“I don’t like it,” Chuck said.
The caricature artist shrugged. “No refunds, sorry. Take it or leave it, I don’t care.”
Okay, here’s the deal. Pointy-Head Chick Man? This motherfucker here? He exists. He’s both a man and a chick, meaning a) he’s intersex, like a hermaphrodite or something, b) he’s bigender, and identifies as both male and female, or c) he’s a human-chicken hybrid that is a fucking nightmare to science. We don’t know which of these things he is, because, honestly, there isn’t much to know about him.
“Right there on the femur, look at that shit,” Ralph said. Doctor Clammington peered close to it, moving his head closer and closer to the leg, and then gave a peck on Ralph’s thigh.
“Yeah, it looks pretty dangerously dizzy to me,” Doctor Clammington said. “I’d better get a closer look. Your shorts are in the way though. If you don’t mind.”
“Not at all,” Ralph said.
Doctor Clammington inspected Ralph’s thigh very closely, and then made carefully sure to see if his sacrum and ilium were also damaged in any way.
“How long are we gonna keep doing this?” Ralph asked.
Fish swam through the frigid waters of the Atlantic Ocean, as he always did and as the hundreds of fish next to him always did. He didn’t much care for swimming, to be honest. Occasionally a beam of sunlight would shimmer through from the surface, or he would see another bunch of fish swimming through the frigid waters of the Atlantic Ocean, as they always did, but for the most part all he saw were the other fish of his school. It wasn’t the most exciting thing that Fish could imagine doing, but he figured he might as well swim around some more.
After a while, Fish stopped swimming. He felt that he had been swimming far too long and that he deserved a break. The other fish stopped, sensing a disturbance in their formation.
“What are you doing?” one of the other fish asked Fish. The school turned around in unison and all of his fishy brothers and sisters were staring.
The Content Buddha sat beneath the branches of a fig tree, head bowed in silent meditation while the fan of the laptop atop his legs whirred softly like the spring breeze. People traveled far and wide, from all corners of the world, just to get a glimpse of the Content Buddha. Every now and again, a particularly brave acolyte would approach him meekly and put forth some great question that had been plaguing their conscious.
“Oh Content Buddha, great and wise, I beseech you,” the man dropped to his knees, as close to the earth as he could before the Content Buddha. “How, oh how can I get more hits on my blog?”
“Please, stand. One does not have to wallow before the Content Buddha. We are all one, brother,” the auspicious Content Buddha beckoned the man to stand.