>>5992064Fool. That’s how you lose fingers. I live in Maryland right next to a river, and we get those slimy lummoxes migrate glacially over our unfortunately (for them) long lawn in the spring. I’ve had to pick them up with shovels/put them in the scoop of the tractor and transport them to the river so that they don’t kill our dog. They will bite fucking anything and hiss like a cat. Powerful, terrifying jaws from the primevalesque muck of the bottom of the American river. Who knows upon which deep matters his mind moves, behind those eyes, those soulless yet sinister eyes of such a Cimmerian strangeness? His world is one brumous and vague, of mud and the anaerobic choke of the silty, field-polluted streams; but, in his hibernation, lodged in the umber banks that once felt Piscataway feet,—pray tell—does he dream? Do spirits assail him by night, that Stygian ever-night, and do swevens toss his torpid soul on buffeting waves, like Aeneas? Or does he dream instead of an escape from his hell, to seek the sun and warm air? No, for lo, this hero has no Italy; his binding carapace imprisons him, and his wretched soul is stranded, leaden, sunk to the bottom of a deep and black well. Its sides trail around and around, the walls are sheer, and you float ever up and up until you are staring down and in, into the eye: The black hole, the caliginous, unholy shaft; the eye of the snapping turtle. Why would you try and feed it? Dumbass.
