Black Morass the wooooooorrrrst

Well, if Bacardi got anything from their papa, it was a lack of direction - referring to the cardinal points or to a direction in life, that's up to you. Dingo hadn't meant to come all the way out here but somehow he'd gotten turned around too - go figure. It's almost like there's an unseen force guiding his actions. A narrator drawing him out of one forest and in to another without any rhyme or reason, utterly chaotic with its intention. :|

He'd split from the 'strath with the full intention to return, of course, but had very poor luck with tracking game and keeping himself occupied. What he really needed was some vagoose; it was his main motivating factor, and he'd follow his divining rod across the known world in search of some fresh meat, in one form or another. 

As he came upon the morass he wondered, 'Why is it called a more-ass? Are there chicks here? Will they throw themselves at me butt-first, or something? That'd be a good waste of a few hours --' And then the earth began to soften beneath his paws, his toes sinking in to the silt and the grime, until he saw a beacon in the dark. A nice round buttocks positioned so near that he thought he had surely gone mental; it was probably a mirage.

Oh, so that's what it means by morass. He commented to himself, certain that this youthful, curvy, vaguely familiar golden rear was about to fade away before his lusty gaze.