The Honeyguide is an absolutely fascinating animal.
The Honeyguide is a small African bird – actually a small genus of birds, but in particular one or two species within that genus – which have evolved an intricate partnership with the local human population. In essence, the birds seek out, or are sometimes called by, members of a local tribe. Once within range, they’ll give a special call. This is a noise they only make when in the company of humans; they’ve evolved this behavior specifically for our benefit.
Once they make this call, one of the local humans – who have been taught to recognize this call from ancient tradition – will set out, following the bird, who will lead the human to a bee hive. The bird will patiently wait somewhere nearby as the human smokes out the bees and breaks the hive open. The human then gets their share of honey, and sets aside a section of the waxy interior of the hive for the bird, whose diet in large part consists of the materials found inside, though apparently not the honey itself. There’s a certain amount of evidence that they may also have the same sort of relationship with local badgers, and it’s speculated that the local humans may have initially piggybacked on the bird/badger relationship if so, but today, the birds have evolved in such a way that they’ll specifically seek out humans to work with.
Nature is full of symbiotic relationships, where two species have evolved in such a way as that their behavior benefits one another for the ultimate benefit of each. The most conspicuous, probably, is that between certain flowers and local insects, who feed off of pollen and in the process serve to pollinate other local flowers. This allows the insect to feed, and the plants to reproduce. But until I had heard about this relationship, between honeyguides and humans, I was unaware of any biological symbiosis which existed between us and anything else in nature.
In one sense, it’s incredibly charming and sweet (no pun intended), and moreover, heartening to know that there is this one place on Earth where we really are a natural part of the local ecosystem and the other animals know it. In another sense, though, the knowledge fills me with a sort of remote and distant sense of longing and homesickness; there’s the land where we humans evolved, and where we’re something other than a blight and a burden on the natural world. A place, in short, where we fit in and where we belong. And it’s so, so far away, both in geographical and in cultural terms. It’s a sense of belonging that I know that I’m never going to experience in my life, and I can’t help but feel as though I’m missing something very special as a result of that.
And then I saw a bird whose life was crap. Because it was up just then.
That's not when birds are supposed to be up. Silly little bird.

So I see it there, right? And it's up against the glass door at the front of the building, trying to get in. And the friggin' little thing doesn't even get the fact that there's glass there. Also, that being inside the building probably isn't as great for a friggin' silly little bird as it thinks it will be. But it ain't quittin'. No, sir. It just keeps fluttering against the friggin' glass for like ten minutes.
Silly little bird.
So I go up to it, and I'm like, "Hey! Bird!"
And it doesn't even look at me. Like it's better than me or something. Even though it's not.
Because it's a bird.
And I'm like, "HEY!" and then I pause for a second, and then I say "BIRD!"
And this friggin' thing, it just keeps tryin' tp fly through the glass. Silly little bird.
I crap you not. This thing was friggin' stupid. Like, bird-stupid. The way birds are stupid, right? Like that. Because it was a bird.
So I takes this picture of it, because I knew you folks would never believe me otherwise. You'd be like "No way, man. A bird? Seriously?" And what could I even say? It would be my word against the bird's, and friggin' birds don't even friggin' talk. It would be friggin' mess, is what it would be.
So I gets this picture, right, and then I scare the silly little bird until it flies back to, like, where trees and stuff are. And it acted like I wasn't tryin' to do it right or something.
I'm tellin' you. Friggin' bird.
One of those questions we hear over and over again throughout our lives is "Why does sex feel good?" This question has an answer so obvious than one - if that one is inclined towards introspection - must arrive at the conclusion that it is so vapid and so vacuous that it is being asked simply for the sake of its use as a rhetorical device or in order to fill up an otherwise quiet moment during a conversation. The answer, obviously, is "Because if it didn't, it wouldn't happen very often and then the organism in question would go extinct." The thing is, there actually IS another approach which can be taken, and those who were paying attention to the lessons on the topic of sharks, lake ducks and bedbugs have already begun to apprehend it for themselves: It is possible for sex to not only be unpleasant, but SO unpleasant that the female is literally incapacitated and rendered incapable of escaping during the act, thus ensuring the success of the act. One assumes that it remains pleasant for the male of the species in question, of course, but perhaps it's best not to contemplate too deeply what sort of emotional content this has for them.

