Sunday, February 6, 2011

Story Time

Today I would like to relate to you, my friends and fellow degenerates, a story of the indians, with a little scumfuck twist. I am not sure what tribe it belongs to; I read it in a book of comparative mythology and I always liked it. It contains a lesson we would all do well to heed.

Long ago, before any of our grandfathers were born, Grey One made his way along the path he had made. If you saw Grey One, you would not know him-you would call him Prickly One, or Porcupine. But he carried no quills then, just soft grey fur. Now when Grey One wanted to, he could run as fast as Fox; he just didn't want to. Another thing you may not know about Grey One is that he can climb trees as well as anyone, though of course he seldom had cause to do this.

So as Grey One took his time along the path that he had made, who should come by but Bear, huffling and whuffling as he went quickly along Grey One's path. "Ooof, Grey One, get out of my way."

"I don't want to; I want to take my own time," replied Grey One.

"Ho-ho, your own time, eh?" And Bear stepped on Grey One, his sharp claws putting deep scratches in Grey One's back. Then he continued along the path.

Grey One licked his wounds and went down his path further, but then along comes Bobcat, hissing and snarling as she tore rapidly up the path. "Grey One," he growled, "get out of my way!"

"It's my path, I made it," replied Grey One, and Bobcat laughed and swatted Grey One aside with her claws, scratching him deeply and knocking him into a tree. Then he went along Grey One's path.

As Grey One continued up his path, bleeding and limping, soon came Dog, barking and slathering up the path as fast as he could. "Ho-ho, Grey One! Get out of the way, you're blocking my path."

"It's MY path," sobbed Grey One. "I made it!"

"Ho-ho, then make this." And Dog leapt upon Grey One and shook him hard, until Grey One was dizzy and crying. Then Dog continued up the path.

Then Fox, cleverest among animals, came trotting casually up the path, his tongue lolling out as he bounced along. Grey One shuddered when he came near, but Fox only stopped and asked "What is wrong, Grey One?"

"They all scratch and bite me," sobbed Grey One, licking his wounds.

"Never mind that, would you climb that tree and get that pinecone for me?"

Grey One considered this and climbed up the tree as nimbly as a raccoon, and brought the pinecone down to Fox.

"Now I will help you," said Fox. "Come with me and roll in this mud." He stepped over to a muddy patch of the path.

Grey One crept closer and said "As long as you don't bite me." And he got down and rolled in the mud, to Fox's roars of laughter. "Oh-ho, Grey One! You look like a chunk of dung rolled in a ditch! Well that's just what I want, oh-ho!"

Then Fox went to a nearby thornbush and began to place them, one by one, into the mud on Grey One's skin. Both Grey One and the thorns were coated in black and brown, and so they remain to this day. Eventually, getting uncomfortable, he asked Fox what he should do while the mud was drying.

"Nothing," said Fox. "Just take your own time."

Grey One nodded, though he still didn't understand. It was dark by then, so both Fox and Grey One began heading back down the path, at their own pace. Then, whuffling and snarling, Bear came up the path, and saw them there.

"Oh ho, get out of my way, Grey One, or you'll get more of the same." He showed Grey One his claws.

"Why don't you just step on him?" said Fox impudently.

"You are no friend of mine, but your idea is a good one." And so saying he brought his paw down on Grey One's back, but the thorns jabbed his paw and he howled in pain before heading off the path, to Fox's taunts and roars of laughter.

Then along the path came Bobcat, hissing and snarling, for the hunting was poor. When she saw Grey One, she yowled at him "Get out of the way, Grey One, or I'll swat you away again!"

"Give him a swat, he deserves it," crowed Fox.

"You are no friend of mine," said Bobcat, "but your idea is a good one." And she swatted Grey One hard. But the thorns poked her paws and she hissed and spat in agony, licking her wounds and yowling, while Fox roared with laughter.

Then who should come along the path but dog, snarling and slathering as he came up behind Fox & Grey One. "Whuff, move along you two, I'm in a hurry," he snarled at them.

"He won't do it," said Fox. "He is stubborn now, and you should teach him a lesson."

"Whuff, I will," said Dog, "though you were never my friend." And so saying he leapt on Grey One and bite him, shaking him hard, but only for a moment before he was howling and trying to spit out the thorns-but they had grown long and cruelly barbed by then, and he could do nothing but whine and bark plaintively.

"Eat him alive, you monster!" shouted Fox, and the two continued along their path. He looked for others to trick, but by then word had escaped that Grey One was Prickly One and to be respected.

And now he takes his own time.

The moral of this story (Indian stories don't have morals, or even endings but this one does when I tell it) is as follows: talk as reasonably as you want, be as nice as you want, bend over backwards for civility if you feel you must, but if you don't have some thorns, motherfuckas gonna walk all over you.


  1. Sure niceness, reason and civilty all work -- when the alternate is getting shot.