Congratulations Amorous Armadillo!

Armadillos are sad, solitary little things.  They wander the wastes of the world, looking for some knd of love, and the few that find it are rarely really happy with what they get: a hard shell to hump at night and a slightly bigger burrow what they gotta share.  Ain't no mistake that eighty percent of all cowboy poetry is about armadillos.  They're the third bluesiest animal in the world, and easily the bluesiest one in North America.

But today you're an armadillo, because, hey, why not?  And today you're going to find a mannequin head with lipstick on it in a dump outside of El Paso, Texas.  And after some sniffing and grinding, you're gonna push that thing home and set it up outside your burrow and, won't you know it, you'll have found love.  Maybe not the sort of love that a man and a woman share, or the sort of love that a man and a man share, or even the sort of love that a fly and a heap of shit share, but a kind of directed, pure, unadulturated love that no one will ever be able to take away from you.  That is, until the wind rises up from the east and blows that mannequin head away in three days time.  But by then your love will have faded, and you'll find the mannequin head's presence confusing.  You are an armadillo, after all.

Congratulations Amorous Armadillo!