There is one creature, however, that takes this to extravagant new heights, and which puts to shame the paltry lengths these mere pretenders go to to secure the affections of their respective ladies fair. I speak of the otherwise-unremarkable Callosobruchus maculates Seed Beetle, which unambiguously contains one of...

( Bravely onwards into the breach, dear friends! )
After the warm and enthusiastic response which my previous video offering received, I decided that for this installment I would go straight to video. This presented a few technical problems, primary among them that there wasn't six minutes of echidna dick on video for me to work with. Second of which is that - as usual - my personal standards have risen with this second offing, and as such, this ended up being a significantly more ambitious project.
This having been said... enjoy.
After many hours of work, I have a little something to share with you folks; a video suppliment to yesterday's post which I've spent the better part of the evening working on.
It's the first video I've ever produced, and so I do hope you'll be kind in your appraisal of this effort.
Edit:
The Mighty Professor PZ Myers of Pharyngula has done me the sublime favour of posting my video on his outstanding blog. It is an honour which surpasses all others, both actual and potential.
http://scienceblogs.com/pharyngula/2009/0
Let us turn our attention, dear readers, from a topic of somewhat gross sexual inequality to one which is a trifle more egalitarian in nature. From the depths of the ocean we now turn to the pacific northwest and my own home of British Columbia. Home to a wide array of distinctive flora and fauna, few of them are as notably bizarre to those born elsewhere in this largely boreal country as the comparatively massive Leopard Slugs found throughout the mainland. And it is these creatures that we now gawk at in horrified wonder as we learn that they have some of...

The Leopard Slug representative of many of its fellows in its order in that it is a hermaphrodite. No issues of sexual dimorphism for these randy little beasts, nor yet of who gets to lead on the dance floor. Each and every one of them - barring, I suppose those victims of accident or birth defect - is possessed of both female and male organs. And what male organs they possess!
Rather than extending out of the lower abdomen or some other out-of-the way locale, the penis is contained in the right side of the slug's head, thus giving rise to its Latin name 'Mucosus Invertebratus Caputithyphallicus', which literally translates into "Slimy, spineless dickhead"*. It is distinct from the familiar human counterpart not only in placement but in colouration, among other things - or, more precisely, the lack thereof: Oozing out of the side of the creature's head, it appears as a translucent white tendril, writhing about as if possessed of a mind of its own, which - at full mast - has a length which is comparable to the total length of the adult slug's entire body.
The situation in which this arises (so to speak) is itself a rather striking one. When two Leopard Slugs take a fancy to one another, they travel together to some ledge or outcropping or what-have you which extends over an otherwise empty expanse. The branches of trees are the most common location for such a moonlight rendezvous, but man-made structures will do just as well for those couples looking for something a bit more modern and exotic. They then entwine themselves with one another and then ooze out a special type of slime which has a consistency and purpose which is disturbingly similar to that secreted by one Mr. Peter Parker in some versions of his story; this white strand of organic outpouring anchors them to their ledge as they then swing out on the end of the length of it and hang there together in mid-air, tightly wound about one another in an erotic embrace. It's at this point that they whip their dicks out.

Both slugs extend their phalluses, which then dangle together below the two of them, wriggling about until they find one another. When they do, they too wrap about one another, and then - THEN, believe it or not - then is when the weird shit starts.

The two intertwined prehensile body-length translucent slug cocks metamorphose, transforming into a configuration which looks somewhat like a church bell got drunk one night, fucked a rose and then gave birth to infants which it then had to explain through tearful eyes to the minister before being excommunicated and forced to live on the streets and sell its bong noises to greasy men in back alleys in order to support its hideous offspring, praying every night to a bell-shaped god which didn't seem to be listening anymore for forgiveness for this terrible crime against nature. This flowery-bell configuration is, believe it or not, the means by which the two slugs pass their sperm back and forth between them before retracting back into their bodies, carrying one another's' sperm with them as they do so, whereupon they are delivered to the internal vagina analogues which both slugs have, whereupon, if all goes according to plan, both are impregnated by the other.

