How Many Mules Does It Take to Drown a Donkey?

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By then wouldn’t you think we realized that we had all pretty much gotten what we deserved?

After all, closer inspection showed Justice’s blindfold to be nothing more than a nylon from some Pre-WWII Kresge’s (it felt shamefully arousing on manifold levels so we passed it quickly from one to another)  and not the well tanned buffalo leather mask our forefathers’ forefathers slaughtered the great herds for on the expansive whispering prodigal plains until their bones bleached a particular shade of European white. We felt like lemmings pushed off a cliff. This was the sudden stop?

Is this the sudden stop? I asked

Wait, I got one of them blindfolds in my trunk, it will be a restorative relic! Cartwright exclaimed and bounded off the reservation.

Whoa  whoa I tried to assuage the murmuring masses My cousins and kin didn’t name this. They used words like yoke, chicken, bread of life. Filibuster was something to suffer after Uncle Stash got into the potato wine.

Are we not all linked inextricably like schoolchildren on the playground of life playing crack the whip?

But they were having none of it. The Cartwright returned.

Sorry, its imitation crabmeat cocktail. Nibbling a small bit he announced, Nope, hasn’t turned yet…but it’s getting there. The melange swarmed like seagulls far from the littoral lips of the great salt waters. Some of the unsated chewed their fingers off.

Look Look I said strapping a few of the sticks over my brow. They do wonderful things with imitation meat these days. Not to be Platonic but it’s the idea of the thing that matters, yes?

I jumped headfirst into the frothing liquid that had stolen surreptitiously up the street like an ocean of tears mingled with puddles of piss. I banged my head on the crumbling asphalt. The depth was only ankle deep.

Ferguson said See, proves my point. Besides how do we know what dinosaurs looked like if we weren’t alive at the same time?

The salt tickled my nose. At least I hoped it was salt. A woman was videotaping me with her phone. It may have been a cookie sheet. No shit, it was that big.

I was overcome by nostalgia for snickerdoodles. This is going to go viral she said to me. Snickerdoodle bubbled up in my tepid reply.

But I couldn’t let it go. I struggled with it like a pitbull from a puppy mill trying to sink its canines into the jawbone of an Ass. I rifled through the imaginary rolodex in my head. Engage them. Engage them with anything. Or die.

Marco? I said turning my head so my mouth was above the meniscus puckering like a catfish singing into the void but my ears had already flooded so who knows how it sounded?

Marco?

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