A fool, fat sluggish and smug, was turned into a bowling ball by a gang of husky drooling village idiots.
With pontifical glee, the fool had waddled onto the idiots' grassy flatland turf, making the fateful mistake of underestimating their strength and ability.
The fool felt superior to the idiots, and feared not the clumsy thrusts of their silly toy swords slicing off his blubbery arms and legs becoming an instant set of bowling pins.
The bowling ball had flawless symmetry, and was designed with a care, planning, and precision the fool knew the idiots to be incapable of.
The fool's overwrought brain became a coastal plain between dwindling shoulder dough, as the bloated no neck wart of a head was flattened against chest caved into gut--the pliable mass grew ever rounder amidst diligent idiot fingers kneading plentiful supercilious blubber with clinical detachment, erasing wrinkled valley cracks between buttocks stretched flat--
extraneous runty pee-prick vanishing with a swatted bug splat! which the fool's plaintive ears had been deliberately left to hear--the tired lardy organs and rubbery no name bones were fished out and pulverized by the idiots' fierce callused feet, reducing them to a magical grey powder, evenly blended throughout the bowling ball, endowing it with good luck, balance, and poise, needed to roll straight and smooth, knocking down its former extremities.
With meticulous cosmetic perfection, the gang of village idiots erased all blemishes, bumps, birthmarks and scars, sanding the perfectly round bowling ball with pebbles until it was seamless, uniform and sleek, projecting a functional no nonsense aura, totally at odds with the fool's folly.
The bowling ball was given a singular identity--silly toy swords playfully doodling it all over with a secret code, guarantying that it would never be mistaken for other, almost identical fools turned into bowling balls by rivalling gangs of village idiots.
The Alpha Idiot, a wild but discreet giant with huge hands and thick long fingers, stuck his thumb up the fool's shadowy orifice, planting weathered, gritty middle and ring fingers in finicky nostrils--trinity of fingers plunging deep into trinity of holes--gripping tightly the hefty violated mass embittered with too many grievances to ever be redressed.
As the Alpha Idiot slowly lifted the fool, the subordinates set up the bowling pins a distance away, erecting live, twitching, arm and leg blubber stumps, by rooting pudgy fingers and toes in the ground so the pins stood vertical and secure in the grassy flatland winds.
The Alpha Idiot swung his arm back and forth, carefully aiming at the pins, pausing to hold the ball still and aloft, outstretched arm showing off its strength, as the subordinates circled around him, sitting worshipfully, drooling in unison, gazing up with wide eyed wonderment at the fool who deigned to address the entire gang of village idiots with a lofty plaintive condescending voice of damnation: YOUR FLIMSY WEAPONS SHALL BE CULPABLE EVIDENCE INDICTING ALL OF YOU! RETARDATE IMPRECATIONS COME UNDONE!
With the dour authority of a judge, the fool stuck his severe accusing tongue down at the idiots, a silent gesture which wasn't understood any better than the fool's weighty studied words, which made less sense than birdsong, wind, or the pattering of raindrops upon thick heads.
With overblown verbose nonsense ringing in their ears, the idiots babbled, grunted and cooed, blissfully mimicking the fool's accusing tongue--silly toy swords pointing back at it, boldly declaring their innocence.
The Alpha Idiot threw the bowling ball towards the distant pins--the fool spiralling up into the sky with a deep sigh of relief--landing with an impudent thud upon the grassy flatland turf--rolling away from the gang of village idiots cheering with excitement--watching the bowling ball pick up speed, quickly vanishing from sight--moving far faster than the fool's ex-legs could ever waddle him in his pre-bowling ball days.
The distance between the point where the Alpha Idiot threw the bowling ball, and the area where the pins of fat limbs were set up, grew wider and wider apart as the fool rolled--uniform grassy flatland stretching forever in all directions--the gang of idiots receding in the distance far behind the fool and the pins of fat limbs far ahead vanishing into remote horizons.
