Soap in the anus
A worm and a maggot crawled
Towards the sun and love...
Carelessly floating past such a relevant and noble topic, which for a decade has been bringing the inquisitive minds of modern thinkers to their knees—namely, which hand to wipe your ass with? Left or right... (I resolved this question for myself quite successfully upon learning that paper exists), I turned my gaze to something less lofty, namely the so-called "soap" operas in their classic form. More precisely, in my story, I tried to imagine what would happen if the drunken Beavis and Butt-head played at least a couple of notes in this snow-white opera. Having drunk a bucket of vodka—what else could I do? I had to get into character—I set to work... well, I took it up at night. So...
The silent morning was already preparing to hand over the baton to a sultry day when he appeared on stage. Clean-shaven, in an impeccable suit, with a face exuding melancholy intellect and intellectual romance, Ass resembled a fairy-tale prince. He didn't even need to invent a horse—the playing on the saddle... is further proof of that. This creature brought our hero to a lonely, not impressively sized but cozy, time-scarred and already fading, yet still white villa, surrounded by a neat green lawn, pierced here and there by nature itself with lush trees, fragrant flowerbeds, and horse "patties" proudly basking in the sun. No sooner had the prince dismounted than a rather cute birdie flew out to meet him, her ample bosom cleaving the air. The maid Crest, for five years now, always sincerely joyful and smiling tenderly, greeted him. The reason for such ambiguous behavior could be easily read in her valentine eyes.
She was mistaken, expecting to hear the usual dry greeting, doused in choice obscenities:
— My dear, please take a look, I think the horse has a splinter in its ass.
Continuing to smile, the birdie rushed to fulfill the request of her secret heart's callus. Suddenly, the silence was torn by a loudly emitted animal sound, the nature of which is best explained by the subsequent bodily movements of Crest, who was sitting in the front row and felt the full charm of this outburst. Straightening up lightning-fast, she grabbed her throat with her hands, tears seeped from her reddened face, and after a few seconds of a greedy struggle for air, her limp body collapsed to the ground. (After all, it's good that I managed to avoid the expression "the horse farted." Really, "farted" sounds like... Well, okay, I didn't write "farted" and I didn't. So, moving on.)
— What a fool, isn't she? — The horse's owner, who had been sternly observing everything, seemed to burst. Pointing a finger at the victim, he didn't even try to hide his playful gloating. — How many times do I have to warn you—be smart, and most importantly—cultured! Just think, sticking your unwashed hands into a horse's ass! — Meeting the gaze of the air-polluting culprit, who was smiling rather smugly, the beacon of culture affectionately patted his mane. — And you're a good boy! I didn't waste all that time on you for nothing!
Inside the aforementioned dwelling, a cozy, homely atmosphere yawned calmly, very close to the classic studio TV sets of this genre, in which the main characters stretch the path to each other's hearts to incredible lengths.
Ass himself didn't know why, but as soon as he crossed the threshold of this house, he immediately felt the urge to take a leak. Leaning towards a quick solution to the arisen problem, he never suffered over where and how to do it. And now, paying no attention to the ladies present and not even bothering to feign artificial embarrassment, the guest briskly strode over to the decorative lemon tree and immediately began to water it. Sitting at the set table were Simply Stench and her mother, the Frenchwoman De, accustomed to Ass's exotic appearances, indifferently examined his back, which was participating in creating new, yet so familiar aromas, thanks to which they had to interrupt their meal. They were generally hard to surprise with anything; they even somewhat resembled dull dolls, with equally faceless voices.
— Look, he's shown up again, — the lazy voice of Madame De was intended for her daughter, but it was perfectly heard by the one she was talking about. — He's been coming for five years... Eats, drinks for free, pisses wherever he wants, and no use at all.
— I think I've figured out why our lemons ripen ahead of schedule, — having cracked such a complex riddle, Stench, who had been gloomily contemplating its author, maintained her dull calm.
Pretending not to have noticed the reproaches directed at him, Ass, nevertheless, remained cultured, and before lowering his flabby body into the armchair, he didn't forget to delight the hospitable hostesses with his friendly greeting:
— I kiss all present on the left nipple! I see you're already having lunch, so I'm just in time!
A mannered old man in blue, tight-fitting riding breeches, peeking furtively from behind the door of his own room, watched everything with interest. The decrepit head of the family had no desire to work and never worked in his life, preferring carefree philosophical conversations on lofty topics, fortunately, the slaves, driven by the cruel overseer Eminem, gave him that opportunity. But the arrival of such a long-awaited guest as Ass—that's a different matter! As soon as the familiar silhouette appeared at the table, the old man dropped everything, grabbed a rag, and with incredible diligence began to wash and polish the floors near the visitor's place to a shine. Moreover, he performed this task in an extremely indecent posture, directing his rear towards the seated person, occasionally touching him, while disgustingly vulgarly playing with his hams and buns.
