We Suffer From A Plague of Donkeys

In a desperate attempt to learn humor from a Gentleman’s Handbook, Harold had made a fatal mistake. It was to be a veritable feast of damnation. He had arrived at a factory laden with earthenware which he mistook for an ammunition stronghold.

Harold regarded Gentlemen as a special species. He studied the potions of yore and would redeem vouchers best described as ‘desperate attempts to live an action-filled life’. Harold handed one such gift-horse to Serenity in the House of Fatal Nihilists. She inspected the voucher before attaching a rather large antique on Harold’s left nipple.

It was in questionable taste whether Harold had to present himself thus but Harold was determined to grab life by the balls. Serenity had seen it all before. She was cursed with an optical memory from past lives. Torsos and nipples would flash before her eyes moments before she awoke each morning. Male and female. Serenity could no longer smell through her left nostril as a result of the trauma she suffered at the age of six.

“It makes no sense,” Harold began as Harold often began. “I have a lovely village with several animals but only one chooses to slaughter pigs.”

“Why are you here Harold? Who sent you?”

Harold could not explain why he received the first message. He couldn’t explain why he followed orders. Harold couldn’t explain much in life but he knew that Serenity’s gift horse was looking foul in the mouth.

“I’m in need of humor. The message sent me here. It was in the Handbook.”

Harold flashed his dog-eared copy of the Gentleman’s Handbook. An obscure resource filled with images of a donkey's bollocks. It was a lovely pair. Award-winning. The gentle curve of the left testicle hung nicely under the swinging donkey dick. Harold’s favorite page was the center spread in which Goliath, a fine beast heralding from Northern Italy, lay spread-eagle on a rug. It was an artist's impression signed by Giommati the Ignorant.

“I think this is a joke. I lack understanding of its finer details.”

“This is no joke,” answered Serenity in all seriousness. She had never been presented an image of a Donkey’s bollocks in quite so graphic detail. “I’m alarmed.”

With a singular vision of a woman with testicular fortitude, Serenity pressed hard on the bright red button that simply read ‘STOP’.

“There are no weapons here. This inspection is over. You must leave before it’s crunch time. I’ve pegged your nipple and I won’t stop there.”

“But I have needs. I cannot leave. I have a Gentleman’s handbook.”

“It’s time.”

“But outside there’s trouble. Outside there are beasts. Outside they roam freely.”

Indeed, outside in the rain-lashed environment where a frozen lake spawned a million observations by romantics wedded to its charm, there roamed a plague of donkeys. Ferocious beasts armed with free will and decadent teeth. They gnashed their way to and fro like a forgotten tribe of Isreal begging Moses for a Golden Calf.

Serenity took one more look at Harold’s ID card and pointed to the exit.

“You’ve got what you came for…Harold. The antique will protect you from the donkeys. It’s best you leave now before it’s too late.”

“Too late?”

“It’s nearly sunrise, Harold.”

Harold begrudgingly turned and walked out.

The Plague of Donkeys ate him for breakfast.