Perverted Proverbs

  PERVERTED PROVERBS

  Marsh Cassady

  A Horse’s Tale

  Mummy Dearest

  A Grave Situation

  Such Foolishness

  To Halve and to Hold

  How Write Became Wrong

  Get Real

  A Friend in Knead

  A Lavender Triangle

  How He Begged to Differ

  Of Hugs and Handlebars

  The High-Priced Spread

  They Were Real Hams

  Things Aren’t Always What They Seem

  Oh, Well

  Seldom is Herd a Discouraging Word

  Undercover Judge

  A Painful Experience

  Penny Wise

  A Timely Decision

  Gays’ Pride

  That Old Demon Cake

  A HORSE'S TALE

  Once upon a time in merry old California lived a man named Kevin who loved horses. The only thing he loved better than his horse was his groom whose name was Jeffrey. Often when the horse was bedded down for the night, Kevin would go out to the stable to be with his groom. Such was their passion for each other that they then immediately entered the brick mansion where Kevin lived on the outskirts of West Hollywood. After a glass of white wine or Perrier, off they would go to Kevin's bedroom on the seventh floor, there to wile away the hours until morning.

  Occasionally, however, their hunger for one another precluded their repairing to the manse. Instead the two men wildly embraced, tearing at one another's attire, and ran to the nearest empty stall. Despite these physical needs and their love for one another, Kevin remained very much the lord of house and grounds while Jeffrey took care to remember his place: Keeper of the Horse.

  One day as Jeffrey was bringing Old Penelope (for that was the horse's name) back to the stable after her daily exercise, Kevin dashed into the barn. "Groom, where are you?" he called.

  Jeffrey at that very moment approached the door of the stable, leading the dapple mare. Immediately, he dropped her reins and rushed inside, sensing his employer's cravings. The two men flew into each other's arms.

  Later, the fires of their need now quenched, the two men lay in their bed of straw and thought as one of Penelope.

  Leaping into their apparel: designer jeans and plaid shirts—Kevin's royal blue and white as befitted a master, Jeffrey's black and brown as befitted a groom—they sped from the stable. Alas, to their dismay, the horse was nowhere in sight.

  There was naught to do but to seek the errant equine. Soon, however, encroaching darkness made their efforts futile. Eyes spilling tears of frustration and sorrow, the pair made plans to meet at daybreak to resume their efforts.

  Alas, upon the morrow, all it took was a certain tilt of the head on Kevin's part, the careless brushing of hair with hand by Jeffrey, and the men were once more in each other's arms. And so it was that by cocktail hour that late afternoon, all by herself the dapple mare returned.

  Praising the gods up in heaven, Kevin and Jeffrey, the former on her right side, the latter on her left, led the horse to her stall, quickly closing the gate.

  "What a burden lifted," Kevin exclaimed, "for dearly I love old Penelope."

  "And don't I love her as well?" Jeffrey asked.

  "Yea, verily. Still, you are the Keeper of the Horse. And since she had been quit of the grounds for the last full day, I must subtract one seventh of your weekly salary."

  "But hadn't we planned to look—"

  Kevin held up his hand. "Harken unto me, Groom," he said. "Is the care of the horse not your responsibility? Is that not why you are in my employ?"

  Jeffrey stood with downcast eyes. "Yes, master," he said. "I cannot argue, for what you say is true."

  And so it was that Jeffrey's pay check on the second Friday of the month was docked the sum of $315.25.

  Moral: A dapple away docks the keeper a day.

  MUMMY DEAREST

  Once upon a time an Egyptologist was doing a dig in the hot Sahara sands, his dearest wish to find the tomb of ... well, that was the problem. Few history books even mentioned the obscure ruler for whom Peter Potter was searching, and those that contained any reference were rather ambiguous in what they said, sometimes referring to the ruler as Queen Che Che I or Pharaoh Cheops LXIX.

  Furthermore, vague warnings of a curse persisted, something having to do with a terrible stench. Yet the curse was vague, rarely hinted at, and thus often was referred to by cynics and wags as the riddle of the stinks. Yet, certain scholars like Potter felt that to dismiss the legend as mere fancy when searching for Che Che's tomb was to court disaster.

