The Unclaimed Undermorals
Once
upon a time a Satirical Moralist was mobbed by his unclaimed Undermorals. They
trotted in on soft feet, mewing and meowing, demanding attention.
“To create a little flower is the work of
ages” stared at him with huge adorable eyes; “Never be wrong at the bottom of your voice” raised a loud yowl; “Don’t believe your own B.S.” rubbed
against his ankles; “Minds mate whenever
they meet” licked his hand with a sandpaper tongue; “Better to serve, even in Hell, than to reign, even in Heaven”
walked over him like furniture; and “The
good that’s born of evil owes a debt” clawed his couch.
“Dear
nuisances!” he said. “I’ve tried to
find good stories for you, but I haven’t found the right tales, with the right
myths! Besides, I want you for myself!” He waved a laser pointer: “It’s easier to fool people than to tell them
they’ve been fooled” pounced to and fro at the red spot.
The
Satirical Moralist gazed fondly at the Undermoral curled on his lap, purring
loudly. “I’ve tried hard to get rid
of you!” “The best memory does not equal the palest ink” looked up at him,
narrowed its eyes, jabbed his thighs with its claws, and jumped away.
Moral: Keep
your friends close and your enemies closer.
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