Once upon a time, there was an evil scientist named Ben, who spent his
days attaching bear heads to sharks, capturing tornados in bottles,
and mixing mind control potions so powerful they could make upbeat,
guitar strumming youth group ministers leap to their deaths from
craggy cliffs. But there was no potion he could mix that would
simulate love, and this was the source of his woe.
So he ventured into the wasteland of humanity and selected a
wife,
Pam. And everything was alright for a while.
But when his evil friends came over, Pam was there to remind
him that
evenings were for cuddling, not abominations. When flogging his
hunchbacked assistant, it was hard to maintain a menacing composure
when he had to knock a doily off the hump first.
While he worked, she was there at his shoulder, reminding him
that the
lawn was littered with dead ministers, shattered guitars, and
decomposing, headless bears.
And at night, when the castle was dark and quiet, and the guns
in the
turrets had all been loaded and the bears were circling in the
blackness outside, and all he wanted was to settle down with Barely
Legal Bug Jugs or Animal Human Hybrid Tail, she was there, talking.
Always talking.
Her voice was a constant nagging drone, and in time, he
developed a
dark spot over the vision in his right eye, which hovered like a
little black sun. He named it Pam.
After a long day, he dropped into his recliner and closed his
eyes,
but just as the blissful detachment from consciousness was within his
grasp, Pam's voice broke in to remind him to clean up all those heads
in jars stacked up by the door. And as his eyes slammed open, he
had
an idea.
The next day, while he worked, the smiling head of his wife
grinned at
him, from a jar on his shelf. She smiled at him while he grafted
beards onto hairless albino monkeys, and she smiled from her seat
beside his reclinar at night as he gazed at Mad Genius Quarterly's
centerfold - a bulging and pulsating mass of buttocks and breasts
topped with a mouthless human head. And everything was alright
for a
while.
But after some time, he began to second guess himself. He
remembered
with fondness the cloying warmth of her loving concern and her
pooper. He was conflicted! He got down on his evil knees
and prayed
for advice, because this is what scientists do. And wouldn't you
know
it? A voice began to speak to him, and it was the voice of "Bob",
which said:
"Ben, which is better? A regular bear? Or a bear
that can breath
underwater?" Ben knew the answer was obvious.
"And which is more pleasing ? A minister cheerfully
strumming an
acoustic guitar for wide-eyed, singing children, or one smashed to
pulp on a ridge of jagged rocks?" Again, Ben did not hesitate in
his
answer.
"Slack favors the imaginative," said "Bob". "You're the
kind of guy
who knows when a woman needs her head in a jar. Go with your gut,
and
take the best out of all the creatures you subdue. Don't forget
that
for some people, it's natural to be unnatural!"
Ben knew what to do.
So from that day on, Ben had two jars on his shelf - one with a
smiling head, and the other with a waiting pooper, and he made great
use of both for the rest of his days, and lived slackfully ever after.