Territory marker scent packing

Why I oughta!

Two nights ago I heard a noise outside and, investigating, disturbed a stranger lurking in my back yard.

It was around one o’clock and I’d been deep in the middle of Buffy Series 3.

Peering out at the intruder, I wondered ‘would this be the beginning of a soulless vamp eternity, or just another kill?’

Such is the life of a slayer.

Buffy never had the night vision of Mr Magoo though…

With no optical aids at hand, or conveniently broken chair legs, I realised it would be both irresponsible and difficult to brutally slay what was likely an escaped mentalist.

I challenged Stranger McBlurry.

“You been drinking mate?”

He had indeed been drinking and enquired about the whereabouts of the female tenant that I’d replaced, helpfully providing a height estimate of her (quite short). Clearly he’d been her 1am man-whore booty call.

I told him she’d just moved out, and that he should probably leave in case ’some other more uptight person’ called the cops on him.

He obliged and I stalked around for a bit like Batman to make sure my kingdom was secure.

Heading to my trusty backyard piss spot for a victory wazz, I was horrified to smell fresh stranger wizz all over my spot.

My senses reeling, tail between legs, I meekly choose a new spot.

You may have won this time wifebeater-clad stranger, but you just don’t bogart another man’s leak zone.

Next time there’ll be hell to pay.

Or a piper to pay.

One of those.