THIS MEANS LESS THAN JACK: ISSUE TWO

by Jack Anderson

 

Hey, ho, let's go, I've got a column and I'm not afraid to use it! My name is Jack and I've never written a column in my life, so this is gonna smell, quite distinctly, of poop. I was gonna write one for #1, but I, er, forgot to, and then couldn't think of anything to write. So I sit down to write the damn thing and my mind goes blank. I suck, So I cleared my mind of all things except the words 'Subject for column. Now.' and the first word that comes into my head is `donkeys'. So I'm gonna write about 'em.

Now, donkeys may not be of great interest to you, but they have always held a place in my heart. The main reason for this is because I live in front of a farm (and have done for 17-odd years now), and two donkeys held residence in this farm and spent most of the winter in a field directly behind our house. As a small child I was fond of the donkeys and I used to peek over the hedge to see 'em close up, or just watch 'em from my window. Their brays, or `E-ors' if you will, became a familiar sound.

As I grew older I didn't pay as much attention to the donkeys, but at some point they picked up the names `Beavis' and `Butt-head' as they were a couple of dumb-asses. Then, sometime last winter, one of the donkeys died (Butt-head, in case you wondered). That sucked big time. I was quite cut up about it. Now, you may think, `The stupid wuss, it was just a donkey,' but I grew up with that beast. I feel really sorry for Beavis now, who's all by herself. She just stands in the field alone (sniff, boo-hoo, waaah etc.).

Hmm. That was a pretty depressing story. Sorry 'bout that. Anyway, this column'll be better next time, I swear. I'll talk about something really PUNK, like how great Aqua and Hootie and the Blowfish are. Anyway, fer now, this is my column. Smelling. Of poop.