Friend of Man
by Jerry Ratch
I don't read.
I don't do the dishes.
What am I?
If I were more domesticated, I'd poop in the street.
I'd lift my leg and pee on the bushes.
I would chase after every ass in the hood
and sniff them too.
I wouldn't fetch much.
What am I? What am I?
Oh, and I'd lick myself silly too.
That's what I would do.
|
0
favs |
784 views
18 comments |
72 words
All rights reserved. |
Author's Note
who knows?
Other stories by Jerry Ratch
Tags
Comments
You must
log in
to post comments.
I'm going to go out on a limb here and say 'dog.'
Now I know that's probably not even close, that it's probably something like 'cosmonaut' or 'arborist' but, that's my final answer.
Dog.
Ron Jeremy?
That other guy from Wham!
?
Pepe le Pew?
The nain rouge?
Chupacabra?
Gene Simmons?
Foghorn Leghorn?
Mr. Whipple?
That cute girl from Hanson?
Is it a yeti?
Narcissus?
Is it the Beave?
It is...
LE CHAT
What do I win?
A cigar?
A bus ride on Bukowski's mail route?
An interview with Monica?
It's your choice.
I'm telling you it's CAT...
did you even read it?
;-)
as in pussy?
Hello Kitty®
?
Holy Lipschitz. I give up.
Who is it?
Tom was swaying, and Tom was swelling, and Tom was standing on his two hind legs, and then Tom spoke.
“What? Tim Toldrum dead? Then I’m the King o’ the Cats!”
Tom leaped toward the fireplace, and with a single Meow, he bounded up the chimney and was gone.