The Cockroach Confederacy

9/11 seemed a good day to post this little dab of mind vomit.

The cockroaches required a god. They came to me one night and asked that I help chose one for them, so I surfed the net till I found a picture of a donkey. I showed them the picture.

I told them that donkeys are known for their stubbornness. I told them that donkeys only go where they want to, when they want to, no matter how hard you kick or beat or coerce them with snacks.  
  
The confederacy held a little cockroach sync-up to vote on it.  
 
The donkey won out in the end, but it was a close race. Some of the more affluent and powerful thought that they would very much like George W. Bush as their god. They said they would call him Pharaoh, and with his guidance we could make the poor into slaves and make the slaves rebuild the World Trade Center. We could rebuild it out of stone and add an additional penthouse floor, to appease the lesser god known as Donald Trump. Of course many of the slaves would be hurt, maimed and even killed as they slogged the heavy granite slabs up little aluminum painters ladders, but this would be a small sacrifice.

Onlookers would surly proclaim "how glorious a monument our Pharaoh has bestowed upon us, even if it killed, maimed, or hurt all the poor slaves. Certainly, it must last forever!"

I told them that this was all a very bad idea, that the donkey would be good enough.

Reviews

[Carly Rose]

I love this.

[C Wood]

Thank you.