gov't mule (part 1)

i never thought i'd be bullied by a donkey let alone a mule. see, this is how it all went down:
it was a beautiful afternoon and i had had a particularly gruelling afternoon at UWIB. The old boys club at UWIB had taken it upon themselves to double my work load so that they could take ricky out to the links. "you don't mind do you t-shirted centaur? after all you know that Lily Ivory Links has a 'no cloven footed players' policy." it's the 21st century people! shouldn't we look past the shape, consistency, and constitution of one anothers feet! grow up. but what could i say; i want to head up the management consulting division and you don't get there by making waves.

my head aching, i decide to walk home in the hopes that the excercise - and that bottle of extra-strength tylenol that i chased with a 26 of jack daniels - would clear my mind and ease my troubled soul. and, do you know what? it was working. i threw on my ipod, cranked the decemberists, and let the healing begin. unfortunately, the universe had other plans for a poor and tired investment banking centaur (i think pan may have played a hand in this but i'm not sure. i'll ask dionysius if he knows anything when he gets back from cabo).

i'm walking down the street and i turn my head just long enough to grab a bottle of water from my Louis Vuitton saddle bag when some old lady bumbs into me and drops the bag she's carrying to the ground which, upon impact, sends what appears to be a thousand oranges off in all directions. i rip out my ear buds so i can ask her if she's okay but one of them hits her square in the eye and she starts screaming bloddy murder! my hind quarters kick up a bit - they always do that when i'm startled - and she then she starts screaming that a minotaur is trying to kill her. A MINOTAUR! are you fucking kidding me? read a book lady! better yet, try leaving your precious suburbs and check out the equine projects on the lower east side. you'll see plenty of centaurs you old bag. oh, oh, better still, check out any university library and i guarantee at least a 1/3 of the students there will be centaurs; we're an industrious and curious species. anyway, i swallow my pride and try to talk her down but she keeps screaming that she doesn't have any sugar cubes and for me not to look at her - i think she thought she would turn to stone. i never wanted to hoof-kick someone in the box more in my life but i maintained my cool.

sure enough, a cop bursts onto the scene and before i know it, one of my legs is cuffed to a parking meter! how embarrasing! the cop tells me to shut my "cud chewing" mouth (i don't chew cud! only ruminants do that and they have 4 stomachs! i only have two and one of those is stapled - once i started working all the sitting and snacking really took its toll). so, i just stood there, chained to the parking meter like some devilishly handsome rapid pitbull while this old bag spat out the most vitriolic and noxious slew of lies i've ever heard. long story short, the cop, who already hated my horse hide ass, now believes: that i had attempted to steal both the old bag's oranges and her soul and that i was behind both tupac's and biggie's murders. the cop didn't know who either man was so decided he was going to berate me for stealing oranges and suposed soul. as distressing as this incident was, i had no idea that the indignities that i had just endured would pale in the face of what was to come.