***Fair warning, this is a rather bizarre, and more than a little silly and puerile piece.***

As I've said previously: Just like everyone else, who has had to live through this (thus far) unending Era of the New Plague, my ability to travel has been severely curtailed. On the positive side, however, there were brief periods last year, where I was at least able to take a couple of day and/or overnight trips to areas within the Province of Ontario, which I hadn't yet gotten the chance to see. One of them was Lion's Head, which I found inspiring enough that during the space of three brief trips over the Summer and Early Autumn of 2020, I wound up writing several pieces about the things that those trips, and those locations made me feel, as well as quite a few (thus far unused) notes and fragments. Most of these pieces were far more traditional explorations of awe at natural beauty, and inner discoveries, and (hopefully) maybe even new beginnings in some way, shape or form, but not all of them were.

One of them, specifically the third in the series, wound up being this weird little phlegm I coughed up that was (if I am to be completely fair), little more than some silly, juvenile potty humour fished out of the sewers and given a bath, a shave, and some cheap Sally Ann clothes. Hence, I ultimately balked on finishing and posting this one for a few months, as (especially in light of the far more serious, artistic tone of the first two), it almost felt disrespectful, if that makes any sense.

However, during another one of my infamous edible-assisted guitar practice sessions, I started laughing at few of the things from this all over again, and decided that if a legend like Chuck Berry could get away with singing a song about his 'ding-a-ling', then, dammit, I have a right to some potty-humour that draws back some measure of experience from my pre-university zookeeping days.

Most specifically: Anyone, who has ever been around or worked with tame, captive big cats knows what's about to happen when a male lion turns around, and lifts up his tail... Well, the amount of times that people didn't get that (even ignoring warnings), and subsequently had to face the consequences of getting caught in the spray-stream...

I remember one day in particular, when I was making my rounds to fill up all the water dishes, and this Nineties Dude-Bro type in his nice, clean Tommy shirt was too busy making comments on the male lion's "nyantama" as he was turning and lifting his tail, and he waved off my warning of: "Yeah, you might want to move out of the way, dude..."
For some reason he was really not appreciative of my comment of two seconds later: "Yeah, I forgot to tell you that his name is Pierre, as in: Pee-Air."

Another smaller inspiration came from an old skiffle song called: "My Old Man's a Dustman" by Lonnie Donegan, where one particular lyric talks about the dustman (i.e. trashman) finding a taxidermied tiger head mounted on a wooden board, and which turns out to have been discarded by mistake, as the owner soon comes out and is shouting: "Oi! Where's me tiger head?!?", to which the dustman replies: "About four feet from his tail!"