By Jack Galmitz
He was a burly man from years of working as a driver and deliverer of kegs of beer to pubs. One day, he decided to change his looks and went to the barbershop and asked for a flat top, or butch crew as it was called then. It looked neat and topped his strong face.
Little did he know that his decision was not his own: it was made by tiny men, invisible to the naked eye, who were looking for a place to build a golf course and as the man was sober and a man of routine, he seemed the perfect place. Everything went fine for a long time, until the sport began to catch on and more and more invisible players went out in foursomes on his hair. Naturally, they replaced divots and had a no talking rule.
The problem began when he suddenly felt tiny pings on his head. They didn’t hurt, but it wasn’t right, so he went to a doctor who referred him to a neurologist. A CT scan was performed. When the results were in, the doctor told the man his head was a golf course and tiny men were playing eighteen rounds of golf on top of his flat top. “The only problem I can see is if they decide to remodel and landscape the course. Then you might develop small bumps on your skull.”
“What should I do?” asked the man.
“Well, I see a few options here. You can shave your head, which would make your head unusable for a golf course. Or, you can grow your hair longer, which would remove greens and fairways. Those would be the best solutions.”
“But how did they get there in the first place?”
“Well, I can’t answer that question. We deal with medicine not metaphysics.”
The man thanked the doctor. As he was unmarried, he went home and shaved his head. It showed the bone of his skull and he felt as if he looked a bit like a dead man. Which was a third option that the doctor had failed to mention.
The old man was in the hospital for four months in a coma. He had a large family, so they shared the burden of visits. The doctors couldn’t predict the ultimate outcome, but they were sure the old man’s brain was active and functioning.
What they didn’t know was that behind the outward immobility, tubes and ventilator, the old man had become a white stallion in the hills of Montana, the dominant male in the group, who fought for his rank fiercely to preserve his mating rights. He was a perfect specimen, bolting and kicking and galloping with abandon when he wasn’t penetrating mares.
At night, he became a white wood painted horse on a carousel that was a central feature in a traveling fair. Some children so wanted to ride him that they waited extra turns of the carousel to be able to mount him. The carousel was an antique affair, with mirrors and lights and cranking music and the children squealed the whole ride and waved to their parents when they passed them. The fair was only open at night, usually set up in waste places, and though dark the fair was brilliantly lit with small light bulbs stringed on stands that sold hot dogs and corn and pop and the lights hung from all the other rides.
The old man loved being a horse in the day and the horse of the night, which was more like another day with its fluorescent glow than outright night. The doctors had no idea that the old man was happier than he had ever been.
A E I
Anal (3) Ear (8) Indecisive (36)
Annals (21) Even (54) Indoctrinate (73)
Aural (1) Excess (12)
B F J
Bali (10) Feral (1) Jocular (101)
Bellicose (17) Fist (100) Jugular (55)
Bent (30) Fog (iii)
Baltimore (24) Fortune (29)
C G K
Canal (xi) Gland (8) Kire (xxii)
Craft (140) Good (5) Kite (5)
Culture (47) Graph (44) Kill (122)
D H M
Dental Fricative (ii) Half (68) Mu (xxiii)
Destruction (13) Haiku (xx) Mugger (1)
Disembody (33) Hunger (40) Murder (151)