Pencil Pushing Philistines Put Phorth Pandering Peasants Phorcing Problems Practically Phrom Paranoid Phrogs

I once saw a man dressed in an orange raincoat bewilder a veteran of the armed forces. He was asking all sorts of meanderings upon which the veteran had no response.

“If you were a zebra and I was riding you through a dry tundra would your stripes keep the skin upon my legs as cool as they would keep yourself?”

He gave a snort to the man in the orange raincoat. Took a swig of a beer that seemed to appear from nowhere and positively charged the proton that sat next to him with a rubbing of sock to the shag carpeted floor.

“You would have to be inside the zebra,” said the veteran.

“A possibility that leads me to a thought…,” was the man in the orange raincoat’s reply.

It was a thought that would never be expressed in any language that we could understand.

“Your proton is mighty sexy,” I expressed with much vigor.

“Thank you, sir. I came across it in New Mexico while scavenging for the bones of an angular termite. I saw this little devil and concluded…here is what my life has come to. Answers to everything and nothing at all. A mystery come about by the smile of a pretty little thing that will never return the love and affection put upon it by an old man with too many scars of too many places won about by too many abusive flounderings of pretentious miscreants. I saw this little proton and knew my life had a meaning…”

“…meaning you should answer my thought. A quizzical man would express much knowledge to the mystery I put forth. A zebra would coolly flow through this state of mental disruption. I never saw a man without his clothes. I’ve never seen clothes without their man. There is always a somebody for a something. There is always the boy who looks like a girl and the other way around. There is always the nothing that becomes something and answers all those questions that you think would be answered while reading a James Deen biography. The morality of being a son of a bitch and dying young. That’s why we are here. To witness this proton become the thing that dies young and lives a fuller life than any who came before it…a multitude in the valley of decision,” said the man in the orange raincoat.

The proton gave a shimmy and a shake. Let loose a howl and became the form of a lady engrossed in zebra striping.

“That’s positively amazing!” exclaimed the veteran.

The former proton gave me a wink and a smile. Pronounced itself on the floor in the position of an actual zebra. Rearing itself as if ready to stampede across an African vista.

She gave me a nod of the head purporting that I climb on her back. I did as indicated. She took off in a mighty gallop. Placing us outside in the sunny afternoon.

She ran for miles as I clung to her jet black hair for some sort of security. She ran past houses and trees and violinists. The entire time, thinking to myself, my upper body was a sweaty mess while my legs had never been cooler.

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