“Oh my God…” screamed the man, who wore no shirt, revealing an NRAtattoo and a pair of bandolierscrisscrossing his chest.
“I’m back. I’m home. All the time it was… YOU MANIACS! YOU BLEW IT UP! OH, DAMN YOU! DAMN YOU ALL TO HELL!”
This so startled the horse that it relaxed its sphincter and tossed the pair over its behind onto a steaming fresh pile of manure.
“Hungh?” she asked. Not the woman, the horse.
The man sat down beside the woman and gently squee-gee’d excrement from their thighs with a very long bullet.
“Thousands of years ago, wealthy Romans ate their meals off fine pewter tableware. Eventually, lead in the pewter drove them mad,” he said. “But the less affluent had only clay to eat on, and were unharmed.”
“Do you want fries with that?” the woman asked, completely out of context. But she had pretty eyes, so he let it go.
“Humanity didn’t learn. A century ago, wealthy Americans purchased toilet paper coated with aloe, the lotion of a succulent plant typically having a rosette of toothed fleshy leaves and bell-shaped or tubular flowers on long stems. Native to the Old World tropics,” he said, as if he had copied and pasted the line into a blog right out of a web dictionary.
“This made the tissue softer and reduced friction on their little pink anuses. But the aloe …” he recoiled, then decoiled … “the aloe seeped into their bloodstream through anal fissures, and slowly drove them mad … much as the lead had destroyed the Romans.”
“I can juggle,” the woman said, though she could not juggle anything at all.
“This fine, aloe-laced tissue was prevalent in executive washrooms. The executives who used it made increasingly horrendous business decisions until their companies simply collapsed. The country was left in ruins.”
The horse wandered off to get in line for a new iPad.
“But the middle and lower-level employees, they had only sandpaper to wipe themselves with, or something approximating it. A coarse, 60-grit tissue also recommended for removing burrs from motorcycle fenders. They survived, though not without some quite nasty ‘roids.”
“And the statue?” asked the woman, suddenly and conveniently cogent, “what about the statue?”
“Fiberglass model,” he replied, tapping the crown of the statue of liberty. “False alarm. It appears we’re on an amusement park ride somewhere in the Wisconsin Dells.”
And the pair spent the rest of the weekend gliding down water slides and hanging on through coaster rides, just having a ball. They never did find the horse.
The moral of the story?
When it seems the planet is full of apes,
Who’ve no time for aloe and goodbyes
When your horse goes a roamin’, you’re sitting in poop,
And all you encounter is lies
Be thankful for liberty, poverty, dearth,
Behold the blue oceans, blue skies
And should you find nothing much else goes your way,
Just gaze at her beautiful eyes!
© 2012 Jeff Sawyer