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The God of Small Thingies, Part I | A Very Sad Town


The following text entails a very elusive and much sought-after erotic fable from south Asia. The telling of this fable in a single session is considered to be a very strong, and sometimes even fatal, aphrodisiac in these parts. Owing to its highly addictive nature, it has been known to cause several deaths due to uncontrolled consumption among the very sexy clowns of the monsooned forests of southern India, located in south Asia. Hence, having careful consideration of your safety and welfare, this erotic fable is brought to you in four parts.

Monsoon came to Ayemenem slow and drowsy, turning skies gray. It expanded the cupboards and shriveled the thingies. This made men sad and women nutty. Some people thought of replacing the thingies with coconuts. But most people disliked coconuts because they were always kinda huge and hard and that can be painful (as had been proven by Priapus 3,000 years ago.)

The temple elephant was seeing the worst of it. Being an elephant, one expects to have a big thingy. But his had shriveled up to the size of a small date. And since elephants do not wear pants, all the lady elephants knew about his tiny thingy and he had to go without a date for several weeks.

At nights, a voyeur walking through Ayemenem could expect to see the women performing a ritual to boost the men’s morales in every house. This ritual consisted of the women struggling with a microscope to locate their husband’s thingies. The ritual, in itself, was quite challenging because microscopes, though very precise and scientific instruments, are quite unwieldy. However it did help to some extent because seeing an enlarged image of a small thingy under a convex glass lens turned the women on, and their moaning gave their husbands a sense of accomplishment of highly engorged proportions. Proportions that their thingies never achieved. Nevertheless, monsoon was a dry season that year in Ayemenem. If you know what I mean.

Meanwhile, the local police superintendent tapped women’s breasts with his baton. Like they were watermelons. “Tap-tap.” But knowing of the tiny predicament of the police superintendent’s thingy, the women’s breasts were sexually deroused and decided to actually turn into watermelons rather than be just a likeness of the same. This was too sad because these watermelons were soon devoured by the numerous insects and larvae which thrive in the romance of the monsoons.

Ayemenem was reduced to a lifeless town of shriveled thingies and half-eaten watermelons. Black watermelon seeds sometimes flew out of the blue around the town from the insects having spat them. It was only insects who did all the seeding that year in Ayemenem. If you know what I mean.

The horridness and humiliation of having a small thingy was devastating. The suicide rate in Ayemenem rose drastically in a matter of days. The markets were flooded with Viagra (which was not helping much) and the little river in Ayemenem with corpses of men who had finally resigned to having a small thingy and women who suffered the humiliation of their men with them.

The government was very concerned about the situation. It felt helpless in the face of such a great calamity as had riddled the town of Ayemenem. It wailed for help frantically here and there. Finally some Enlightened people realised that this great calamity which loomed over Ayemenem like a huge loom from the days of the Industrial Revolution, was nothing but the result of centuries of oppression of the masses. These people decided to come to the rescue of the government by donning red flags, banners and stuff. They called themselves communists.

…to be continued.