Now I implore the nine Muse Nymphs to tell of Prince James’ adventures battling the Giant Stony Catwoman and her Great Triangles.
“Hello, James. I’m your guide, remember? I’m the one who wheeled you up and dropped you off at the abortion clinic. Sorry that I did not accompany you inside. Now I’m here to chaperone you on your date with the Sphinx. OK? Here she is.”
“I’m trying not to tremble in terror, even though this damsel has a leonine hairstyle and a snaky tail that is swatting all the nearby cows. Once I defeat this colossus mentally and physically, let’s go visit the pyramids.”
“Good job! Step right this way. Here is the residence of King Tut.”
“Ooh, are you really the Pharaoh of Ancient Egypt?”
“Yes, I am, James. How are you?”
“So-so. My own kingdom hasn’t arrived yet. Why are you bandaged?”
“This is my uniform. I work as a mummy.”
“Pardon me while I question my chaperone. Dear guide, I do not believe that any country would be so unwise as to pay people to mother children, since that would siphon business away from the abortion clinics; therefore, what is the real reason that this man is all wrapped up?”
“He thinks that it’s his job to act so boring.”
“Well, then he’s mastered his craft; for I feel that I have overdosed on tedium. Come now, stop trying to unravel the ribbons — he’s not a Christmas gift containing your resurrected body — let’s go visit the Brooklyn Zoo.”
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