Menace in the Uwharries.

Angry spitter, thawed from ice or

awakened in a lightning storm.

No one knows; no

no one survived

the rebirth. May the lab coats rest in vain.

Angry sprinter amongst the armored

hunchbacks, cornering into display window clothes racks.

more apparent are the

black tracks. Pale food screams

different, over-covered

in bland, loose skin; gross.

Angry splitter, acid still softens their

skulls with the Vlassic crunch,

interrupted by bangs and tiny pricks,

thrown so fast--

what a neat trick. In need of some

dirt, this other stuff

is too slick-- "Oh My God, where is it?!"

Angry shift through the ages?

Yet here's a plain of furry beast,

(HELP, HELP!! How many more lions will it eat?!)

Flashbulb dichotomy,

every other stings the flesh. Vandalizer freeing

zebras from something called

glass enclosures. Bolstering the

fan dance, but

tiny apes are

getting wiser.

Angry dweller of the Savage Park

and its unofficial attractions.

Call it legend,

Call it dead by now; even the

Uwharries never speak its name. (you mean--)

SHHH! What was that?!?

That's right, the wildlife not standing a chance.

Ignore the warning if you dare, but

there was one more camper last year.