Once, in a land far away (thank God), there lived a great wizard--well, maybe not that great. His spells never worked and he was best known as Krazzibob, the village fool.

One evening, while casting a spell to create a cotton-tipped stick for nose cleaning, Krazzibob mischanted. Suddenly, a beautiful woman appeared. Gorgeoua, but oossibly flawed in reasoning ability, she thought Krazzibob the handsomest man that she had ever seen.

Of course, he was the only man that she had ever seen.

None the less, they shared a night of intense passion.

The next morning, contemplating the addition of a few extra inches to his lady's bust, Krazzibob mischanted--again. To his horror, his voluptuous lady was transformed into a small donkey. Krazzibob consulted his library of wizard lore. There, in a grimoire that looked remarkably similar to a comic book, he gathered enough information to surmise that a kiss would change her back to human form. But the kiss had to come from someone other than her creator.

Krazzibob went from cottage to cottage throughout the village trying to find someone to kiss his donkey. His knocking on doors and simply ordering "Kiss my ass" drew reactions ranging from slammed doors to a thoroughly severe thrashing at the hands of the good sisters of the Convent of Peace and Understanding. Enraged by failure in his kiss quest, Krazzibob began beating his neighbors with sticks and pelting them with donkey dung. He was chased back to his hut.

Later that evening, while Krazzibob was setting fire to the village, it occurred to him that perhaps--just, perhaps--he should restudy his sacred volume of #12 pulp imitation parchment before moving on to extreme measures.

And there, lo and be-something, Krazzibob discovered a grievous error. For, after he scraped the dried booger off of the page, he could see that "kiss" was actually "kick." Someone must kick his donkey.

The prospect of another door to door round of the village--this time demanding "Kick my ass"--gave Krazzibob pause. Although most held the belief that he thrived on abuse, Krazzibob was not sure how much more thriving he could stand. Especially worrisome were the haunting words of Mother Superior at the convent, "I ever see you again, I'll crush your head like a melon!" Exhausted, Krazzibob fell asleep.

In a nightmare (he never had regular dreams), Krazzibob was confronted by the image of his long departed (departed not in the sense of being dead, but in that he had left the area having had his fill of you-know-who) father.

"Krazzibob," said Dad.

"Father?" muttered Krazzibob.

"Kick thine own ass, boy . . . Oh, and forget I was here."

There! Now he had it, the solution to his problem. If the villagers would not kick his donkey, he'd kick his ass himself.

The next morning, Krazzibob wasted no time. He positioned his donkey and executed a swift kick to the ass. His donkey became a short, plump, whiskey-drinking Scotsman. Frantic to correct this situation, Krazzibob began a kicking frenzy creating--in turn--

--a giant pink chinchilla

--a very stylish Louis XIV chaise longue

--an excuse for a drink (Too late. Missed that one.)

--a cord of green wood

--a three-eyed Cyclops

--and a barrel of spoiled pickles.

Unfortunately, when a kick brought about a remarkably aggressive and agile sumo wrestler, Krazzibob was forced to flee for his life. Thus endeth his attempts at regaining his lady.

Now, in a land far away (thank God), there lives a great wizard--well, maybe not that great. His spells never work. He is best known as Krazzibob, hermit, recluse, misogynist, and inventor of the cotton-tipped stick for nose cleaning.

The moral of this tale? No moral. Just be glad you re not Krazzibob. And, please don't kick the sumo wrestlers. This is only a story.

I giggled all the way through this. It smacks of Kismet, Mother Goose, and some of Robin William's zanier monologues. Hope you liked it as much as I.
If so--or if not--tell me about it inn our BBS.--gm