The enticingly erotic mating ritual thus having been completed, the two slugs then lose any and all interest in one another and immediately release both one another and their cord of dangling slime, falling unceremoniously to the ground below and thus slither off to do whatever else it is that Leopard Slugs do to horrify and repulse us.
*this is not actually true, but it MIGHT be if they had been discovered and named by Carl Chun, whose somewhat whimsical approach to zoology results in us living in a world which contains a creature known to science as "THE VAMPIRE SQUID FROM HELL", which is not actually a vampire, not actually a squid, and not actually from hell, but whose name is otherwise 100% accurate.
It's been some time, has it not, dear readers? But know that those faithful followers of this fine fare of fact and fancy of fearful fecundity among our fellow creatures' phalluses, that this time has been well-spent, researching and ruminating upon the reproductive regions, from the runty to the regal, of those remarkable relatives among the kingdom Animalia who bear betwixt and amidst their nethers those organs which we have come to know as...

While it may seem a difficult feat to top the horrors and wonders of our dear friends the Bedbugs, nature is nothing if not indulgent and generous with its sources of horror, and so I feel I can now report on a number of additional organisms whose own members are, each in their own way, as deserving of a place on this most prestigious of lists as those who already grace it. But rather than attempting to surpass the Bedbug in its own terms right away (though I am more than willing to present another organism which seems to do so later on), I feel that our next honouree is one which deserves its place here by merit of a sort of existential horror its male-ness seems to inspire.
I speak here of the Anglerfish. Most famous for its distinctive lure, a bio luminescent organ which it dangles before her gruesome bear-trap-like mouth in a manner which is difficult to really see the appeal of without having the comparative misfortune of having evolved in the black and frozen depths of the ocean's deepest depths. One presumes that to the creatures which she preys upon, the sight of a glowing orb suspended in the water is in some other circumstances a source of delight, which is perhaps understandable when one considers the cold and joyless existence that their heredity makes them heir to.

How can you NOT want to swim into that mouth? The Deep-Sea Anglerfish female.
But wait! "her?" Why do I use the female pronoun here? Surely the same applies just as aptly to the male of the species? Oh, ho! Not so, gentle readers! For the Anglerfish is one of the most striking examples in all of nature of sexual dimorphism; the phenomenon of the organisms of two different genders of the same species having dramatically different body types. While the female of the species has the distinctive jaws and lure, to say nothing of tail, fins, eyes, and essentially everything else which one might associate with any type of fish, the adult male angler fish is essentially naught but the piscine equivalent of a cock and balls.
How can this be? How could nature give rise to such an oddity? Or, if you prefer, when Anglerfish-God created the world some 6,000 years ago and created the first Anglerfish male out of clay in his image, what in the world did he look like to give the male of the species such an appearance? (Let it not be said that I do not entertain the premises of creationists and apply them as appropriate.) More to the point, how does such a being continue to survive long enough to procreate at all? Well, therein hangs a tale.

The newborn Deep-Sea Anglerfish, during the few moments of its life during which it is anything but a cock.
When a male Anglerfish is hatched, it is for the most part anatomically complete and functional as we understand fishes to function, though understandably diminutive in scale. There is, however, one glaring omission: The utter lack of a digestive tract. More on this in a moment. Its first instinct upon this moment, thus, is a somewhat peculiar one; rather than seeking out prey to fuel its growth and metabolism, it seeks out a mate. Precocious little scamps, aren't they? Their interest, however is not - or at least not wholly - in getting their newborn infant rocks off. Their sexual appetite is co-mingled with a more nutritional appetite, both of which they intend to satisfy upon locating an adult female. Once they have located the girl of their dreams, their immediate impulse is to swim up to her lower abdomen and immediately begin to consume: latching their teeth into her flesh and chomping down for the first and only time in their lives, they rend her flesh, not only with his teeth, but with a special enzyme whose entire purpose is to destroy not only her flesh but ALSO HIS OWN MOUTH until blood is shed, and then begin to suckle on the thin stream of sanguineous humor which issues forth, at which point, the raw, dissolved mess which was once his mouth joins with her blood vessels, forming one continuous circulatory system, not unlike a fetus inside of its mother's womb. For the adult Anglerfish, this bout of blood-play is the most enticing of all possible foreplay, and a firm indication that she has found in this newborn baby her ideal mate. Her flesh begins at once to heal over the wound and not coincidentally the male which continues to cling to it.
Before long, the male is entirely encased in the scarred-over fish-flesh, and in short order, his various body parts begin to atrophy and wither away. They have, after all, served their purpose in life. Within a short time, all that remains of him is his reproductive organs and the very minimal vascular system which allows it to continue to process his fair lady's blood for the rest of his life, which is spent as a vaguely male lump encased within a wad of scar tissue on the bottom of his mate's belly. His contribution, naturally, to what can only in the most generous of terms be called a "symbiotic" relationship, is to occasionally squirt some sperm towards her so as to allow her to produce the eggs which will give rise to the next generation of females and males who will go on to enjoy similarly mutually-rewarding arrangements.
I suppose there are potentially those among my readership who might take a look at this pairing and - be they male or female - see some merit to it. For the males, the notion of nonstop sex and food for life from a female who asks for nothing in return may seem like it has its rewards. For the female, having her sex drive satisfied without having to put up with male bullshit and chauvinism might seem like an appealing notion from time to time. I would hasten, however, to point out that if this analogy were to be taken to its logical extreme, this would entail a woman passing through the maternity ward of a hospital having a newborn baby boy crawling up her leg, biting through her belly, beginning to thrust up into her and then NEVER, EVER STOPPING.
To me, this makes the male Anglerfish, to a certain value of the words, one of the world's most terrifying penises.
In recent months, I have been forced to struggle against a home invasion by a menace seemingly born out of the most disturbed of fever-dreams and nightmares of madmen: That eternal scourge of mankind known as bedbugs. While it now seems that - at a cost of hundreds of dollars and many dozens of hours of work - this infestation has been purged from my home, I am aware that like any barbarians at the gates, they are ever ready to invade once again if I am anything short of eternally vigilant.

