There’s good news and bad news today, folks.  Bad news first: the weekly mailbag won’t go up until later tonight.  I made the mistake of thinking I could tackle the mailbag and also help a friend edit a 12,000-word graduate dissertation last night.  The latter lasted until 3:30 a.m., so the former didn’t happen at all.  But the mailbag will be up tonight.  Scout’s honor.

But the good news!  The good news is that one of our more memorable emailers this summer, the gal with the giant truck and a wussy boyfriend with a Saturn, wrote in with an update of her life.  And we’re not ordinarily inclined to post follow-ups to your scenarios, but then most follow-ups don’t involve dead horses being torn apart in an explosion of maggots.  Read for yourself:

I wrote in awhile back with a story about my truck annoying my boyfriend.  So I don’t know if you even care about followups, but the truck has ended the relationship.

Two weeks ago we were helping a mutual friend clean up his new property.  He owns 5 acres which include a number of old farm buildings and an in-ground pool.  I was out using the truck to rip down the crap buildings and drag the remains over to the fire pit when it was discovered that there was a dead horse in the inground pool.  Yeah a dead fucking horse.  Some guys were pulling trash out of there and one of them pulled back a tarp to find the rotting remains of a horse, a big horse and plenty of maggots to go along with it.  Package deal.

Pity you didn’t have a shark in that pool.  They love dead horses.

After some consultation the brain trust decided that the best solution was to wrap the horse in a tarp and then drag it out with the truck.

So we’re pulling it out, two tow straps wrapped around the tarp-covered body when the horse/straps get hung up on some of the other crap in the pool.

“Tap the gas” they yelled, which I did, resulting in no movement.

“Roll back and get a running start” was the next suggestion from the brain trust.

I’d like to pause for a second here.  In her first email, Truck Girl spoke of driving to nearby Lake Huron, so she and her friends likely reside in either Canada or Michigan.  Just keep that in mind as you read on, wondering why they didn’t just remove the other junk in the pool.

“That’s not that best idea here…”
“No, no, it will work and don’t worry your tow hitch can take it!”
“I’m not worried about the tow hitch, but okay, you want it you got it.”

I back the truck up about 10 feet and then hit the gas and…

(horse leg flies off)

Yes, a leg flew off.  The entire horse was yanked forward, it and whatever junk the tarp dragged with it slamming up against the edge of the pool and the lip and wedging there.  The concrete wasn’t going to give, the 60,000lb tow straps we’re going to give, instead the rotting flesh of the horse gives.  One of the straps ripped right through the tarp and severed the leg and then whipped up, bringing the leg up with it.

My now ex-boyfriend was standing right here, watching the entire operation right until this leg whips out of the pool and slams into into him, a good part of the rotting flesh just exploding.  He had maggots all over him, just crawling around and rotting gobs of flesh coating him, along with a nice bruise from where the leg bones slammed into his thigh. He didn’t even have a hat on so he had maggots crawling around in his hair and –

No, we didn’t have a video camera on it, and despite the fact we did have three other legs we could try to recreate the event with, he wouldn’t do it.

My response to this wasn’t sympathetic enough for him.  I was laughing as I hosed him off and pointed out he was lucky the tow strap hadn’t hit him because then we’d be dragging him off in a tarp too.

Lady, I would marry you tomorrow if I weren’t so certain you’re a burly girl who wears a lot of flannel.

Pretty much everyone else was laughing at him as well and suggesting he take it like a man and I guess he felt I was supposed to be his shoulder to cry on.  He went inside to nurse the leg and I went back to work, whereas he expected me to come in and play nursemaid and fetch him icepacks.

After a few days of him sulking about it and avoiding me we finally had a fight and a break up.  After about a week of no communication at all I figure its over and I guess I should blame the truck.  It’s just too cute though, I can’t stay mad at it.

So in the end “dump him” was the correct answer as it turns out.  Thanks!

No no, thank you.

Two days left in July, people.  Then it’s August.  August is the preseason.  The preseason sucks but at least it’s something.  Your fantasy draft is coming up.  For the first time since the draft, there are flickers of life on the NFL fan’s EKG.

