My Last Fuck Has Gone Feral: Matter of Conservation Edit A1

[Cast: V1 Lady Nara Frostwhisper] [V1: posh British RP female, theatrical chap-hop, crisp consonants, wit] [Tempo: 114 BPM] [Key: B flat major] [Time Signature: 4/4] [Instrument: banjolele] [Intro: V1, banjolele] [V1: spoken] Right then. We have a conservation issue. For years I maintained a modest reserve of fucks for emergencies, committees, and people who begin messages with “just a quick one.” This morning, the last one escaped. Do not panic. It can smell panic. Ichigo has arrived with a camera. [Verse 1: V1] I answered the letters, I chaired every call, I smiled through the nonsense and nodded through all, I proofread the document, corrected the date, Then watched someone alter it back out of spite. I budgeted patience with professional flair, Then opened the cupboard and found nothing there. I checked by the kettle, beneath the settee: My remaining fuck had gone free. [V1: aside] A clerical concern. [Chorus: V1] My last fuck has gone feral, It will not be recalled, It cleared the garden railing And ignored me when I called. The cupboard’s bare, the ledger’s closed, No further stock today. My last fuck has gone feral, So kindly let it stay. [Verse 2: V1] At dawn I took binoculars, A notebook and some tea, And found peculiar wildlife Behaving rather free. A Wutda-Fuck was grazing Beside the garden wall, While something cried “Whoda-Fuck?” Then wasn’t there at all. But high upon the cedar, Resplendent, small, and cross, Sat one with rainbow feathers And absolutely no remorse. Its eyes suggested violence, Its little wings said “must.” [Field Note: V1, spoken, banjolele stops] Its bright plumage indicates it is a Giiva-Fuck, not the more common Wutda-Fuck, or the elusive Whoda-Fuck. Do not approach. It appears to have acquired a knife. [Instrumental Break: banjolele flourish] [Chorus: V1] My last fuck has gone feral, It will not be recalled, It cleared the garden railing And ignored me when I called. The cupboard’s bare, the ledger’s closed, No further stock today. My last fuck has gone feral, So kindly let it stay. [Verse 3: V1] Then Ichigo arrived before noon, In khaki, with confidence, far too much room. A hat broad as policy shaded his face, He whispered, “Stay quiet, we mustn’t give chase.” Then promptly stepped forward And entered its space. The creature went rigid. Ichigo just grinned. The camera went sideways. The screaming began. We recovered his hat from the branch of a tree. He called it “great footage.” I chose to agree. The microphone vanished. One boot hit the pond. He shouted, “I’ve got this!” The fuck carried on. He crawled from the reeds with his dignity bent, Then asked if we’d caught it. [V1: aside, sweetly] We had. [Verse 4: V1] They’re vicious when cornered, Or hungry, or bored, And liable to weaponise anything stored. They require lots of acreage, Ammo, and grace, And strongly object to a lens in their face. Ichigo drew up a “safe viewing line.” The map looked respectable. Mostly fine. Except that the line, I should make very clear, Was precisely where all of the Giiva-Fucks appear. He crouched by the bracken. It sharpened a spoon. He said, “What a beauty.” I said, “Leave. Soon.” He whispered, “Observe how it puffs up its chest.” I said, “That’s not courtship.” It launched at his vest. [Refrain: V1] No feeding. No touching. No meetings at seven. No “circle back later.” No “quick little chat.” The fuck has gone feral. We’re leaving it at that. [Bridge: V1, softer] There comes, dear listener, a moment of clarity. Not fury. Not failure. Arithmetic. One may spend years distributing tact and patience to people determined to manufacture emergencies. Eventually the account reaches zero. This is not bitterness. This is conservation. [Verse 5: V1] So there on the hillside it wanders alone, No inbox, no rota, no workplace, no phone. It grazes in sunlight, then takes to a tree, A rare flying fuck, living gloriously free. I could try to catch it. I could draft some decree. But that sounds suspiciously Like more work for me. Ichigo has now climbed up a rock. He’s pointing and whispering, “Look at that flock.” Seven Giiva-Fucks circle his head. [V1: spoken] We shall list him as “field-adjacent.” [Final Chorus: V1, strongest strumming] My last fuck has gone feral, It will not be recalled, It cleared the garden railing And ignored me when I called. The cupboard’s bare, the ledger’s closed, No further stock today. My last fuck has gone feral, So kindly let it stay. [Final Refrain: V1] The Giiva-Fucks are thriving. The Wutda-Fucks abound. The Whoda-Fuck remains, of course, Exceptionally hard to find. And if you’ve come requesting One final fuck from me, I’m afraid it’s now protected By the Wildlife Ministry. [Outro: V1, banjolele slowing] [V1: spoken] Should one be recovered, please do not return it. Tag it. Admire it. Maintain a respectful distance. If Ichigo says, “I think it likes me,” remove Ichigo first. Then leave it the fuck alone. [Final Hit] [End]