The vulture wanted to eat fresh. Vinnie was sick to death of all the carcasses, which tasted like second-hand food to him.
“Hey, guys, you think getting a salad would be such a radical idea?”
The rest of the vultures ignored Vinnie, continuing to devour the lion. Vinnie turned his beak westward to catch the last gasps of sunset slipping into the Serengeti. The ground was a dangerous place at night, even for a vulture. Vinnie wondered if he was the only one in the wake who saw irony in eating the remains of the King of the Beasts.
‘These guys don’t get it,’ thought Vinnie, ‘the lion tastes like ass anyway, why are we eating it?’
Vinnie’s little vulture stomach growled that he speak up again. “Guys, seriously, don’t you think all this uncooked red meat is bad for our cholesterol levels here? I mean, come on, how hard would it be to put a side of broccoli next to it? Huh? Guys?”
The rest of the vultures had long since learned to tune out Vinnie’s voice. Vinnie sensed this, yet, kept shouting to himself.
“Yeah, I’m shouting to myself!” Vinnie shouted to himself. “I can hear my own voice! I need to get a salad!”
And no sooner said then done, as Vinnie took flight into the wings of night, in search of a salad.