Happy Birthday Togsos
Mar. 6th, 2015 08:19 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
smallhobbitAnd here, just for you (because no-one else would want it) is: Gene Hunt and the Stoat.
Imagine a grassy knoll on which two figures can be seen, one larger and one smaller:
Gene Hunt stretched his legs out and looked down at the small furry creature which was sitting on the ground beside him. The creature looked back up at him, its small black eyes shining brightly.
“What do you reckon then?” Gene asked. “Do you ever worry life may be passing you by and you really are the antiquated dinosaur others accuse you of being?”
“On the basis that I’m warm-blooded and not a lizard,” the stoat replied. “No, I don’t. I presume when the rabbits can run faster than I can, I shall begin to think that things are passing me by, however for the moment I have no difficulty catching my food. But then you don’t have to run after your food, so I suppose it must be different.”
“It’s a good job I don’t have to eat what I catch; I prefer to touch most of the toerags we arrest as little as possible. The thought of having to eat them is just blergh.” Gene stuck his tongue out to emphasise the point. The stoat nodded in an understanding fashion. “And really while I’m still able to order around the constables and sergeants I should be happy. Although my inspector seems to totally ignore anything I tell him to do. Nah, in general they’re okay – it’s the higher ups I have the real problems with.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean.” The stoat paused to scratch his ear. “Bloody owls are a problem. You can’t hear them coming and all of a sudden they’re hovering above you, ready to pounce.”
“We call them Superintendents,” Gene replied. “But they have the same habits. And cause just as much trouble if you don’t take immediate evasive action.”
“Sounds like we’re much alike, you and I,” the stoat said. “We both have ...” He stopped speaking, his attention being taken by the sudden appearance of another, smaller stoat. “What a stunner. I had her sister this morning, and her mother. Now to make her my third.”
The stoat bounced off without a backwards glance.
Gene looked up to see Sam Tyler walking up the hill towards him. “Tell me you weren’t talking to that weasel?” Sam said.
“That was a stoat, Sammy-boy,” Gene replied. “Bigger than a weasel. Turns out he and I have a lot in common. And speaking of things in common, if you don’t fancy me displaying my manhood here, I suggest we take ourselves home.”
Imagine a grassy knoll on which two figures can be seen, one larger and one smaller:
Gene Hunt stretched his legs out and looked down at the small furry creature which was sitting on the ground beside him. The creature looked back up at him, its small black eyes shining brightly.
“What do you reckon then?” Gene asked. “Do you ever worry life may be passing you by and you really are the antiquated dinosaur others accuse you of being?”
“On the basis that I’m warm-blooded and not a lizard,” the stoat replied. “No, I don’t. I presume when the rabbits can run faster than I can, I shall begin to think that things are passing me by, however for the moment I have no difficulty catching my food. But then you don’t have to run after your food, so I suppose it must be different.”
“It’s a good job I don’t have to eat what I catch; I prefer to touch most of the toerags we arrest as little as possible. The thought of having to eat them is just blergh.” Gene stuck his tongue out to emphasise the point. The stoat nodded in an understanding fashion. “And really while I’m still able to order around the constables and sergeants I should be happy. Although my inspector seems to totally ignore anything I tell him to do. Nah, in general they’re okay – it’s the higher ups I have the real problems with.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean.” The stoat paused to scratch his ear. “Bloody owls are a problem. You can’t hear them coming and all of a sudden they’re hovering above you, ready to pounce.”
“We call them Superintendents,” Gene replied. “But they have the same habits. And cause just as much trouble if you don’t take immediate evasive action.”
“Sounds like we’re much alike, you and I,” the stoat said. “We both have ...” He stopped speaking, his attention being taken by the sudden appearance of another, smaller stoat. “What a stunner. I had her sister this morning, and her mother. Now to make her my third.”
The stoat bounced off without a backwards glance.
Gene looked up to see Sam Tyler walking up the hill towards him. “Tell me you weren’t talking to that weasel?” Sam said.
“That was a stoat, Sammy-boy,” Gene replied. “Bigger than a weasel. Turns out he and I have a lot in common. And speaking of things in common, if you don’t fancy me displaying my manhood here, I suggest we take ourselves home.”
