A Belated Tale of Valentines Day

"Curses!  It seems that I have dropped my fork down my pants once again."  Said the extremely beautiful Elven Queen as an athletically shaped Human Ranger drifted into the grand throne room.  Her white face with its slightly green hue turned in consternation and she addressed the Human. "Would you please fetch it for me?" She asked.
"I'm afraid I don't feel comfortable reaching into your pants, milady."  Said the burly Human.
The Queen's face flushed in embarrassment, as she waved the stumps of her arms in front of the Ranger's face.
The Human saw the lack of arms and realized his faux pas.  He too flushed in embarrassment.  Bowing hastily, he said, "Forgive me, my Queen.  I did not realize that you were so lopsided."
As he approached the throne, this thought went through his head: This is wonderful.  Perhaps we shall have a romance and because I love helpless women that look more beautiful than my own mother this Elven Queen could be my soulmate!  Balthandolo the Forest God be praised.  Assisting poor females who can't do anything for themselves is what validates my existence!  Oh yes.  Here I go.  I'm reaching my hand towards the Queen and now I'm going to gahhhhhhhhhhhhhh....oh curse you Morcine the Flame Goddess.  I forgot, I don't have arms either!  Hubert and Willowsven be sent to slave in the flames of the forge of Miphisotilues for eternity!
At that, the poor unbalanced man started to fall over, and though he pinwheeled frantically he could not save himself.  He barrelled over, landing on the queen's lap.  As he lay there, the prongs of the fork stabbing him in the back, he saw that the Elven Queen was truly beautiful.  She looked down on the Human and saw that he was beautiful as well.
"I could stay like this forever" She said.
"You do not have legs." Said the Human.
Flushing once again, the Queen responded. "I am well aware of that fact, but the fact that you do not have legs either is one that has just come to my attention."
Neither the Ranger nor the Queen could move because of their awkward positions.  With a lunge boosted by the strength of his core muscles, the Human launched his torso upwards, saving himself from plummeting to his death by locking the Queen's lips into his own.  Using the suction power of their mutual love, they shared a passionate kiss as he kicked the remnants of his limbs frantically, trying to move into an upright position.  Unable to do so, they hung there together, locked forever together in love, knowing that the instant one let go, they both would perish.  

Chilling and Milling in the Satan Killing Narthex.

 It took me a long time before I finally settled on a society with interestingly breachable social norms. In the end I decided to see whether people at church were really as accepting and kindhearted as they have often claimed. So I stepped forward and embarked on this bold and dare I say, edgy, endeavor. But first I had to come up with a norm that was not only appropriate to demolish in a church setting, but also clean, wholesome, and fun. It could not be illegal and it could not be criminal or risk any form of punishment or physical or emotional risk. With these guidelines in mind, I came to the inevitable conclusion. I would have to do something generally inoffensive and highly passive so as not to incur the wrath of the uptight Presbyterians at my church. The only danger I would face was the wrath of God himself.

Thus did I wake up in the morning, throw on my glasses and stumble unshowered into church 10 minutes late wearing a bright yellow extra extra large sized tee shirt and basketball shorts, and in the most deviant breach of them all, flip flops.

As I sauntered through the lobby passing by suited gentlemen and old ladies tightly packed in their floral patterned suede dresses I furtively observed the crowd, searching for a response. Outrage, shock, pure abysmal horror; these were things I expected to see. What did I see? To say the least it was shocking.

With that, we shall continue on our voyage through the breaching of social norms and into the depths of the nitty gritty and the careful descriptions and explanations.

Before the Big Game

"i wrote a page of pure unadulterated text
and i ain't looking back now that i've come this far
i can't stop or i might trip
so i must continue my long sojourn forward
For alas, such is the life of man and monkey."

So sung the goateed man who sat on the curb corner, his eyes shaded by the wide brimmed 12-gallon hat he wore above his reflective sun glasses.  He softly stroked his guitar as he stared into the bright light of the blinding sun, watching the skybridge that went between the courthouse and the jail.

25 stories in the air, a uniformed man prodded the manacled Gorilla in the back with his gun.  Slowly the Gorilla walked forward, his movements restricted by the footlong chain between his raw ankles.  Three police officers escorted him from behind, their assault rifles trained constantly on his head.  The Gorilla trudged forward slowly, head hung low.

The man with the goatee and the ripped denim jacket strummed his guitar slowly, watching as the black body of the Gorilla passed between the small slit windows in the skybridge.

The Gorilla continued to hobble across the bridge.  At the middle, the guards backed away from him, and he saw three more come out of the dark from the other side.  He tried to turn around, tripping over his ankle cuffs as he did so.  All six guards pointed their guns at his head.

"Sorry," the chief guard said, "but we have orders to not let you reach the jail alive.  We'll try to make this as quick as possible."

Beneath the sky bridge, the bearded man ripped a power chord off on his guitar.  The echoes reverberated through the ancient courthouse building and across the skybridge and to the prostrate Gorilla.

The Gorilla felt the vibrations of the music and looked out the window.  The guitarist raised his hat and saluted.  A surge of adrenaline rushed through the suddenly rising creature.  As he stood up, he ripped apart the manacles that knotted his hands together and started to beat on his chest in a steady and intensifying rhythm.

The guitarist snapped his fingers and the sun lowered itself so that it shone through the slits in the skybridge, picturesquely illuminating the raging Gorilla.  He then pulled off his shades and threw them into the air, and started out on an epic guitar solo, accentuated by the bass thumps vibrating from the Gorilla's massive pectorals.

"Shoot him! Quickly!" Yelled the chief guard, and all of the guards leveled their guns at the Gorilla and pulled their triggers.

To the bang of the gun shots responded the crash of shattering glasses and the slam as the floorboard dropped out beneath the feet of the still pounding ape.  The Gorilla fell, for five stories, ten stories, twenty stories, the hissing and whooshing of the air running past his ears intermingling with the rocking solo of the guy on the ground below.  Inspired, the Gorilla pounded his chest, and would have kept pounding his chest until he died.

Luckily, the Gorilla didn't die.  Just as he was two feet from the ground, his descent rapidly stopped.  A leg hooked around his leg, and he hung there, his nose hovering just above the concrete sidewalk that the guitarist was sitting on.

The guitarist plucked out the last of his solo, swung the guitar over his shoulder and walked away.

The Gorilla looked up.  He saw that he had been saved by a barrel of monkeys.  The first hung from the gap in the floor of the skybridge.  Below that monkey were one hundred more monkeys, linked by the bent arms and feet and tails in a humongous chain that stretched all the way downwards to the Gorilla, who had been saved by the power of the music that he had created and that had called his jungle bretheren to his aid.

With a soft thud, the Gorilla fell to the ground, and started running after the man with the guitar.