Time for another round of…
What’s Going On In This Photo?
A.) Spike Lee just showed Jay-Z and Beyoncé the trailer for his latest film from across the basketball court.
B.) Chloë Sevigny tooted.
C.) The two men behind Beyoncé are discussing their business plans for a food truck that sells taco-flavored edible underwear.
D.) The kid behind Jay-Z just informed them that he had gotten into a fight four days ago for defending the new Limp Bizkit album.
E.) All of the above.
EXCLUSIVE: Thanks to our source in Indiana (rhymes with “Barry Lird”), we here at WaFB News have gotten a hold of some of the sexts sent by 21-year-old Amish man William R. Yoder.
WARNING: Not suitable for some audiences.
“Have you ever taken off your bonnet with the candles lit?”
“There’s no barn big enough to hold all my love for you.”
“During our formal courtship, I would speak to you not 3, but 4 hours every other week. Chaperones be danged.”
“I’ve been listening to nothing but your mixcylinder on my phonograph since receiving it from Isaac the Mail Mule.”
“There’s plenty of room in the back of my buggy to quickly look one another in the eyes and then look away.”
“Another woman sent me Friendship Bread. I threw it in the outhouse. Yours is the only I shall have for breakfast.”
“My best cow bore a calf today. I named her after you.”
“I’ve never said this to anyone before: Girl, I want to make you furniture.”
“Of all the morning chores I have, the greatest is getting out of bed knowing that you’re not in the bed in the adjacent room.”
“Since we began this frolic, my life has gone from black and white to muted colors.”
General Henry W. Halleck: (To a Lieutenant next to him.) It’s in his pants. It’s always in their pants.
Magician: General Halleck, would you be so kind as to check your jacket?
General Henry W. Halleck: Ha!
Magician: Please, General. Check your jacket.
General Henry W. Halleck: Alright, alright. I’ll indulge you for the kiddies. But we all know where it really is. Heh-heh-heh. (Undoes several buttons and reaches inside. Freezes.)
General Henry W. Halleck: …
Magician: General, is the dove in your jacket?
General Henry W. Halleck: …Sonofabitch.
General Ambrose E. Burnside stands in the center of his General’s Quarters. He straightens up to a regal posture, places a hand on the hilt of his sword and affixes a look on the door that he’s dubbed “The Ravisher”.
A moment later, the door opens and a young maiden enters the Quarters. She takes one look at the General, screams and rushes out of the room. The General deflates.
“My hair fell off, didn’t it?”
He runs a hand over his bald head.
“Blast! How am I going to ravish a young maiden with this freakish alien skull of mine!”
General Franz Sigel: Caramel? On my popping corn?
General William Tecumseh Sherman: You just told me that instead of a film about the effects of my March through Georgia and the Carolinas, one of the greatest military campaigns in the history of the world, this pie eater went around taping himself sparking hussies for five months? Oh, I’m in a huff alright. I’m fit to be tied, son.
Panda was looking at the picture. It was worn and creased from being crumpled up in his paws a thousand times. Panda hated the picture. Yet, he looked at it every single day. He thought that if he looked at it enough it would lose its meaning. Like when you look at the same word over and over again and it suddenly becomes foreign, something as basic as the placement of its letters now completely uncertain.
It had been nearly two years since the photo was taken, the day when NBA star Shaquille O’Neal paid a visit to the Research Center. Everyone was excited that day. Everyone except Panda. He knew something was off. He could taste it in his breakfast bamboo. But it was happening. And it was bigger than Panda; beyond his control and bearing down on him. It was Shaq.
Panda heard Shaq first. The Research Center grounds quaked with the forceful steps of his Dunkmans and the bamboo shoots screamed as they scraped against one another. When Panda saw the silhouette logo on his white t-shirt through the leaves, he rushed up the tree to hide in the canopy. But he should have known. That giant man. There was no height too great. Shaq spotted him immediately and then, in his subterranean mumble, said something to the Head of the Research Center. Panda had it figured out before the interns were climbing up after him. He came down without a fight. He came down to accept his fate.
He’ll pet me and feed me and that’ll be it, Panda thought. When the interns draped a blue gown over Shaq—an XXL that barely covered the man’s torso—Panda knew he was wrong. The blue gown was the Holding Gown. And the Holding Gown meant Panda’s worst fear in the entire world: a photo op. No, Panda thought, I will not stand for this. The mild tranquilizer was plunged through his fur before he could struggle. The warm chemicals overwhelmed him, made him placid.
This man… These hands… This lap… He’s bigger than me, bigger than us all.
The camera was raised. Panda put his paw to his mouth. He wanted to tear out the wrath that had been diffused within him, throw it in all their faces. But he could not stop what was happening.
Two interns appeared, chattering on their way to the lab. Panda hid the picture, hating himself for recalling this nightmare yet again.
“Did you hear about Shaq?”
“I know, right?”
They pushed the lab door open.
“Do you think with all his new free time he’ll come back to visit?”
Panda crumpled onto the grass.
The horror… The horror…