According to Lemonade Poem; “The Jesusita Fire in Santa Barbara, CA last week caused these two to take shelter together. The fawn is 3 days old and the bobcat about 3 weeks. The fawn came from somewhere in the fire and the bobcat from Carpintaria. They immediately bonded and snuggled together under a desk in the Santa Barbara County Dispatch Office for several hours.”
Back again we go to the Daily Mail, this time for a story so incredible that the hoax hunters over at snopes.com stepped up to verify it: The story of Jasmine, a rescued greyhound who has returned the favor by serving as surrogate mom to 50 creatures, ranging from puppies to deer.
“She simply dotes on the animals as if they were her own,” says Geoff Grewcock, operator of Nuneaton and Warwickshire Wildlife Sanctuary. “She takes all the stress out of them and it helps them to not only feel close to her but to settle into their new surroundings.”
Pictured with Jasmine are, from left: A pup, a deer, another pup, a bunny, and a barn owl. Not pictured: A unicorn, The Yeti, an alien face-hugger, Wally Gator, Phil Spector’s hair, The Chicago Cubs, and Abe Vigoda.
It strikes without warning, wreaking terrible terror too terrifyingly torturous to tolerate! What is it? And what does it crave, this creeping horror, this unearthly ungulate, striking fear into the hearts of all who bear witness?
When it hunts you — YOU DARE NOT MOVE! When it finds you — YOU DARE NOT BREATHE! Nothing in the depths of your darkest nightmares can prepare you for the UNSTOPPABLE EVIL!!!
There is no escape from … THE ATTACK OF THE FIFTY-FOOT TONGUE!
A Morgan R. production, starring Clifton Flange, Loretta Trashsmasher and “Tex” McGee as Cardinal Richelieu. Rated [R] for Redonkulous. Coming soon to this theater!
“Hey, sweetie, my friend here’s getting married on Tuesday, and we were wondering if you’d like to … hey, where you goin’? Aw, come on, honey, we just need you to pop out of a cake, that’s all!”
(OK, actual story: This nice lady visiting Japan gave the deer some of her bread — and promptly learned why that’s not such a good idea.)
Man, those were the days. You could get into Fenway Park for fifty cents back then, a Hershey bar was a nickel, and gasoline was only thirty cents a gallon, if you can believe that— and lemmie tellya, when I drove my Impala in for service, the crew gave me the royal treatment. Now, I gotta pump my own gas, sigh …