It all started outside our hotel room last month. On the 4th floor. All the way at the end of a long, dimly lit and lonely corridor. We tiptoed down the hall, terrified of the carpet beneath our feet. It was right out of American Horror Story Hotel; adorned with palm trees accosting the eyes inside a groovy coastal motif. Oh, man. I get goose bumps just thinking about it. We opened the door to our room, only to discover a beautiful bay view. But, of course, we checked the bed for any evidence of a putrefied man in need of Colgate Maxwhite toothpaste sewn into the mattress. Shit like that happens. Well, on American Horror Story Hotel anyway. There was real evidence of a public crime. However, it wasn't in our room, it was dripping down the railings of our balcony. It also pooled on the cement floor like psychedelic mildew at a motel 6. But this was the Holiday Inn at Lido Key in Sarasota Florida. Sinister? Perhaps. Hmmmm. Have I dropped the right hints?
It's not much of a horror story really. But then again, every story has to start somewhere. Ours started at dinner. We had chicken and broccoli pizza on the balcony. And Centenario Rum. Centenario is Costa Rica's finest sugar distilled delight. But what does Centenario have to do with this story? Nothing. I just love the stuff.
After dinner we...wait a minute. This isn't that kind of story. Flash forward to breakfast. We ordered the Holiday Inn's famous cinnamon swirl french toast. It was worth dying for. BBWWWAAAHH!
Then....we had a visitor. He watched us from behind the neighbor's privacy fence. They were fast asleep next door, probably wearing dental night guards, snoring and completely oblivious to the criminal lurking on their balcony. Slowly the creature inched closer, enveloping us in a war of wills. We nervously listened to his claws clacking on the railing as he approached. Click, clack. Click, clack. Before we knew it, we were paralyzed, watching the creature boldly steal a morsel from our breakfast tray with a flurry of feathers.
Oh my God. We forgot about the pizza! The creature returned. His beady black eyes revealing everything we needed to know about his true identity. He was a killer. A pizza killer.
After he finished ravaging our scraps, he tried to send us a lewd message. And I'm not talking about the kind of message crows deliver on Game of Thrones each week. No, this was gross. But, there was something the crow didn't bargain for. The cheese he'd scarfed down from our greasy pizza box. His message got stuck. He bent his superior brain between his legs, looked up to his nether regions, appraised the sticky situation and did the only thing a feathered beast is capable of doing. He tore at his droop of poop and flung it to the wind.
An excerpt from The Colon of the Crows. Not to be confused with The Chorus of the Crows!
Don't be scared of all this silliness. Be sure to head over to Sharon's Paws Create for sunrise photos to die for. BBWWWAAHHH!