Bad taste

Down the river way and gone, into the jungle of ferns and fawn. We travel by boat, Roderick and Jack, thick jungle mysteries staring us back. When a tune alights a tongue, and the whistling bellows, I turn to see Roderick happy of fellows. Then a rustle and a splash, I squint my eyes and bat, there in the water an immense orange cat. Roderick stop your singing, stop it right now! There's a fucking tiger approaching the bow! Roderick! Rod-er-rick! I scream to no avail, quench the tiger's thirst of my flesh so frail. But what should occur in the following moments long, but the tiger dons a smile, and says, 'That's my favorite song!' So Roderick was spared and I not, for he'd sung Eye of the Tiger, and named the beast Spot.

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