Then Angus has a deep and abiding affection - nay, love - for me that surpasses all mortal understanding. And I have the bites to prove it. Little hairy savage.
There's this catchy little song in Fassbinder's Querelle with the refrain "Each man kills the thing he loves." Is Angus perhaps an afficionado of German cinema?
Seeing as my basement is too full of sawdust and broken shop vacs to set up the television and DVD player, if Angus is an aficionado of German cinema, he's watching it somewhere else. My best guess is that Angus is a misguided aficionado of vampire movies. Or, as I've suggested before, an arse.
Oh crap, Yarrow loves me in that same way. Their tiny little brains can't understand how much weaker our hides are than theirs. Beasts. My personal beast has taken to attempting to roughly groom a spot of poison ivy I have on my chin. I respond by grooming him with water. Lots of water.
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Hairy little savage, eh? Hmm...