Cassady - Perverted Proverbs

PERVERTED PROVERBS

Marsh Cassady

A Horses Tale

Mummy Dearest

A Grave Situation

Such Foolishness

To Halve and to Hold

How Write Became Wrong

Get Real

A Friend in Knead

A Lavender Triangle

How He Begged to Differ

Of Hugs and Handlebars

The High-Priced Spread

They Were Real Hams

Things Arent Always What They Seem

Oh, Well

Seldom is Herd a Discouraging Word

Undercover Judge

A Painful Experience

Penny Wise

A Timely Decision

Gays Pride

That Old Demon Cake

A HORSE'S TALE

Once upon a time in merry old California lived a man named Kevin who loved horses. The only thing he loved better than his horse was his groom whose name was Jeffrey. Often when the horse was bedded down for the night, Kevin would go out to the stable to be with his groom. Such was their passion for each other that they then immediately entered the brick mansion where Kevin lived on the outskirts of West Hollywood. After a glass of white wine or Perrier, off they would go to Kevin's bedroom on the seventh floor, there to wile away the hours until morning.

Occasionally, however, their hunger for one another precluded their repairing to the manse. Instead the two men wildly embraced, tearing at one another's attire, and ran to the nearest empty stall. Despite these physical needs and their love for one another, Kevin remained very much the lord of house and grounds while Jeffrey took care to remember his place: Keeper of the Horse.

One day as Jeffrey was bringing Old Penelope (for that was the horse's name) back to the stable after her daily exercise, Kevin dashed into the barn. "Groom, where are you?" he called.

Jeffrey at that very moment approached the door of the stable, leading the dapple mare. Immediately, he dropped her reins and rushed inside, sensing his employer's cravings. The two men flew into each other's arms.

Later, the fires of their need now quenched, the two men lay in their bed of straw and thought as one of Penelope.

Leaping into their apparel: designer jeans and plaid shirtsKevin's royal blue and white as befitted a master, Jeffrey's black and brown as befitted a groomthey sped from the stable. Alas, to their dismay, the horse was nowhere in sight.

There was naught to do but to seek the errant equine. Soon, however, encroaching darkness made their efforts futile. Eyes spilling tears of frustration and sorrow, the pair made plans to meet at daybreak to resume their efforts.

Alas, upon the morrow, all it took was a certain tilt of the head on Kevin's part, the careless brushing of hair with hand by Jeffrey, and the men were once more in each other's arms. And so it was that by cocktail hour that late afternoon, all by herself the dapple mare returned.

Praising the gods up in heaven, Kevin and Jeffrey, the former on her right side, the latter on her left, led the horse to her stall, quickly closing the gate.

"What a burden lifted," Kevin exclaimed, "for dearly I love old Penelope."

"And don't I love her as well?" Jeffrey asked.

"Yea, verily. Still, you are the Keeper of the Horse. And since she had been quit of the grounds for the last full day, I must subtract one seventh of your weekly salary."

"But hadn't we planned to look"

Kevin held up his hand. "Harken unto me, Groom," he said. "Is the care of the horse not your responsibility? Is that not why you are in my employ?"

Jeffrey stood with downcast eyes. "Yes, master," he said. "I cannot argue, for what you say is true."

And so it was that Jeffrey's pay check on the second Friday of the month was docked the sum of $315.25.

Moral: A dapple away docks the keeper a day.

MUMMY DEAREST

Once upon a time an Egyptologist was doing a dig in the hot Sahara sands, his dearest wish to find the tomb of ... well, that was the problem. Few history books even mentioned the obscure ruler for whom Peter Potter was searching, and those that contained any reference were rather ambiguous in what they said, sometimes referring to the ruler as Queen Che Che I or Pharaoh Cheops LXIX.

Furthermore, vague warnings of a curse persisted, something having to do with a terrible stench. Yet the curse was vague, rarely hinted at, and thus often was referred to by cynics and wags as the riddle of the stinks. Yet, certain scholars like Potter felt that to dismiss the legend as mere fancy when searching for Che Che's tomb was to court disaster.

All his life Professor Potter had been obsessed with solving the mysteries of Cheops LXIX. Was he a man or was she a woman? Where was the tomb located? What really was the curse?

Professor Potter had devoted his professional life to the search for the tomb, each year finding it increasingly difficult to capture grants to finance his journeys.

One night as he lay abed in his pup tent, his faithful assistant and lover, Pembroke Smithington Schultz, snuggled against his deeply tanned chest, Professor Potter realized he was no closer to his goal than he had been forty years before.

"Alas, I've lived my life in vain," he said. Sadly, he smiled and placed a hand on either side of Pembroke's face. "Except for you, my love." He sighed. "Fortunate for me it was indeed that you found fit to enroll in my Introduction to the Pharaohs all those many years ago. For you have been my constant companion, my friend, my very reason for continuing the rat race."

"Oh, dear Pot," Pembroke answered, for such a term of endearment did he employ for his inamorato, "you've come so far, you've tried so hard, you deserve to be rewarded."

"Perhaps," Potter continued, "there exists no pharaoh or queen such as Che Che. Perhaps, I've wasted my time, in fact, my life."

Pembroke, student, lover, colleague, friend, reached out and tousled Peter's curly locks.

Just then there came a rippling of the tent, akin to the flutter of wings against a silken pillow (or so Prof. Potter thought, though, of course, he'd never heard such a sound).

Pembroke sat up, fear etched on his countenance. "Oh, Potty, what is it?" he asked, as the sound once more reached their ears.

Peter rose, or tried to, nearly ripped the tiny tent from its moorings in the shifting sand, dropped to all fours and crawled to the entrance.

A piece of parchment, ancient and weathered, pinned to the canvas, gleamed white in the glow of the moon.

Removing the pin, a bit of blanched bone, Peter Potter unfolded the parchment, hurried inside and turned on his torch.

Faint letters flitted across the page:

Friend, I've watched for forty years, take heed.

For if you find my tomb, a heart shall bleed,

the stink of human misery at its seed.

And in the desecration and your need

a stench, a stench shall envelope the greed

wherein the deadly vapors then shall feed.

And you of all who've sought my gauzd clay

shall be the one who dearly has to pay.

For if you find you cannot stay away

the riddle's answer shall be yours today.

But yet if save you would your mercy true

Then, friend, salvation come to me and you.

P.S. Pretty good for someone dead for five thousand years, don't you think? Figure this all out and you help me too.

Hugs and kisses.

Che Che LXIX

"What does it say, Potty?" Pemby asked in a trembling tone.

"Someone's playing a joke, that's all. Someone who knows how much this means to me." He handed Pembroke the parchment.

Schultz perused the page, then looked into his lover's eyes. "Oh, but what if it isn't?"

"Nonsense."

"But why would anyone"

"I don't know, Pemby, a jealous colleague."

"Just be careful, Potty," Pembroke answered. "I only care about you."

Later, as the lovers once more lay abed, arms encircling each other, an eerie keening wafted through the midnight air. "Aaaiiiii. Aaaiiii. Cheeeee, Cheee, Cheops. Cheee, Chee, Cheops."