Monday, October 11, 2004

Andrey said... i want a story involving lesbian mutant catfish

I don't write about things that don't exist and could never happen. I mean, what the hell is a catfish? Some kind of land dwelling scaly thing that craps in a sandbox in your basement? Or a furry marine beast with four vestigial legs that likes to play with wet yarn? Next thing you'll tell me you believe in crazy flying machines that can travel hundreds of miles per hour and take you from one side of the continent to another in less than a day. Fool.

So anyway, the other day I'm aimlessly ambling down a street, I forget where, why, and how, and I ran into a talking horse. He just sort of stepped in front of me, and I had some momentum going and didn't want to stop (I stopped anyway). So I said, "What's up, Mr. Ed?".

"Oh, haha, very funny. 'What's up Mr. Ed?', you know, I never heard that joke before. I mean, it's so clever, because, you know, I'm a talking horse, and that was a show about a talking horse. Could you please, oh please, sing me the theme song? Because I'm sure it's really great, but I've never heard it before."

"Damn, who knew talking horses were such assholes. Oh wait, did I say that out loud? Get lost you stupid horse," I demanded, quite peeved by his un-Mr. Ed-like attitude.

"Sure, I'll get lost, unless of course...," said the horse, as slyly as you can when-well, when you're a horse.

"Alright, I've got nothing better to do than talk to a horse, what you got?"

"Unless you want three wishes," he said triumphantly.

"Three wishes? From a talking horse?" I was a bit confused. Probably as confused as most other people would have been in initially confronting a talking horse with an attitude problem.

"Certainly, I'm not only a talking horse, but also part-time genie," he said, conspiratorially winking his huge horse eye.

"Well where's your lamp?" I said, naturally suspicious (horses are notorious liars).

"Haven't got one. Not all genies have lamps you know, some of us get along just fine without a luxuriously appointed stable we could carry in our pockets, you know, if I had pockets," said the horse, sounding a touch sensitive on the issue.

Eventually we got around to discussing my wishes. Unfortunately, it turned out the horse was more jackass than genie, because when he said he would grant my first wish of a neverending bacon hose that would spray out slices of thick cut fresh cooked bacon at the squeeze of a nozzle, he then head butted me. I was immediately knocked unconscious (horses have large, thick skulls). From what I could determine when I awakened several hours later, he had subsequently pulled my shoes off with his teeth and crapped in them.

Moral of the story: Always carry a harpoon in case you run into a talking horse who lies like a rug.

The next day a crazed fisherman struck me in the back of the skull with a lesbian mutant catfish.

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