Having swiftly gotten to the food, the lover of watering other people's lemons, greedily grabbing everything in sight and powerfully working his jaws, soon stuffed his stomach to capacity. After which, sprawling comfortably in the armchair, as if emphasizing his complete satisfaction, he took a deep, pleasurable breath and pulled out a cigarette. But something was off... Obviously, the hardworking old man, buzzing around like a pesky fly, having forgotten to wash up, had brought that smell too close to the guest, who was indifferent to his antics.
— My dear, — Ass's unpretentiousness towards various kinds of smells allowed him to easily overcome the approaching nausea and maintain a very soft tone towards its instigator. — In my opinion, you work too much! Considering your age, that worries me a little. So please, go and rest. You've earned it! — Surprised at his own politeness, he still managed to hit the main point with the dejectedly departing elder, on whose face demonstrative resentment floated. — Yes, and most importantly, don't forget to wash up! And don't miss the opportunity to enlighten your brain, which has already entered the realm of senile decay, by reading smart books that emphasize the courtliness of human behavior in society.
Before he forgot, Ass began to write down his last phrase, planning to later have it engraved on his own tombstone. And it didn't matter that he himself didn't quite understand it—it sounded beautiful!
Stench thoughtfully examined the huge cucumber lying on the table, trying to replicate its dimensions with her fingers, obviously thinking about...
— Don't even try. — De caught the thoughts close to her own in her daughter. — It's too big for you. Just eat it.
— Yes, madam! You are too picky about food! — Ass didn't catch the situation here either. — Now, if you worked from morning till night like your father, then I'd look at your behavior at the table!
— Her father, sir, has never worked a day in his life. — The indignant De involuntarily began to reveal family secrets, although she, like her daughter, remained unnaturally calm. — And if you still
haven't understood—he's gay. Perhaps you're to his taste. That's why he came up with this trick with washing the floors, to somehow get close to you. Otherwise, in his life, he's never lifted anything heavier than a fork and knife. By the time Stench, coming to after a brief faint, peeled her face off the plate, the naive guest had already managed to learn from her mother who gay people are and what they do.
— So that's what those people are called, who do such uncultured things. Recently, I had the misfor... misfortune of meeting such people. They even offered me money to involve me in their vile affairs! A whole... — He pulled out a few crumpled bills from his pocket and, respectfully counting them, quickly put them back. — A whole seventy-five dollars! But I refused immediately! Point-blank!
— Are you okay? — The Frenchwoman watched with interest as her daughter wiped the remnants of intricate, greasy patterns from her face.
— Everything's fine, Mom. But why didn't you tell me about this earlier?
— Sorry, I probably just forgot. He's secretive, the bastard. Even when I was his stepbrother, I was quite surprised myself to learn about his inclinations. And then I loved him for it. And to preserve the moral image of our family, I had to undergo a sex change operation... It's just how you popped into the world—I still can't understand that.
— Wow! — From what she had experienced, even the corresponding emotions shone on Stench's face, though not for long. — The adrenaline just pumps when you learn something like that! Just mind-blowing! No, really, an amazing state!
Ass was about to break the prolonged pause when suddenly the silence was loudly struck by a disgusting, vile fart (this time I couldn't resist the temptation). Demonstratively comparing the unbearable stench with their own capabilities, those present, nauseatingly grimacing, flatly refused to participate in creating this event. But a solution found itself when the dog dozing in the corner stirred.
— An extremely uncultured animal! Must be punished somehow, — Ass immediately appointed him guilty for the spoiled air.
— Just not too hard, so he doesn't even feel anything, — Stench joined him.
— And don't forget how much Bridget and I care for homeless animals, — De reminded them.
That evening, the fried dog lying on the table, covered in an appetizing crust, was whitening its good name, spreading entirely different fragrances than those it had been so unjustly accused of.
However, the triumph of justice didn't last long. No sooner had Ass gnawed the dog's scrawny hindquarters than, letting out a wild scream, the vile smell penetrated the atmosphere again. This time, the gathered eyes blamed the quietly sitting budgerigar in its cage. The modest little bird had no idea what fate awaited it if the nearby maid hadn't intervened:
— If you eat the birdie, then next time there will be no one to blame for other awkward situations!
Crest, inspired by the mercy of her amorous idol, even hoped to kiss him when she handed him the horsewhip at the moment of parting, but, feeling the power of that whip's blow on her own plump bottom, immediately changed her mind. The unflappable Ass, waiting for her to stop moaning and grimacing in pain, very simply explained his insane act:
— Remember once and for all—the whip must be handed over to the left, not the right hand!
Having, for the last time, immersed the victim in the subtleties of cultural behavior, he peacefully galloped off...
My characters turned out really nasty! I even wanted to suggest the maid poison them all and hang herself. But still, let at least one rose of my humanism remain among all this manure. And Ass, in principle, isn't such a bad guy—he loves his horse, for example. So ride, Ass, ride! And I'll send you a sturdy stool to make loving the horse easier!