And while there is very little about these monsters which brings me any degree of comfort, there is one small, petty pleasure which their infestation has brought me: No matter how much pain their prolific breeding may have brought me, it is in some sense mirrored by the pain it has brought to the bedbugs themselves. For you see, the bedbug has one of...

( Enter the terrifying and incomprehensibly brutal world of the bedbug's sex life below the cut... )Imagine. if you have the courage, if you are at home with your siblings, who you have lived with since you hatched from your common clutch of eggs (go with me here), each of you enjoying yourselves in whatever manner best suits you. All of the sudden, one of your brothers stands up and, without warning, whips out his tool. No mere shaft of soft and pliant flesh and blood, though, this phallus is a wicked hook of chitin with a curved, scimitar-like blade of a tip.
Without any evident regard for your desire, family relationship or the particulars of your anatomy, he thrusts it brutally into your belly, piercing your skin and organs alike before depositing his DNA directly into the bloody wound in your abdomen. He then climbs off of you and immediately repeats the process with your brother. And then the family dog. If you can imagine this, you can in some small way imagine what it is to be a bedbug.
One of the keys to understanding bedbugs is that there is literally not one thing about them which is not completely horrifying and disgusting. Seemingly conjured from the gleefull imaginings of a demented sadist, they seem to challenge with their very existence the idea that nature is not in some way guided by some malevolent and unseen hand. For example, the bedbug female has a perfectly serviceable vagina and it is not out of the realm of possibility that they might occasionally be in the mood for lovin'. Neither of these facts are of any interest whatsoever to the bedbug male, however: At some point in their dim evolutionary past, they abandoned the approach to sex which involved genitals actually touching one another, and adapted the approach of essentially fucking the bedbug equivalent of the ovaries themselves in a process which science knows (with an uncharacteristic lack of softening tones) as "Traumatic Insemination".