  All his life Professor Potter had been obsessed with solving the mysteries of Cheops LXIX. Was he a man or was she a woman? Where was the tomb located? What really was the curse?

  Professor Potter had devoted his professional life to the search for the tomb, each year finding it increasingly difficult to capture grants to finance his journeys.

  One night as he lay abed in his pup tent, his faithful assistant and lover, Pembroke Smithington Schultz, snuggled against his deeply tanned chest, Professor Potter realized he was no closer to his goal than he had been forty years before.

  "Alas, I've lived my life in vain," he said. Sadly, he smiled and placed a hand on either side of Pembroke's face. "Except for you, my love." He sighed. "Fortunate for me it was indeed that you found fit to enroll in my Introduction to the Pharaohs all those many years ago. For you have been my constant companion, my friend, my very reason for continuing the rat race."

  "Oh, dear Pot," Pembroke answered, for such a term of endearment did he employ for his inamorato, "you've come so far, you've tried so hard, you deserve to be rewarded."

  "Perhaps," Potter continued, "there exists no pharaoh or queen such as Che Che. Perhaps, I've wasted my time, in fact, my life."

  Pembroke, student, lover, colleague, friend, reached out and tousled Peter's curly locks.

  Just then there came a rippling of the tent, akin to the flutter of wings against a silken pillow (or so Prof. Potter thought, though, of course, he'd never heard such a sound).

  Pembroke sat up, fear etched on his countenance. "Oh, Potty, what is it?" he asked, as the sound once more reached their ears.

  Peter rose, or tried to, nearly ripped the tiny tent from its moorings in the shifting sand, dropped to all fours and crawled to the entrance.

  A piece of parchment, ancient and weathered, pinned to the canvas, gleamed white in the glow of the moon.

  Removing the pin, a bit of blanched bone, Peter Potter unfolded the parchment, hurried inside and turned on his torch.

  Faint letters flitted across the page:

  Friend, I've watched for forty years, take heed.

  For if you find my tomb, a heart shall bleed,

  the stink of human misery at its seed.

  And in the desecration and your need

  a stench, a stench shall envelope the greed

  wherein the deadly vapors then shall feed.

  And you of all who've sought my gauzéd clay

  shall be the one who dearly has to pay.

  For if you find you cannot stay away

  the riddle's answer shall be yours today.

  But yet if save you would your mercy true

  Then, friend, salvation come to me and you.

  P.S. Pretty good for someone dead for five thousand years, don't you think? Figure this all out and you help me too.

  Hugs and kisses.

  Che Che LXIX

  "What does it say, Potty?" Pemby asked in a trembling tone.

  "Someone's playing a joke, that's all. Someone who knows how much this means to me." He handed Pembroke the parchment.

  Schultz perused the page, then looked into his lover
's eyes. "Oh, but what if it isn't?"

  "Nonsense."

  "But why would anyone—"

  "I don't know, Pemby, a jealous colleague."

  "Just be careful, Potty," Pembroke answered. "I only care about you."

  Later, as the lovers once more lay abed, arms encircling each other, an eerie keening wafted through the midnight air. "Aaaiiiii. Aaaiiii. Cheeeee, Cheee, Cheops. Cheee, Chee, Cheops."

  As one, Potty and Pemby sat erect, glanced at the tent flap, glanced at each other. "Did you hear that?" Pembroke asked.

  "Only the wind," Peter answered.

  "There is no wind," Pemby countered. "The earth is as still as a tomb."

  "Toooooomb. Yes, hah hah, as still as a tooooooomb."

  "Whatever it is," Peter said, "it seems to be able to hear us."

  "You doubt what I ammmmm, Professor Potterrrr?"

  Peter pulled on his pants and scurried to the exit.

  "Potty, please," Pembroke pleaded. "Don't go out there."

  "But I must."

  "Why?" Pembroke asked.

  "You convinced me I have to see if this thing is real."

  "But what if it is?"

  "Don't you understand? If what I think it is…really is, then I've reached my goal."

  Pembroke followed Peter to the flap, grabbing his ankle. "Is it so important?" he asked.

