Teenagers in rural areas are increasingly turning to animal abuse to fill their evenings. Bestiality, one might assume. One would be wrong. No-one under the age of thirty-five ever commits bestiality, unless there's something severely wrong with them. Cow-tipping? Nup. These are teenagers who exist (and by exist, I mean don't exist), not the so-called American ones from the so-called movies, with so-called letters on their so-called jackets to show where they've got up to in the so-called alphabet. This animal abuse is far better thought out, far crueller, far more complex, far more Giles. Cows are having molten lead injected into their udders.
Cock your head to one side, and head your cock off at the pass. Hear the cows yelping? Listen harder. Hear anything? No? General anaesthetic. Told you it was more complex. Blowdart to the back of the neck. "What was that?" thinks Ms. Cow. She looks around. Sees nothing. Another blowdart to the back of the neck. "What the fuck is going on?" thinks Ms. Cow, fluent in English, but incapable of speaking. She looks around, and sees some movement in the hedgerow. She saunters over to investigate, as one does when being fired at with blowdarts. Thirty or four children approach her in a pincer movement, jump her, tie off her veins, rub cider on her, then inject her with whichever benzodiazepine they've managed to get a hold of, and down she goes. The kid with the blowgun is beaten to death with cider bottles as he is no longer useful.
The unpopular child who couldn't even be trusted to be a blowgun decoy, the kid with the portable foundry on his back, is beaten to death with the body of the first dead kid. The foundry is fired up, fuelled by the bloodlust and coal. Mostly by coal. Big ol' chunks of lead, that always fall from the sky every time it rains, have been collected, and are being carried by the child most keen on killing. Rather than ask him to put the lead in the foundry, he's pushed into the foundry himself. He's killed to stop the killing. Two more children are pushed into the foundry so the others can pretend that they weren't just killing because the kid with the bloodlust and lead was telling them to. They wait for the lead to melt, and more often than not kill again whilst they're waiting.
If it's just been four plus the blowdart kid, there's now minus one child left. If it's thirty plus the blowdart kid, they kill until there's minus one child left. This minus one child fills a very heatproof syringe with the lead which by now has melted. He's a gawky thing and spills most of the lead all over himself, which stings a bit, and causes a little bit of death. He falls to the ground, no syringe in hand, no lucky hap of falling on to the cow's udder and plunging the syringe in.
Much hours later, Ms. Cow wakes up, surveys the scene, fires up the foundry with some spare coal, breaks open the heatproof syringe and puts the now solid lead back into the fire, twiddles her thumbs waiting for it to melt, puts it in a spare heatproof syringe she's scavenged from some body or other, and injects herself in the udder. Sometimes she dies instantly, sometimes she gets milked by the farmer who doesn't notice all the death.