A badly written piece of faux-inked nonsense masquerading as great literature by Jayne d’Arcy. Blame her brother, Jim, for being the sweet, precocious child he was who mangled his best friend’s name into Ronny Gumfarm. Enjoy!
The Horse Was
Argle.
Hack.
Hairball?
Ronny Gumfarm tweaked his nose, sneezed and coughed for a second time. The horse over in the next stall stomped its hooves and neighed in annoyance.
With a shrug of his thin shoulders, Ronny Gumfarm plopped his overly articulated skeleton down onto the nearby bale of hay, and picked nervously at his teeth with his pinky fingernail.
It was Jolene Bombashoot’s fault.
Ronny Gumfarm sighed as a thoroughly goof-sodden expression sogged over his freckled, narrow face.
“Jolene…” he breathed and coughed for a third time. This time the irritated horse kicked the wooden slats of its stall sharply with its hooves. Ronny Gumfarm was rather too far gone thinking of the plush Jolene Bombashoot as he sighed, coughed, and sneezed.
Ronny might have been allergic to Jolene.
Stuffing his long, hooked beak, into a faded, large square of country cotten, Ronny blew his nose, wiped it, and that time he took notice of the horse kicking the wood slats of its stall for a second time.
“Jolene Bombashoot!” he snapped sharply towards the horse in a voice that was pitched a tad nasal, and a bit too much southern fried chicken accented.
The horse neighed sharply and expressed its distressed annoyance by underlining its displeasure with a third, horrendous kick to the wooden slats that splintered them.
Ronny Gumfarm was about to shout Jolene’s name again, but only let out a squeak of air as the horse stuck its head through the now large hole within the mangled wood.
It snorted.
Its eyes were red.
Ronny Gumfarm thought he ought to run.
Ronny Gumfarm was not a quick thinker.
The horse was.
As for Jolene Bombashoot, she gave a little sniffle, and a very ladylike sneeze to Ronny Gumfarm’s coffin as it was lowered into the earth the next day. She then dabbed at her crocodile tears, accepted a few condolences with plasticine grace, and by the afternoon, she’d pawned the small diamond ring, and took off for Las Vegas.
Jolene was going to be a movie star!
Author’s Insufferable Afterword, Disclaimer, and Extra Nonsense: Please note that any inaccuracies inherent in this abominable piece of prose are not apologized for despite having not been studiously over researched. Said author is not responsible for the loss of time in which you might have taken to read this shlock and hereby notifies any coffee-spewing reader that she will not give it back.
Thank you.
