[M.D. Holloway]

As the Badger lay on his sofa watching Soccer, he glanced out the window to the gardeners. He watched as they toiled in his flower beds and cut his lawn to a meticulous 2 7/8 of an inch. The Badger was passionate about his lawn being just so. Something didn’t look right. He sat up and saw that the setting for the mower was set to three inches. Having spent many hot days in his youth cutting lawns with his uncles he could instantly tell the length of the grass as well as the mower setting from fifty feet away. He rushed out the patio door, picked up a Pitching Wedge that was lying in wait and proceeded to beat the lawn boy over the back with it. The boy stumbled away, bruised and confused. The Badger proceeded to swear and holler at the crew who at this time had decided to quickly escape his wrath.

The Badger stood on his back lawn, fat belly hanging over his silk boxer shorts and his bathrobe barely covering his shoulders. A bead of sweat on his brow and a Pitching Wedge still held tightly, the Badger decided to finish the job himself. As he was pulling the mower into position, his bare right foot slipped and slid under the turning, hungry blade shaving the side of his foot clean off. The Badger let out a tremendous scream that could be heard down the road. He quickly pulled his foot out to find exposed bone and sinew on a partial foot. He tried to stand but found the pain to be too great. His head began to feel light. A cold blanket enveloped his chest and shoulders. He crawled into the house to the bathroom off the main kitchen. He propped himself up and in doing so slipped on the floor. His massive head met the edge of the countertop with such force, a piece of the marble broke off. A large gash above his right eye was now pumping blood onto his face and into his eye. His breathing became heavy and he could taste his own blood as he gasped for air. His blood didn’t taste as sweet as his victims. In times past, the Badger would lick his enemy’s mortal wounds as they lay dying. He liked the sweet taste of their blood and would often comment that fact to them before they would pass. He was not enjoying the taste of his own blood.