  Peter turned, surprised. "Important? Of course, it's important. The most impor—" He smiled. "The second most important thing in my life."

  "If that be true," Pembroke answered, "for my sake, don't go on with this."

  "I love you, Pemby, God knows I do. And you love me?"

  "Need you ask? After all these years."

  Peter turned. "Of course not," he said. "But forty years, Pemby. Forty long years, and maybe now my goal's within reach." He jerked his ankle loose and crawled outside.

  Off in the distance, he thought he saw a figure, a man or a woman, he couldn't tell. Pembroke crawled out beside him. Peter looked at his longtime companion and nodded toward the horizon. Just then the figure took a square piece of cloth from somewhere on its person, grasped it and with a limp wrist waved it quickly toward the two men. "Yoohoo, dearies, did you get my note?"

  "Yes, yes, we did," Peter called, leaping to his feet. "But I don't understand what it means?"

  "I'm bound to bid you follow, but beware

  your earthly needs you do not tear.

  And if my tomb you find, you find my purse

  of gold and handsome jewels—"

  Suddenly, the voice became a campy parody of itself. "Maybe even as handsome as you Peter, or you Pem—" It cut itself off then and resumed in more ponderous tones.

  "Ahem," it said, "ahem, as I was saying:

  And if my tomb you find, you find my purse

  of gold and handsome jewels. Then ponder well

  whatever the histories and the legend tell

  But as you ponder, follow me,

  and the tomb of Che Che Cheops shall you see."

  The figure turned, glanced coyly over its shoulder, raised a trailing finger and beckoned the two men to follow.

  "You can't," Pembroke said, grasping Peter's muscular upper arm.

  "I must," Peter answered, prying loose the fingers that held his bulging biceps.

  "Then I shall follow too," Pembroke answered.

  The men ran toward the figure that glided before them. They picked up speed, but the figure maintained its distance. Up one dune and down the other, the two men staggered on.

  The figure faced them, arms akimbo. "Come on, loves," it teased. "Just over the rise." It raced lightly now to the top of a giant dune, waited till the two men were nearly upon it, then fled down the other side.

  Peter and Pembroke hardly noticed for before them stood the most magnificent pyramid they'd ever seen. Whereas the great pyramids seemed to be of plain stone, this one gleamed gold and silver in the light of the stars. "Magnificent!" Peter proclaimed.

  "But why has no one ever seen it before?" Pembroke asked.

  "Perhaps they have," Peter answered.

  "If so, why isn't it widely known?"

  "Perhaps those who ventured on this trail, if any there be, were doomed by the curse."

  "Dear Lord, Potty, what are you saying? Even to think of such a thing precludes our onward journey."

  "Quite to the contrary, Pemby. For I'm certain we're seeing what few mortals down through the ages have seen before."

  "But the curse?" Pembroke said.

  Peter struck a noble pose. "But don't you see, Pemby, if die I must, happy I'll go to my grave. Joyful in the thought of my discovery."

  "But what about me? What about us? I love you, Potty, with all my heart. With all my soul. With every fiber of my being. At least think about it, huh?"

  "I promise. What harm can come from approaching nearer?"

  "You mean you won't go inside?" Pembroke sounded so hopeful that Peter nearly weakened.

  "Perhaps not, Pemby. Perhaps not. Though after all these years ..." His voice trailed off.

  Pembroke took Peter's hand. "Then we'll approach it together," he said. "Hand in hand. Two lovers against the fates."

  "Thank you, Pemby," Peter said. "I can always count on you in a pinch."

  The two men gazed into each other's eyes, then staunchly followed the figure.

  The closer they came to the pyramid the more magnificent it seemed, its outer walls encrusted with jewels catching the fire from the moon and flinging it once more heavenward.

  Laughter pealed from deep inside the tomb. "Things are not always what they seem for even in your dearest dream—" The voice broke off, and again there was laughter, giggly and mocking. "Screw the poetry," it said. "I'm tired of all this caca."

  Peter and Pembroke stood and waited.

  "Well, dearies, remember what the note said. Remember everything you've read about the curse. And then I must bid you follow me."

  Peter and Pembroke sidled closer and peered inside. Peter couldn't believe his senses. Everything was done in shades of lavender and pink from the furniture to the doilies.