The fool rolled through myriad phases of folly-
Plotting the linear path ahead with infallible mildewed logic proving he's a zigzagging square when in fact he's round and rolling straight-
Bullying frail little flowers with overrated intellect-
Invoking a deity to fight with over whether or not lima beans are green-
Finding unconditional love with a pebble a nut a twig and a slug-
Passing on his genes with old maids who bore clay children-
Telepathically commanding his ex-fat fingers and toes to uproot themselves and dig for glittering rich honey coated grubs-
The fool thus setting himself up to be deprived of a meal he earned by the force of his folly-
Ex-fat fingers and toes starving and insulting the fool by feeding glittering rich honey coated grubs to undeserving old maids and ungrateful clay children-
Ex-fat fingers and toes playing the fool like an ocarina-
Satiated old maids and clay children dancing to ocarina music in distant dreams of village idiots sleeping in a pile like a large litter of pampered puppies-
Ocarina music tootling across the grassy flatlands, attracting an ostrich-of-befuddlehood, bored with the platitudes of sand, who buried his head up the fool's behind, running for great distances with the bowling ball dangling from its long swivelling neck; poking around the moist angry rectum, reading the fires of profundity in the Alpha Idiot's thumbprint and hurling the fool off its neck with a sudden spasmodic jerk--
The fool flew high in the sky as spasms from the ostrich-of-befuddlehood's neck raced through him making him vibrate and change color as he slowly fell--
Turning black and blue with vital lessons of life never learned--fungus-fawn-fuschia with shades of missing wisdom--enticing apple red with avoidance of truth--sad gold with false pride--mock humble transparent blue--shocking faux pas pink--mulish purple pomp--slothful salmon shuddering to be seen bumming downstream--greedy pigeon gray--erring fact orange--hiding from the enemy burnt sienna--slapped by the enemy raw sienna--bring the enemy to justice silver--murky lying water--muddy ochre logic--self righteous paisley peach--do no wrong grey area gone--subtle puddle ruffle puce--memory lead--virtue dead--rude officious lima bean green--lima bean green never to be seen refuted by fact--banana rot blue black brown spot yellow and proudly eggish antique white with a first memory of precocious pre-natal folly--
Mellifluous ocarina music, rich in subtle tones of soft gentle pity, poured out of the mutihued fool as manic phantom ex-fat fingers and toes winged through the air, circling the falling bowling ball, plugging, unplugging and blowing wind into the trinity of holes.
Just before the fool fell to the ground, emaciated tearful pickpockets who robbed the fool in his pre-bowling ball days, suddenly appeared wearing thick layers of the fool's baggy tattered old clothing.
The pickpockets acted as pillows of redemption, cushioning the fool's fall and gently rolling him on his way-
The fool soon passed another fool, fat sluggish and smug, also turned into a bowling ball which rolled diagonally across his path destined to strike down another set of far off pins of human limbs.
The two fools were identical, differing only in invisible secret codes doodled on them by the silly toy swords of their makers.
The two fools didn't recognize each other and had an instant mutual revulsion, exchanging identical hateful grimaces as they rolled past each other.
The fool passed the Laughingstock-Reservoir, stopping to drink of the bile of whoever made a fool out of the fool and all whom the fool once fooled.
While quenching his thirst, he gazed at his reflection in the murky brown pool, seeing triumphant swarms of charlatans agog: snarling saints who kicked him, smirking con artists grown rich off revenues of suckerdom, the daft powers behind the throne of the ostrich-of-befuddlehood, redeemed, unredeemable pickpockets who depended on the fool cushioning his fall with plans of robbing him again, the fool's proud parents begetting new fool larva each time they smiled, a throbbing anguished pyramid of ten million identical bowling balls all sticking their tongues at the fool, sultry pouting prostitutes with lonesome quivering breasts and poison nipples sucked for a hefty price,orphaned clay daughters sculpting themselves into mudpies of temptation flung at lusty shameless father fools, frail crazy old ladies and goofy blind children only the sickest coward would exploit, squirrels cheated of breadcrumbs thrown ball bearings instead, squirrels poisoned with acorns laced with lead, squirrel mummies gnawing the fool like a nut, squirrels reborn burying the fool in their gut.
The fool drank deeply of the bile which made him so fat, the fatness smothered all foolish excess.
The Laughingstock Reservoir turned into a giant wet murky bilious grin, laughing at the excess of fatness smothering the excess of foolishness.
The murky bilious wet laughter echoed far across the grassy flatlands, reverberating deep in the soul of the fool who was suddenly stricken with a clear balanced mind, filled with deep sadness, embarrassment and regret realizing for the first time who he was.
The fires of profundity in the Alpha Idiot's thumprint shot from the fool's rectum inward, invading every cell of his sorrowful being, permeating the soul, burning up a vast accumulation of petty egotism, thumbprint flames ensnaring and transforming limitations and shortcomings, rapidly maturing him beyond all humanity, perfect and flawed, ridged, whorled thumbprint rings whittling him into the seed of every tree that ever existed. Thumprint ring embers glowing with the missing link between dragon flies and hummingbirds, thumbprint smokerings spiralling upward cradling the great mother of all wings, sowing the seed of every tree across tranquil skies.
The primeval thunderclap of the bowling ball striking down the pins of human limbs rang out across the grassy flatlands, pounding the eardrums of the gang of village idiots brandishing their silly toy swords shining with victory.
The Alpha Idiot glowed with distinction, staring with blank humility at his left thumb, equal to birdsong, wind, or the pattering of raindrops upon thick heads.
The subordinate idiots drooled, babbled, grunted and cooed, sniffing the air, picking up the scent of a new fool approaching on the horizon about to wander onto their turf and make the fateful mistake of underestimating them.
