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Rar Jungle--heart warming story of a boy born with a tail
When I was born there was little tail growing off my chin. It was smooth and composed of fingernail-like rings. I cut it off, but it grew on all my fingers. So I cut off my arm. I was really afraid to touch it, because whatever it touched grew a tail. My arm thudded onto the ground, onto a pile of dog manure, and it grew a tail. No! Just kidding. I didn't cut off my arm. Ha! Ha! My mum mailed away for a whole case of Trimethane XXX, the strongest wart remover known to mankind. She filled the bath tub with it, and made me soak in it everyday, instead of my regular bath. Now all five fingers of my right hand had turned into short, sharp rat tails, and the tail on my chin had grown back double-fold its original length, so that I had to tuck it in my pants when I went to church or got dressed up. It was beginning to grow painful bristles, so my mum sewed four pairs of sock together to cover it. Well, anyways, so the daily wart remover bath was a welcome chore to hopefully dissolve them away.
Oh those good old summer days of long ago. Me and Julie, the girl that lived in the little yellow house down the cobblestone way, just real youngsters then, we would go to the fields on blistering hot days and pick wild blackberries, and then skip stones by the creek, in the cool damp shade. Oh, and then we would we would be eating five-cent Popsicles from the Popsicle man. My favourite flavor was rainbow. Julie like cherry. But I knew I couldn't lose, cause rainbow had all the flavors there was. In the hot sun, we would sit by the side of the road and eat our Popsicles, playing with the ants. I remember the Popsicles melting down, and I would try and lick the drippings, but it would always dripple all over my tails and get them sticky. Me and Julie were best friends; she was the only person besides my mum who wasn't disgusted to even be seen with me. One time she even asked if I would touch one of her earlobes with one of my tails, so she could have one growing from each ear. She thought it would make her like one of the grownups. But I stood staunch in an almost adult-like wisdom. "No, you must not even make any contact with my tails, not even brush by them. If you do you will become a worthless, pitiful creature like I, and be scorned all the days of your wretched existence. I will not let you touch my tails." She stood by me. My dad hated me. And whenever he was around I had to wear a big shopping bag over my little body. If he ever saw my tails he swore he would take me over to the fireplace and shove them in the hot coals.
But then came the day. The day a swarm of verocious wandering rats engulfed our small medieval town. They were everywhere. In the horse stalls, in the streets, piled up in the gutters and garbage cans. In the brick ovens, in the bakery-devouring everything. They were even in the fields ravaging our grain. We were starving, people were even dying of starvation, and the rats would eat them-bones, flesh eyes...everything. My dad kicked me out of our cottage. "We have no more room for you, you scummy rotten, hairry leach. Now get off with yerself! What a mistake we made having you. Go! Go! You're worse than the rats!" I waved a feeble goodbye as my soul was flooded with such Christian love for that man. I forgave him. It wasn't his fault.
I grew my tails long and hairry. I wasn't careful how they looked. I lived in a hole in the ground, and went though puberty in a weeks time. When I came out I had a hairry chest and beard. My tails were long, thick and gnarly. They had grown very muscular and I could lash them like whips. I discovered then that the rats were drawn to me, I had some magnificent charisma. The rats trusted and followed me. I led them all out of town one dark Sunday, my tails hissing through the gravel, following far behind me. I led the rats to a nuclear waste dump in the desert. They all went crazy and grew cancerous, and died. I made necklace from all their tails and walked back to town. I got a job at the seminary mowing the grass, and lived a long, good life.
Copyright 1983 Rar Jungle