This casual disregard for the presence or absence of a vagina seems to bring with it a certain sense of sexual liberation for the bedbug male; they can and will casually rape anything which is roughly bedbug sized that they can wrestle to the ground and maul with their sex organ, on the off chance that the thing they are screwing MIGHT be a bedbug female. Accuracy by volume, one supposes. Ants, silverfish, male bedbugs (and oh, more on THIS later), none are safe from the ravenous if indiscriminate ardour of the bedbug male. An incestuous, bisexual rapist with a taste for injury and bestiality... place on of these monsters in a pair of overalls, put a confederate flag in one of their clawed hands and set them to muttering angrily about their second amendment rights, and there would be nothing out of place or incongruous about this image whatsoever.
One might be given to wonder how this is not fatal to prospective bedbug mothers. The simple answer is that it often is. Infection and crippling injuries are not uncommon. Evolution has, however, fashioned the bedbug female with a small measure of protection; they have developed a small, vagina-like opening on their underbellies in roughly the spot where males tend to make their incision. The effectiveness of this adaptation is, however, imperfect, in that the male of the species takes no more interest in this pseudo-poon than in the genuine article. He is indeed as apt to stab his member through the belly of his mate to the immediate left or right of the opening as to hit the target at all.
And what of the males who fall victim to one another's advances? Here too, evolution has worked its cruel works. Since the sex organs of the male and female are located in roughly the same area of the body, the male who is raped will literally have his rapist's sperm injected into what amounts to his own balls, where they will join the sperm already present. As such, the next female the rape victim sexes up will get sperm from both her mate and the one who raped him. As such, natural selection favours those bedbug males most prone to frequent homosexual rape.
Not that there is any preference show between one gender and another (nor yet one species and another; I have noticed since the bedbugs arrived in my place that the silverfishes are all gone. I cannot help but wonder if they have all been raped to death by the bedbugs); they are equal-opportunity rapists. And given their tendency to rape one female after another, they have become keenly economical in their use of sperm. When a male has his way with a female, his penis demonstrates one of its most mind-shattering and overwhelming traits: It tastes the inside of its victim's anatomy, and should it taste the distinctive flavour of bedbug sperm already present, it will deliver somewhat less of its own, since there's that much less of a chance that this will be a successful mating.
Yes. In addition to everything else to boggle and offend the mind, the savage cock of the bedbug can taste the guts of its victim during the physical act of love. It is like unto a sword which is like unto a tongue which is like unto a penis. Imagine it. Imagine it.
And do take care to remember: Every cell of a bedbug's body is composed entirely of stolen human blood, since that is literally all that they consume. This endless walking horror-show is made entirely of stolen bits of your own body, now crawling about on six legs and committing its crimes against human sanity.
Just try to sleep soundly throughout the night knowing full well that this will surely be happening all around - and even upon - you while you slumber.
And understand where comes my comprehensive dread of these unimaginable abominations.

After the broad-ranging and enthusiastic appeal expressed in response to the first installment of this feature, it is impossible for me to imagine not going on to briskly produce a second installment. Let it not be said that a third and future intallment is not forthcoming, either; in my research, I have certainly discovered a host of phallic horrors lurking in some cases distressingly close at hand.
But for today's installment, we're going a little bit afield. Unless you live in Argentina or Chile, in which case, you will likely readily recognize our next specimen of genital gruesomeness quite readily. I speak, kind readers, of the Argentine Lake Duck:

Cute, huh? Funny little duck with a funny blue beak? That thing's adorable! Look at those little raindrops on its back! They're huge compared to it! The thing must be tiny! You could stick it in your pocket, and it would just quack adorably in there and be a funny little novelty pet, right?
Well that's because you can't see what lurks beneath the water... and nor yet what lurks beneath the cut.
( Read on, ye of stout heart and steadfast will... )
Last night, I had cause to look at my user profile here at Livejournal, and was pleasantly surprised to see that I was now on seventy-five friends lists. I was aware that there had been something of an upswing lately, but this was nevertheless rather dramatic. Indeed, it struck me as something of a milestone. Something which called for a celebration or commemoration of some sort.
But how to go about it? How to honour all of those visitors who come to read this journal? They come for so very many reasons. Some for my body painting artwork. Some for my comedy. Some for my philosophical musings. Some few who are friends and family. So how do I produce something which is fit and suitable for one and all, when their interests are so diverse? Their tastes so varied? And then, like a lightning bolt, it struck me:
Cocks.
Everyone loves cock, right? Be they men who enjoy owning and possessing them, women who do likewise, or lesbians who enjoy laughing at the whole arrangement, there's something there for everyone. And how better to cater to this universal pleasure than with a feature which I felt could best be called...

Ladies, imagine for a moment, if you would, if in the place of the gentle curvature of the male glans at the end of the member, there were instead a terrible clawed hand, at the tip of each of the fingers of which were sharp and curved talons, reaching out to you... reaching INTO you. Grasping hold, its sharp and muscular digits seizing your delicate inner workings, and beginning to vigorously thrust against them. No, you are not having a nightmare, and NOR is this Japan. This is the sex life of the female shark.

