Alligator Bob's

We don't need to bring up the list, do we? The roster of all the animals we've documented here in their ceaseless bid for death?

There's the Unholy Trinity (cows, pigs, and chickens), of course. And turkeys, geese, ostriches, and emus. Sheep and goats and buffaloes. Whales, fish, crabs, lobsters, crawfish, shrimp, octopuses, squids, clams, and oysters. Even sea urchins, ants, spiders, and worms. Kangaroos! Rabbits! Snakes! Bears! And don't forget the dog! (Search for them all on the site. Make an afternoon of it!)

Sometimes we have the feeling that all of creation is clamoring to die, to be rendered instantly forgotten. We must admit to a certain professional thrill when we find a hitherto unaccounted-for animal knocking on the great black door. So it is with a sour kind of excitement-mixed-with-depression that we present to you Alligator Bob and his reptilian lackey.

The gator is all about the business of being turned into food. He wears the toque. He's got the dipping ladle at the ready. He just wants to die in his brothy little swamp.

The look on his face seems to say, "Don't forget about the alligators! We are sick to death of living, too! We too hope to find our fulfillment, at last, when we have finally abandoned these bodies!"

We know mental illness is at work, festering in his brain, but for a moment, a foolish, fleeting moment, we almost feel happy for the poor thing.

(Thanks to Dr. Bea for the referral.)