Some time ago while he was busily doing nothing other than going through the WhatsApp feed on his gadget, the phone thing you know, yeah, that was it.

He'd happened to run into a video of an African wilder-beast being dragged by a reluctant hind leg to the feast. The leg was wedged into the jaws of a hungry Crocodile my child, yes, like this. As said, the cattle beast's right hind leg was wedged up good and proper into the jaws of the Crocodile's clapper.

While the beast was being drawn backways into the Lear and the domain of the croc, and to certain death bad luck, in proper. Of course, it was there, in the deep waters where the beast (definitely) didn't want to be running off to, anywhere. He, well, let's assume it's a "he," he was resisting with everything in him, trying to escape the croc's deadly death gripping.

Meanwhile, the stage was being set for another "repent and be thou saved oh ye sinful man," sermon. Yes, it was being narrated by an emotional Christian brother. One would have known this much because of how he started out and then continued to compare the whole scene proper, Leigh, to the life and times on the journey of a Christian like me e e.

God surely doesn't like ugly, boy. God doesn't like crocodiles either, so it would have seemed, probably because they are so ugly. It sure would seem so to me, yeah, I'm very mean.

In his mind, it would have appeared to us as if everything there with the breath, or even those without breathing breath in the nostrils to spew or spit, were there only to be used as props on the set. Designed to teach greater lessons to the believer, or even the unbeliever.

The unbeliever who's to be the next one targeted to be converted into a receiver, perhaps.

Well, everything other than for the Crocodile, mi pops. The croc, for his luck, (or even for the lack thereof,) seemed to be likened to the devil's tools on the truck, or the devil himself, (tough luck.) No one seemed to give a rat's assumption of anything about the life and times of Croaky the Crocodile and its sin, so it would seem. But, as far as others are concerned, some of us have got other notions about that as was learned.

I have got a feeling about the croc, and if you are a thinking person, more or less like the duck, or worsened, you (probably) will too, because. After all these happenings are done and over with, and many are gone to a forgotten land, quickly, quick. I have a feeling that the Croc will still be here. Yeah, that sure is sick, my dear.

The Croc is a survivor, she has probably seen and gone through many such scenes in her own life and times before the divers, and her. Like, those other times when no human eyes were there peeping through the door and watching such things occur, nor cameras recording and she would have lived it out.

Quite unlike how it was to be with some of her friends, friends who did not live it out? Like, three of them come and didn't live it out, four of them come and didn't live it... oh, wait a minute, no. I've got to stop this. Got this refrain going on in my headed brain Fitz. where did it come from again, and so quick, um, I wonder?

Crocodile, though, had managed to live out a lot of things that could have been living, like, still, and found her next meal shortly thereafter. Like I'm sure she did after those cameras were turned away from her saucer. Speaking of watching, some others were, be it of the people kind or any other greater or lesser creature kind round and about those parts on the shore. They were there watching. Many may have been there and wearying themselves away, watching, until they couldn't watch anymore, because, well, look at him, you know the score.

They would have been trying hard to ensure that each individual: I, me, or even, "we." Every one among them there would have been trying to ensure that, I, I, "I won't become the next victim," you know, like, the next meal for Croaky the Crocodile to go off fixing. But one of them will be, and soon, and then another and another, because. Crocodiles must be fed and shall be.

Yes, yes, my brother, come and see. It wasn't games that she was out there playing, like me. Like, stuck in the mud, or touch and run, perhaps, or any other such thing as that. She was laboring for food to take back home to the pots, for dinner, for herself and him with spinners, and for her young ones. Well, if she has any young ones!

According to the website; Pets on Mom. More than two hundred million years ago, crocodiles roamed the earth among the dinosaurs, a combination of physiological and behavioral adaptations has ensured the crocodile's survival through the ages. So the story goes on these pages. Croc, therefore, is a survivor, who just happened to have lost out on the favor, like, the charm thing. Which, no one gave her an arm swing, to go and give it to him.

Or. If they did, it would probably have fallen off her, and unto others from him. And probably due to the earth's overwarming and the overpopulation sin ting, or something. But what's up with all those scary-looking teeth on either side of her beak, and those hanging on him looking for something to eat? Like, that long curvy face, thing. Sure, doesn't help her and him any in this case, Singh, nor in winning friends and sympathizers in. Never was found lucky enough to have had many in her corner clamoring to surprise her, shouting "happy birthday" in wishes and cheering her on through the inside door.

None to protect her from harm or the threat of extinction.

But she'd managed to live it out, and many other kinds, roundabout him and you. She would have lived them out, those other species men would scout. Those who used to be but aren't anymore. Like, those whose dried and well-preserved corpses would be lucky if found still hanging on some museum wall as props, or on a hunter's shelf, behind the door stops. Yes, even them.

But Croc's God has been good to her, and to him, this I'd say on the risk of sin. She's still here and hanging on today, on a limb to prey, not on a wall, but on a "want to run away," hind leg. Which currently belongs to that beast who is finding with every breathy pant of his, that, (I'm dead, it said.) Because it can't, no, I mean, it cannot. You know, like, it can't run.

But, as for you and me? Wake up and come. see? "Yes." Now, tell me, who among you was he, or she? Which of you was there rooting for the Croc, urging her on and in for the killing-good luck, so that she could have dinner too, to go home and cook, and like, like, have a meal? Or to be fed along with her family in the deal? That's what she was out there laboring for you know?

But I forgot, she's ugly like I'm not, huh-huh, why did you laugh? Bwoy, clear off, and gweh yah. So, as for the croc, she should not be fed. Unless it's to somebody, and with bread, right? Right, mi bred. That's just how things ought to be and go. No? Oh, well then. Over to you, oh. Such a shame.

Note: I'll be going off on vacation, so you won't be seeing me posting for a few weeks. Come somewhere around mid-July, though, I'll, be, back!