tears were real and so sad he was, when kids discovered the fate of the pair.
He bellowed in sadness and in despair as he dragged the children off by their hair.

Partially fed, but by no means full, he continued his depressing slaughter.
He pushed a night watchman down some stairs and even ate up his poor daughter.

aardvark4He knew the humans would talk if any survived, oh they’d raise such a clatter.
So he had no choice, his mind had worked out, to continue to only get fatter.

It had to be done, he kept telling himself, as the tears dripped down to his snout.
He moaned and groaned in utter anguish as he ripped their aortas out.

He had to keep going until they all were gone, at least now he won’t be starving.
He came up with a plan and upon a tree, “It Was The Lions!” he did start carving.

aardvark1 So people blamed the lions and decided to name them the Man-Eaters of Tsavo.
But the real culprit was the aardvark, and for now only you and I know.

Today few remember the names of the victims or how the whole village died.
But late at night on the African plains the moans can be heard, reminiscent of…

The Night the Aardvark Cried.


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Published by Alan Reese

Greetings blog wanderers and seekers of truth, or whatever truth appears to be from the mind of a warped individual. You have reached the inner sanctum of some guy named Alan. Having graduated college sometime shortly after the Earth cooled, he finds himself in his late 30's and working out in the real world. His humor is dry and his outlook not so serious and somehow has picked up the nasty habit of writing about himself in the third person. He is married with child and loves his family, sports and, of course, his beloved video games...likelihood of his growing up? Not good. Are you an established site or magazine looking for a writer? Drop me a line if you are interested.

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