bradleyswissman
I really would rather not write about a buffalo, but here goes nothing.
"I have already written about a damn buffalo twenty-three times!", screamed Brallaghan with utter fury, before smashing in his computer screen.
The buffalo sits on the grass, thinking about his lunch. It was grass. His lunch was grass.
"I need to rethink my meals".
That evening, he had grass with a little light balsamic and some 2004 Merlot.