The Lion Man

I hear you SOIA… but once a lion eats human flesh they might want more wont they?

Perhaps lion keepers testicles act as an aphrodisiac for lions? …. oh the irony! 😉

@=XDC=iNSANE wrote:

Right behind you SOIA.. Would have commented on that but reports suggest it was shot because it wouldnt let him go.. had it done so and then they shot it.. I’d have kicked off!

pisses me off the most

and a lion (or in this case) a tiger will eat any meat regardless of taste

I dont literally mean the taste of it… they aint gourmets! I mean once they break through that psychological/ instinctive barrier of eating their handlers…. it would be hard to stop it in the future.

@=XDC=iNSANE wrote:

Right behind you SOIA.. Would have commented on that but reports suggest it was shot because it wouldnt let him go

That’s the official version Insane but I’m not buying it.

“Quick Bob! Quick! I need the keys to the shed so I can get THE GUN!!!”
“Now, now. Slow down Bert. What is it with you and the gun. You’re always wanting the bloody gun. ‘the raccoons are fighting – I need the gun’ ‘some kids stolen from the souvenir shop – I need the gun’ ‘Sheila won’t do the washing up again – get the gun’. You’re obsessed lad. Now what is it this time?”
“This time it’s really important Bob. You know Bill was due to go over to the tigers to do the weekly testicle tweaking today”
“Aye, what’s that all about anyway?”
“Fucked if I know, but he was right looking forward to it again”
“Yeah. He does, he does. I’ll give you that. Anyway, so what?”
“Well the tiger in enclosure 3 – what’s it called? Ah, bugger me, I’m crap with names.”
“What, the little yellow and black one? Always purring, big blue eyes? ‘Snugglebum’ you mean”
“No, no – the other one”
“What? the big fuck off black and white bastard? Big red eyes, claws like fucking carving knives? ‘Razorfang’?”
“That’s the fella! Well remembered Bob, yeah him”
“No probs, what about him?”
“Well Razorfang looked really pissed off this morning. Dunno why, much worse than usual though”
“Well you can’t really blame him Bert. I mean, one minute he’s sat in his mountain kingdom under his warm fur coat lording it over all of mother nature when all of a sudden some complete mongoloid tit hoves in over the horizon with a ridiculous ponytail, despite clearly being the wrong side of 40, shoots a tranquilizer dart down his japs eye and dumps him in a cage in some fucking boiling hot country and starts telling any cunt who’ll listen that he’s now Razorfangs twatting ‘dad’. Given that transition, and bearing in mind that the highlight of his week is having Bill gurning like a loon at him once a week whilst he gets his testicles tweaked, I can’t really blame the animal for getting a tad tetchy, you know?
“I hear you Bob. But this morning he looked really pissed off. Seriously. I mean, remember that time Germaine Greer came over to visit on her rag week and I told her she should take her thumb out of her arse and get the washing done, remember the look she gave me? Well this morning, Razorfang looked like that.”
“Ok, so no worries. Just tell Bill to leave the testicle tweaking until tomorrow. Everyone’s a winner.”
“Well, this is where things get a bit more difficult you see Bob. See, I told him that but Bill wouldn’t take no for an answer. You know what he’s like, he’s been itching to get in there and tweak those testicles and besides, he’s got tomorrow off to go see 80’s popular music combo, Men at Work. He loves ’em.”
“Bloody hell, are they still going? And anyway, aren’t they Australian or something?”
“Who knows Bob, and regardless, us New Zealanders and them Australians. We all sound alike don’t we? We’re all basically the fucking same.”
“Yeah. You can’t argue with that.”
“So, Bill was quite insistent that Razorfang was getting his testicles tweaked first thing whether the poor sod liked it, or not.”
“Well then Bert, I’m beginning to get a picture here. I think it’s fair to say that tweaking a disgruntled tigers clockweights when it’s really not in the mood is probably about as safe as trying to staple tits to a shark in a used tampon wetsuit. But my curiosity has been piqued here, so for the sake of any doubt or misunderstanding which may occur later – what exactly transpired?”
“Well. I’ll keep it brief Bob. For 2 reasons. Principally, because the events which I witnessed were burned into my irises for all time and I swore, even as I registered them, that I could never speak of them to any living soul, for fear that utter madness would ensue. And secondly, because time is of the essence here and we really need to act quickly if this episode is to end at all amicably for Bill. In short, the fucking tiger is trying to eat the poor bastard.”
“Somehow, I can’t say I’m all that surpised, Bert.”
“So. I figured I should run over here, tell you what’s happening. That way you can give me the keys to the shed. I’ll trundle off, get the shooter, go back there, pop a cap in Razorfangs noggin, save the day. Bert and Bob are heroes, faces in the news, birds begging to give us blowjobs and beers all round. Job’s a carrot.”
“Sounds like a plan Bert. But there’s one problem, and one that means that I’m not giving you the gun.”
“Aww come on, Bob. What’s the beef?”
“Well, see the thing is this Bert. The idea that now, as we speak, Bill is involved in some gargantuan, titanic struggle for survival with an angry beast which he is furiously wrestling to keep at bay whilst his chum Bert is gallantly rushing to the rescue is a little wide of the mark. What is, in actuality, really happening is that Bill has gone in there and the tiger has decided to have him. Rather than the struggle which you imagine is currently going on what has almost certainly really just happened is that Bill has probably looked up just in time to see some airborne 8 foot long fucking monstrous pissed off snarling motherfucker, all muscle, teeth and big fucking claws about to land on top of him and rip the poor bastard in half. If Bill was really lucky. And I mean, really really lucky, he might have had time to absolutely fucking shit himself before he got disembowelled anyway. Turn up there with a gun and all you’re gonna achieve is to stop Razorfang slipping around in Bill’s guts and batting his decapitated head around like a string ball. In short Bert, you watch too many fucking Tarzan films mate.”
“Aww shit Bob, please. Come on, let me have this one. Please let me get the gun.”
“No Bert, fuck off. It’s pointless mate.”
“Come on Bob, give me the keys. No-one’s gonna blame us for blatting the the tiger this time. Look at it this way – your dining room would look lovely with a nice black and white stripy rug next to the sideboard. Eh?”
“Ah for fucks sake, Bert. Alright. You win. Here’s the keys. Go get the gun. You’ll probably be doing the poor miserable bastard a favour by tonking him between the eyes anyway.”
“You’re a star Bob. Top man! I’ll be back soon – meet you at the enclosure. Watch me fucking go!”
“Yeah, yeah Bert, fill your boots mate. Oi Bert.”
“Bob?”
“One more thing, whilst you’re at the shed, get some bin bags and a spatula…and a hosepipe, definitely a hosepipe. We’re probably gonna need ’em”
“Will do Bob, see you soon.”
“Aye, see you there Bert.”

Now I wasn’t actually there. But I’m pretty sure that shit went down almost exactly like that.