"Dammit, if we haven't given the birds "Human Flu"!" I laughed to myself inappropriately, then turned to the musician and shaman and realized it was already too late for them......

The tell-tale signs were already appearing: redness and swelling about the eyes, the puss-filled ring of sores rising around the neck, and the desire to scratch and pull at the skin and hair as the irritation became unbearable - then would begin the laboured breathing and coughing, and within the hour the victim would fall comatose and be beyond redemption as the virus completed its attack and overwhelmed every internal organ....

The shaman said "if this condition lasts for more than four hours, consult a physician". A group of birds, in a "V" formation embedded themselves into the shaman's torso, like sperm into an egg.

And, behold! A mysterious new creature was the result! The Shamen turned into a large blue black raven, quoth the word "Nevermore" and flew off into the sky!

The flu gave the shaman/raven diarrhea. In seconds, we covered in white ickiness.

Bessy Mae jumped and frolicked, and watched as the spirit of the "departed" scattered veils
of angel dust (albiet white and icki) across the survivors, into which the shaman spoke to the dogs' spirit .

..." take this residue , for I had a dream of the ravens of death, and the chance meeting of these souls that may carry on".

So, with no recourse, Bessy licked up the fallen "natural icki" antibiotics, and headed to the back 40 to squat out cultures for Anti-Jockitchimosis

*there later seemed a situation involving female gender by way of...*

I jerked awake, breathing deeply, from my strange and frightenly real dream about vials and ravens.

My dry eyes creaked open to the bright afternoon sun, which was warming the exposed skin through my ripped and torn clothing...

Jeez, I thought, not another groundhog experience......

"CUT!" shouted Barry Jones, the director. "Most dead people dont open their eyes, so lets try this one more time."

Bessy Mae, looks inquistively at all the players, on this last "cut", then jumps into the front seat of the crumpelled Camero, and gives a coon call/howel (meaning in dog talk = YOU go drag some deadweights out of these cars, and eat white ick, ... i'm a coonhound, not some male collie dressed in drag, named "Lassie")

I closed my eyes for take 267, but when I opened them again, I was in a boat, in the middle of a mist-shrouded lake. In the boat, with me, appeared to be dozens of dead, feces-covered gerbils. "my pants are still on" said the voice behind me.

Take 666: I dreamed I was a raven rising on a warm updraft into the Texas sky. Beneath me I saw some idiot and his coonhound. Dick Cheney turned and fired just at the same moment that I saw of flock of starlings with bad coughs wheel and head in my direction...

"Dammit! My project has gone straight to hell!" cried Kagen4o4 as he stared at the plummeting tatters of his story by sentence thread

Bessy Mae licks self.

The end.