I’m sweating in the armor because I volunteered to be the mascot of
the baseball team, such that when a Rocket hits one over the palm trees and out of the park, I race around the perimeter of Glaus Stadium astride my trusty pony, Pegasus, sword held high, as my noble steed breaks into a victory trot.
Although I am of jockey size and stature, Peggy seems not on board with the program, especially when I am on board Peggy. So when I dig my heels into her sides, Peggy decides that she is mad as hell and is not going to take itanymore, and instead of galloping off into the sunset, opts for civil disobedience in the form of a huge pile of steaming equine excrement. As one observant spectator put it:
“Hey look! A Shitland pony!”
Desperate, I send up a hasty prayer to The Virgin Mother. So naturally, a Hail Mary comes to mind. The next time the opposition hits one out, I dig my heels in my pony, holding my nose in anticipation of a noisome deposit. Instead, Peggy, finally getting the memo, takes off like Man of War in full Triple Crown mode, such that I am hanging off her side for dear life like a rodeo clown. Circling the field, she comes to an abrupt stop at her starting point, and I am launched like a Valkyrie missile head-first into the pile of Peggy’s still-warm renderings.
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