Feeding Time

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Viper Roberts
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Joined: Mon Nov 30, 2020 10:23 am

Feeding Time



We used to have this farm.

There, my father would come up with a whole bunch of free and fancy ways of making himself some extra dough.

A few extra bucks for him to go and squander in some casino, brothel or crack house.

This one summer our beloved pet spaniel was in season. So what did the old man do? He went and pimped the poor bitch out to one of his farm friend’s studs.

The dogs did what dogs in that situation do, and two or so months later our spaniel gave birth to a quintuple of baby pups.

Five little fur darlings; all with their own unique personalities.

As the puppies began to grow, I’d spend hours observing their behaviours.

The first born was the most entitled. Being the eldest, the one thing that puppy thrived on was the competition of his siblings. He wanted to be the best at everything, and would wear his shiny gold pendant around his neck with pride to prove that point.

The second was the prettiest of the litter. He had a reputation amongst his peers for being his mother’s inspiration and motivation for her family; a notoriety and respect that all the other doggies tried effortlessly to bring down.

The third pup was a tearaway. He would skulk around the pen stealing items from his brothers and keeping them hidden away. He was by far the naughtiest and most unpredictable of the brood.

The fourth puppy was the outcast of the group; the black sheep of the family. He was ignored by his brothers and unloved by his mother simply because he was different. They say that every litter has its runt, and pup number four was exactly that.

The fifth and final puppy was the aggressor; the most destructive of all the offspring. Despite him being the youngest, age and social structure didn’t stop that angry little dog lashing out without reason or cause and drawing the blood of his siblings. Pup five had one motivation; to strike fear and chaos inside the puppy pen.

Despite all these distinct peculiarities, there was one time every day when all their little characteristics went completely out the window.

Feeding time.

When the old man would trudge over to the pen and fill the troth with food, each of the five pups would fight tooth and nail for the bounty.

For the flavoursome prize at stake.






Just like those five little fur babies you will battle, brawl and boil for the Invasion briefcase.

The individual traits that make each of you contenders for the chance to secure the purse by eating your weight in opportunity will go out of the window; just like those wide-eyed little pups.

And when your backs are turned, distracted from the task at hand by one another, squabbling like children, your feast will be snatched away from you.

I will pounce.

Take you by surprise.

Ambush your opportunities.

Why? Because I rule this dog house, little puppas.

And unlike Wrestle Heroes and Lambs to the Slaughter…

I refuse to go hungry again.
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