The great white shark is one of the most primordial and completely horrifying animals on earth; a dead-eyed and relentless killer which fills the nightmares of many a brave and noble human being. Is it any wonder that the manner in which it copulates should be at least as terrifying? The male shark's member (or members, as the case may be, for - as astute readers may have noted - there are TWO) is called a "clasper", for reasons which ought to be obvious: Their purpose is to clasp on to the lady parts of the shark's would-be mate. And not merely hold on to the outside for the sake of stability. Oh, no! But to hold on to the inner workings, and whilst in there, shoot its precious genetic load. The typical shark only uses one at a time (a redundancy which I think ought to earn it a bit of envy), but there is at least one species of shark which is at once both more enterprising and more kinky than most - the Tope Shark (Galeorhinus galeus) - which has been observed using both at once (a feat which I'm sure is the envy of a significantly lesser though non-zero number of male humans and a distressing thought for the preponderance of females).
The above picture is of a young and immature shark, and you will note that already it possesses male organs of a size and number sufficient to intimidate amongst the most hearty of human females. I assure you, they only get bigger with age. This photo did the rounds on the internet a year or so ago, with people ominously talking about a "mutant shark with two legs". Such is not the case, as was pointed out by Professor P.Z. Myers at his science blog, Pharyngula, but rather one of the deepest and most unsettling mysteries of the briny deep which is his abiding fascination. The deep, that is. Not the shark cocks.
That I know of.
Not that I'm judging.
Press Association
Wednesday August 16, 2006
Guardian Unlimited
![]() The RSPCA have never heard of a squirrel getting down a chimney before. |
***
This made me moan sadly while giggling madly. Give 'er a read.
So, last night, I'm walking around, and I see a peculiar sight. Two slugs - and these are the archetypal Britissh Columbia slugs; seven inces long, dark brown and grey, and bloated - are intertwined with one another, hanging from a chord of white slime which is itself about a foot and a half long, connected at the top to an overhang of brick jutting from a wall.
Fascinated, I lean in closer. I'd never seen slugs doing this before. I inferred that they were mating, and, being the huge letch that I am and wanting something to beat off to later, I wanted a closer look. What I saw next may put me off mollussc erotica forever.
I note that one of them has a little white mass on the side of its head. I figure it's a little lump of the same stuff that chord was made of. Not so. For as I watch, it grows. And wriggles.
So now I'm thinking, "maybe I've got this whole slug reproduction thing mixed up. Maybe it's giving birth. That looks to me llke a tiny white slug coming out the side of its head". But only mammals give live birth, right? As I watch, a second, similarly wriggling translucent white tendril of slugflesh begins to emerge from the side of the head of the other slug. Now, this has really got me thinking. I mean, why would two interlocking slugs be giving birth at the same time? *** Entranced, I continue to watch, as these two ... tentacle things ooze their way about two to three inches out the aides of the heads of both slugs, and flail around a bit, before they find each other.

So, I keep watching, and as the two of them ball up, I see them tapering off towards the bodies of the... parents? I don't know. It looks like they're about to come out entirely. I think the tapering bits are just where the tails of the infants are tapering off. I'm still not clear as to what I'm seeing at this point.

A couple of minutes pass, and the ball of two white-translucent-tentacle maybe-baby-slug-monster-things write against one another, flaring out at odd points. Finally, the two slugs become more vigorous, and swiftly retract what I have now decided must be their unspeakably alien genitalia back into their heads. Their work complete, they then detatch from the chord they've been hanging from all this time, and slither away.
Slugs are wierd. I mean, I know that they're animals, and we're animals, and that lots of different animals reproduce in lots of different ways. But for fuck's sakes. That's just a really, really different approach there. I can accept fish just sort of spraying of genetic information at one another that fish do. I can accept the embarassment to mammal-kind which is the marsupial pouch. But this? This is a translucent white tentacle coming out the side of your fucking head. That's the most crazy-japan method of reproductin I've ever borne witness to in my fucking life.
And you know what else I've discovered? Okay, I knew that slugs are hermaphrodites. No surprise there. But apparently, some species of slugs will, during this process, BITE THE OTHER ONE'S TENTACLE-GENITAL OFF DURING SEX, AND THUS MAKE IT BY DEFAULT FEMALE! For fucksakes!
So here's what I propose: What we need to do is create a new kingdom of life, aside from plants, animals, fungi and such, JUST for slugs. That way they won't be a part of the same kingdom as I am. Do I hear any support out there?
I mean... white tentacle...!


