What the Fuckery Friday: Cows
Driving along the streets of Backwoods, Georgia one day, I noticed a herd of cows in a field. Not unusual by any stretch. However, this particular group looked like they were up to no-good. They all faced the same direction, as cows, who are quite follower-y, are wont to do, but something about their cloven stances struck me as diabolical. Or maybe it was the glowing embers in their normally dull eyes.
The head cow in charge lifted his beefy muzzle as I made my approach. Chewing his cud, he said to his mates, “It’s just a fucking minivan. We need a truck. Keep watching for a truck.”
The other cows nodded. “Got it, boss. Truck. Minivans can go to hell where they belong. With serial killers and war criminals and fuckers who don’t wear deodorant.”
Shocked, I looked at my son sitting beside me. “What do you think those cows are up to?” I asked.
“They definitely want to steal a truck,” said he.
“Should we call the authorities?” My fingers tensed around the steering wheel.
“I don’t know. I got a bad feeling about this.”
Me fucking too.
The beta cow, a sassy-looking black and white heifer, watched me with a deeply disturbing stare. Hungry. Like she hadn’t eaten in days and had suddenly developed a hankering for human flesh. Or maybe she was born with it.
She chew-whispered so the others couldn’t hear, “I want that minivan, missus. And the Demonling too. He looks mighty tasty.” Then that cow licked her meaty lips.
I rolled down the window. “Bitch, you better stay away from my Demonling with those smackery-doos. Don’t think I won’t take an umbrella to your hide!”
She sat back on her haunches and lifted a front leg like a giant bird finger. “Child, please. I got a good 1500 pounds on your skinny ass. Beat me. I triple-dog dare you.”
“Shows how little you know,” I shouted back. “I sure as shit ain’t skinny. I’m as thick as thieves around these here parts. Keep your wanderin’ gaze fixed on your own kind, or I’ll call the cow cops.”
She straightened right up after that threat, and so did the others. “We ain’t done nothin’ wrong,” the alpha said. “No need to bring the law.”
Just then, a truck appeared in my rearview. I played it cool, tracking it through the looking-glass. When the truck got close, a rumbling bullish voice hollered, “We’ll be takin’ that there truck, mister. Get the fuck outta the vehicle.”
And sure enough, the driver exited. Them goddamn cows surrounded the pick-up, standing on their hind legs, wielding weapons and prods like they was some kind of bovine militia. The alpha gestured with his shotgun for the driver to get out of their way. Then he slung the shotgun across his back like a samurai sword and climbed into the driver’s seat. The sassy heifer got in the passenger side, and four others leapt into the bed.
A pair of dark sunglasses slid over the bull’s eyes. “The giant Ferris wheel soon will be ours!”
The other cows mooed their excitement as the tires squealed, leaving behind a cloud of red clay dust.
I shook my head and turned on the windshield wipers. Just another day in Backwoods, Georgia.