short attention span fiction
by lloyd
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"The Very Serious Dung Beetle" Once upon a time there was an extremely somber dung beetle. So somber was the dung beetle that he would ingest crap with a languid, disinterested air, unlike other brethren, who would lap up doodie like smacked up preschoolers on a free shopping spree at the corner candy store. No, this dung beetle could not be bothered with such puerile histrionics. The dung beetle was so serious that his coworkers feared he might be severely depressed and in need of intervention. Upon being pulled aside by his supervisor and let in on this news, the dung beetle stared straight ahead, stone-faced, almost catatonic. "Oh, my!" lamented the dung beetle’s supervisor. Then he opened his lunchbox and started nibbling on a rabbit’s turd. A week later, the dung beetle found himself sitting on a plush chair in a psychiatrist’s office. "May I offer you a mouse dropping?" asked the psychiatrist, holding forth a candy bowl filled with the tantalizing confection. The dung beetle shook his head "no," and the psychiatrist made a mental note of the dung beetle’s odd refusal of such a widely-loved treat. "Well, they’re here if you change your mind. Now tell me why you’re here," she said. "My supervisor sent me," said the dung beetle, haltingly. "Why do you think your supervisor sent you?" the psychiatrist asked. "I don’t know," answered the dung beetle. And after a particularly long pause, the dung beetle added, "he thinks maybe I’m too serious." "Well, let’s see," said the psychiatrist, "What do you get when you cross a penis with a potato?" "I don’t know," answered the dung beetle. "A dictator." The dung beetle stared straight ahead, unfazed by the brilliant hilarity of the psychiatrist’s joke. "Yes, you are depressed. Without a doubt. I am going to prescribe you a buttload of pharmological products, including Viagra and Prozac." "Take them," she admonished. The dung beetle returned home and to his everyday drudgery. But this time he was consuming vast amounts of drugs. Suddenly he found himself lapping up shit, mindlessly, with the rest of his fellow dung beetles, as content as could be—in fact, bursting at the seams with glee. Shit had never tasted so good. Let that be a lesson to all of you who doubt the social utility of psychiatry. THE END |
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