Posted by nigel1 on June 07, 2002 at 18:32:04:
No legs! She had no legs, because when she was ten years old, she'd been involved in a bizarre car-train-plane-motorboat-skateboard-bicycle-water skiing accident. She matured into a beautiful woman, with huge shapely tits, about which she had been sad, for she felt that no one would ever want to kiss them. She had no legs! But the surgeon had done a good job. Her magnificent toothesome buttocks rounded into her groin with nary a trace of scar tissue. All the same, it was highly abnormal. In her twentieth year her prayers were answered. She had had the good sense to pray for something reasonable as oppossed to something unreasonable, like the regeneration of her legs. If she'd prayed for that, she would have received from a pissed-off Creator tumors and eternal damnation. What she had prayed for was a kind and gentle and attractive young man who would love her for her mind instead of her body. Of course a perfectly normal young man would probably not be attracted to a legless girl, even a legless girl with magnificent boobs. Therefore, she did not receive an entirely healthy young man. She received a kind, gentle, attractive young man who had had his penis shot off in Viet Nam. But he had compensated for the loss by developing his hands, one of which could span five octaves on the piano keyboard. Nowever, he had no talent. He could not play the piano. As a matter of fact, the hands were not entirely his doing, as he had prayed once, in the VA hospital, for the regeneration of his penis. That had been a mistake. His prayers were answered. One morning he'd found himself with no penis still, but with incredible hands, richly endowed with musculature and sensitive nerve endings. He was also damned, but he didn't know that, and it would not become apparent until death. As long as he lived, he would have no reason to suspect that he was not merely an ordinarily fucked up person. He would not know, nor would he ever suspect, that at the core of his being God had planted something unspeakable. If he had known that, he wouldn't have wasted time. He'd have strangled his amputee girl friend right off the bat. Yes, he'd have strangled her and he'd have eaten both of her titties!
They met on the campus of the Douglas A. (Arthur) McArthur American Freedom Academy College, a juniour college in Corpus Christi, Texas. They were both working toward degrees in Management Science.
Their meeting was catalyzed my a shocking discovery. Overnight, someone, or something, a sick person or group, had defiled General McArthur's statue. As the sun rose over the college's lone building, and as the building's shadow slid, shortening, across the lawn or "campus", it became evident to students bound for early classes that something was wrong with The General that morning. His somewhat larger than lifesize statue stood on a circular pedestal in the center of the lawn. It was smeared with filth. (Dr. Brown, who owns and operates the academy, moves the statue just a few centimeters in the dead of night, using an apparatus concealed in one of the numerous tunnels he has created under the campus. It is his intention to generate a local legend, but so far no one has noticed.) Excrement had been daubed on the seat of The General's pants! Excrement had been heaped up in the bowl of The General's distinctive corncob pipe! Worst of all, smears of shit obscured The General's sunglasses! Excrements! Excrements! It was the act of some sick person! An atheist! A communist! A liberal! A Democrat! Sick people! Subversive people! In some sense they had all been defiled. This was the ugliness of public desecration-- it made everyone a victim. It could not be avoided. Students were especially vulnerable, as the older heads of the academy well knew. They knew that, because the young are still in such a stage of development that they are asking their elders for the answers to life's problems, and what the ultimate meaning of it all is. And it took time to convince them that the answers were Honor, Duty, Patriotism, and that the purpose was God. What better exemplar than General Douglas McArthur? It was not good to clutter up the inputs while the process of indoctrination was at work. Such graphic vandalism as they had witnessed would make uncontrollable associations. Would they forever after associate shit with Honor, Duty, Patriotism? When in moments of personal crisis they called up a vision of General McArthur, would they always now see him besmirched and somewhat funny, with smears of evident dogshit on the seat of his voluminous military khakis? Would "Hero" forever resonate with "crap"?