Oh, they just couldn’t wait to e-mail me the story, or blog it and link to me. First across the finish line with an e-mail about the story was Shamrocketship, then came Montana Dave’s e-mail about the story, both of whom were hoping to be the first to send me the story. They were followed by a clutch of sadistic readers, who e-mailed me the story, obviously thinking that a day without loosening ol’ Jimbo’s bowels is like a day without sunshine. This morning I see that my pal over at Compass Points is blogging the story and asking me about my next trip to Florida.

So what’s the story?

As you may well have guessed before clicking the link, the story involves an alligator. No, not just your run-of-the-mill story about an alligator strutting his ugly ass down the street or wandering around in a parking lot. This one involves a woman who walked into her kitchen only to be confronted by an eight foot alligator in her kitchen. That’s right. In her farookin’ KITCHEN! WTF?

Even as mellow as Florida Peeps claim to be about alligators, this woman was a bit rattled when she called the cops (audio here), particularly when the police operator asked, “How long is it? … Are you sure it couldn’t be an iguana?” A freakin’ iguana?

Video of the capture of this prehistoric monster is here.

If I walked into my kitchen and was confronted with an eight-foot alligator, my intestines would instantly empty and I might well have “the big one.” I sure as shit would wind up in therapy. Yo, IT WAS IN THE FAROOKIN’ KITCHEN!

You FINKS know damned well that I will be in Florida next month, so you obviously take particular joy in stories like this at this time of the year.

Sadistic bastards.