We can do this.  If we stick together, we can do this.  All we have to do is watch enough video of a shark eating a dead horse off the coast of Fiji enough times, and we’ll make it to the NFL season.  NOM NOM NOM.  That’s the sound of anticipation, friends.

Jared Allen, he of the phenomenal ass and the Kenny Powers haircut, gets to “feel like freakin’ Geronimo right now” by spearing an elk from above. With no regular old spear, mind you, but one-a them fancy Samburu Spears. Beats sniping wolves from a helicopter, that’sferdamnsure. Jared, once he reaches the downed elk after it’s done staggering toward a place to die, proclaims that he’s now addicted to hunting. Should he lump this into his melange of other addictions, a Death Race 2000-like league of competitive homicidal death cars is possible in our lifetime. Leonard Little, Donte Stallworth – get your hunting game tight. Shit’s on.

We don’t mean to pile on the Titans today, but it’s one thing to eat in excess. That’s bad enough. But when food crosses the line from merely a source of nourishment to full-on plaything and sole source of entertainment, that there’s a problem. And then to set spasms of flinging food to punk and music from Dirty Dancing approaches the pathological. Perhaps one day LenDale White will seize control of his problem and achieve a healthy relationship with his food. And limit his intake to no more than four seals per sitting.

Thanks to reader Pacman’s Bodyguard

Not much killing in this video (unless you count stupid ants) so much as a display of an oddity, in this case a lizard firing blood from its eye socket as a defense mechanism. The narrator callowly asks, “Has there been a weirder use of an eye socket? Or of blood?” I can easily reply yes on both accounts. Left unanswered is why the coyote is so repelled by having blood squirted at its face. One would think blood would be part of the whole eating-the-lizard equation, but then he was probably off to order some ACME blood-diverting mask.

Thanks to reader Pip.

Foolish pigeon. Full of empty-headed ideas about the turtle. All he knows of them are benign representations in pop culture. Yertle, Koopa Troopa. Vaguely menacing but ultimately harmless. Plodding simpletons, so easy to elude. And what that Family Guy line? “Nature’s D student?” Heh. You know that’s right.

Then: snatch, submerge, sever.

Naturally this happened at a Brazilian zoo. Where else could Gisele learn the finer points of lightning fast child-snatching?

Watch as big-ass Golden Eagles use mountain goats to re-enact Terrell Owens’s relationships with his quarterbacks, all set to appropriately ominous piano chords.

0:35 — Jeff Garcia
5:00 — Donovan McNabb
6:30 — Tony Romo

(from Tragnark via Super Punch, thanks to reader Philip)

Last week in Kill Kill Kill Theater, we featured a lovingly filmed example of avian triumph over their fishy feed. Since then, the stupid birds have taken a break from taking down passenger airliners and are flapping around like they own the place. To the point that they stroll casually around the killer whale tank, gleefully unaware that they’ve become bird burger tossed among the aquatic equivalent of Grady Jackson, Casey Hampton and Shaun Rogers.

Let this be a lesson, birds. There’s a reason why you had three of the four final NFL teams alive this year and came up empty.

Life as a fish must be nice. Simple. You swim around. You eat. You can have crap hanging out your ass and it’s not a big worry (note: also true for bloggers).

And then… BAM! BIRD OF PREY MUTHAFUCKA!!!!! EATEN ALIVE!!!

That’s what getting drafted #1 by the Lions is like. You’re the food chain’s bitch.

(via Best Week Ever and HuffPo)

Noted cougar Hanna Storm doesn’t appreciate the overtures from her network superiors and has decided to take forceful action to block their unwanted advances. So in the end the bear gets punked as if he were a Georgetown student.

Because we haven’t gotten around to doing much animal carnage thus far this off-season (rape jokes consume so much of our time) a few more lie in wait after the jump.

At last, a victory for the Lions. Naturally, it would come against Andy Reid.

This one really gets the nod for the Star Trek background fight music. Though the pacing does resemble what a Derek Anderson-Drew Bledsoe sparring match would be like.