  Suddenly, the figure appeared in an archway separating the main room of the tomb from some sort of enclosure beyond. "Well, dearies, don't just stare," the figure said, assuming a campy pose. "I'm Che, sometimes known as Cheops LXIX. Won't you sit down and make yourselves comfy?"

  "Who ... are ... you?" Peter asked, glancing at Pemby, whose wide brown eyes bugged wider still, his forehead creased in a frown of puzzlement.

  "Well, now didn't I just tell you? I'm the—shall we say—the femme fatale you've been seeking most of your life."

  "How do you know—"

  "The power of the ancients, sweetie."

  Peter rushed toward him. "This is some sort of put-on. And you're an actor, aren't you?"

  The figure stretched to an imposing height. "How dare you?" it stated, the voice losing all traces of campiness. "I am Cheops. Dare you doubt me?"

  Peter felt Pembroke grab the back of his shirt. "Please, Peter, let's do as Cheops asks."

  Peter exhaled sharply. "All right, Pemby, but I still think—"

  "Sorry to frighten you, Pemby darling," the figure said, resuming its former manner of speaking. "But one must, now and again, take advantage of what power is at one's disposal, as it were." The figure tittered. "Actually, I wouldn't hurt you. Not such beautiful men as you two. Now please sit down and we'll discuss this calmly." Suddenly, the figure threw off a long trailing cape, deep purple in color, made of a sort of silky fabric. It apparently noticed the two men's attention to the garment. "Don't you just love it?" it said. "But behold" It held out its arms and spun around to show them layers and layers of gauze, flamingo pink with hundreds of silver sequins scattered from the crown of the head to the ankles. The mummy, if such it were, noticed them glancing at its footwear, a pair of glittery pumps, much like Dorothy's in The Wizard of Oz. "Don't you just adore them?" he asked. "Though it does make walking from dune to dune just dread
fully difficult."

  Peter shook his head. "Who are you really?"

  "I'm as I say. Why would I lie?" The mummy paused, a wistful look in its eyes. "But I'd prefer that you call me Che Che."

  Che Che indicated a pair of couches against the wall. "Frightfully dusty, I'm afraid. Supposed to be airtight, you know. But you can't find decent labor anywhere." He walked to a bejeweled throne on the other side of the room, turned and waited for Peter and Pembroke to go to the couches. Then he sat down as well. "A little pretentious perhaps," he said, indicating the throne, encrusted with rubies. "But one must do what one can to keep up appearances, mustn't one?" He sighed. "But that isn't what you want to hear?" He looked from Peter to Pembroke and back again.

  "Okeydoke," he continued. "The curse, the jewels, what have you? I'm sure you're curious. Well ..." He licked his lips and tossed his head. "Yes, we do have jewels, riches almost beyond the imagination." Palm upturned, he extended an index finger toward the archway. "In the other room, in my tomb ... a damp, dark, lonely place." He sniffed. "But you don't want to hear my troubles, I'm sure."

  He leaned back, regal looking despite the campiness and exaggeration. "I'm bound to tell you, the jewels can be yours. Everything you could ever want, wealth undreamed of. All you have to do is enter."

  Peter started to rise but Pembroke grabbed his arm. "I'm frightened, Potty," he said.

  "Well," Che Che said. "What are you waiting for?"

  Once more Pembroke grabbed Peter's arm. "The curse, Peter, remember the curse. I wouldn't go in there, if I were you."

  Alas, Pemby pleaded in vain, for Peter rose and shook him off. "Let's put an end to this nonsense. I'm not at all convinced."

  "How then shall I convince you?" Che Che said. "But yes, of course." He grabbed the gauze that encircled his wrist and arm and yanked it away. "Behold."

  Peter gasped. The arm was alabaster white and looked as hard as stone. "Touch it," Che Che said. "Won't you?"

  "Please, Potty," Pemby said, "let's just leave."

  But Peter strode across the room, reached out and grasped Che Che's exposed arm. The flesh, if such it could be called, felt hard and cold and exuded a slight odor of mustiness. Heart pounding, Peter looked into the mummy's eyes, dull and lusterless.