- 104
- Posts
- 13
- Years
- Seen Feb 24, 2011
I've posted this before, but I'd like to post it once more. A short story that I'd like to share to all of you. It's entitled The Costume Party.
The Costume Party
The animals on the farm were bored to extinction. There was nothing to do but hang around the barn, hunt chicken lice and talk about how Hon. Mr. Crow had cheated loud-talking Official-of-the-Barnyard, Mr. ****, out of his just share of worms. In the evenings especially, there was nothing to do.
Outside the stout stone wall, of course, there were several hundred field mice who had been starving and fighting amongst themselves since the great drought. But that was tiresome business and none of the fat barnyard-animals' concern. Meanwhile, they had to do something to amuse themselves.
"Let's have a party," said Porky. "A costume party, like the ones people are always having. We'll all go disguised as Ontario Society." And she waddled about vivaciously. "After all, they are always having barn dances and barrio fiestas so why not a society ball in our barn."
"Yes, let's," said the silly bleating sheep.
"An excellent idea," cackled the old hens, primping their discouraged feathers. So they had the party.
They swept the barn clean, commissioned a decorator who strung up about 20,000 watts of colored bulbs and a few miles of orchid leis, stood up some thousands of potted palms against the walls, rented numerous small tables and upholstered chairs. They hired a loud South American band with lots of maracas and a singer in a daring gown. Porky went the whole hog and ordered a program printed in raised ink to look like embossing and stapled with chartreuse and fuchsia ribbons. There were even ribbon badges in the same colors for the organizers to stick onto their lapels.
Porky, Celso the dog, and Kulas, the carabaro formed the reception line. Porky was disguised as a society matron. Her bizarre pañuelo-less terno fitted over her haunches. She wore tiarras, plumes, pendants, bracelets and a very right corest and when she gave her porcine smile everyone screamed. She looked so human. Celsto, the self-important son of an impoverished canine, came as the Small Town Boy Who Made Good. He had defanged and deloused himself for the occasion, had grown a belly and acquired a tight dress suit, and the callow tail-wagging of his younger days had been refined into back-patting. Kulas had worked hard all of his lief and now social prominence sat uncomfortably on him. He did not know how to stand or what to say to whom and when. He had three fierce impulses to run to his mud-wallow. Everyone said he looked just like the politician who should have been a farmer.
The silly bleating sheep came turned out as a debutantes. They looked almost exactly alike. They had their hair dressed by the same transvestite according to the self-same magazine clippings; their faces had been made up by the same facial expert into identical insomniac eyes and bloodless lips. They had evidently patronized the same brassiere architect-their curves were identical engineering feats. Their gowns were calculated to annoy their bestfriends. Their conversation was taken from a movie scenario. "Oh, really!" "How cute!" they went on interminably to the delight of the equally stupid tag line.
Madame Ming, the cat, brought her four kittens disguised as the Persistent Wallflowers. They had sharpened their talons and their tongues. Their frocks were pretentious but ill-fitting, and with a last touch of histroic genius, they had forgotten their deodorants. They had come unescorted and huddled over their table, they whispered into each other's ears and nudged each other's elow: "What an ill-advised hairdo!," "I've been told she wears falsies..." and "it's pathetic how women like her attract all the men..."
The noisy and belligerent geese at the bar, dressed in Italian silk suits, were drinking more highballs that they could afford. They had frequent loud and boastful fights among themselves, mainly when people were looking. Porky's relatives, who had come in on complimentary tickets spilled their drinks on the tables, slobbered over their soup and waddled off to the dance floor to step on toes of equally awkward oxen and mules.
Suddenly there was a great to-do at the door. Some alien rats, insufficiently disguised as society boys were trying to crash the gate. They were promptly thrown out by the bouncer, a large imported bull.
More successful were the wolves, who had come dressed up as playboys, Their long, scented hair, their built-up shoulders and snazzy dancing technique were wreaking havoc among the silly sheep. Some of them were holding plump-breasted pullets in a death grip. A few were engaged in making Porky's society matrons feel younger. Thei drinks were being paid for the goats, whose long horns proclaimed the undependability of their wives.
Soon Porky announced the floor show, Mdame La Birdo, disguised as an amateur opera singer sang an ariato which no one listened to. A pair of agile geese then gave a dance exhibition undebatably reminiscent of the love embrace. A fashion show was next. Miss Zebra who glued back lace on top of her own natural stripes won the prize of most authentic society girl costume. Madame Ostrich who had ingeniously complemented her own feather furbelows with pailletes and a feather fan won the prize in the matron group.
After the show, the dancing and drinking went on until the roosters—for nature will out — started to flap their wings and crow. At first the guests hoped it was merely the South American vocalist, but soon the sun came up and the animals retired to their roosts and stables, weak and shaken.
The next day they all had the most unfortunate hangovers. The oxen and the mules could not work, the swine and the carabaos would not leave their mud pools. The silly sheep cried all day because they had lost their virtue.
Porky and Madame Ming for lack of masseuse spent the day sunning themselves.
"I don't know how people can stand it," remarked Mdame Ming.
"Yes," said Porky, "it is gruesome to pretend to be human beings."
"It is even more gruesome," said the owl who was perched nearby and who alone had to refused to join the party, "to be some human beings."
And that was the very last costume party the animals on that farm ever had.
The Costume Party
The animals on the farm were bored to extinction. There was nothing to do but hang around the barn, hunt chicken lice and talk about how Hon. Mr. Crow had cheated loud-talking Official-of-the-Barnyard, Mr. ****, out of his just share of worms. In the evenings especially, there was nothing to do.
Outside the stout stone wall, of course, there were several hundred field mice who had been starving and fighting amongst themselves since the great drought. But that was tiresome business and none of the fat barnyard-animals' concern. Meanwhile, they had to do something to amuse themselves.
"Let's have a party," said Porky. "A costume party, like the ones people are always having. We'll all go disguised as Ontario Society." And she waddled about vivaciously. "After all, they are always having barn dances and barrio fiestas so why not a society ball in our barn."
"Yes, let's," said the silly bleating sheep.
"An excellent idea," cackled the old hens, primping their discouraged feathers. So they had the party.
They swept the barn clean, commissioned a decorator who strung up about 20,000 watts of colored bulbs and a few miles of orchid leis, stood up some thousands of potted palms against the walls, rented numerous small tables and upholstered chairs. They hired a loud South American band with lots of maracas and a singer in a daring gown. Porky went the whole hog and ordered a program printed in raised ink to look like embossing and stapled with chartreuse and fuchsia ribbons. There were even ribbon badges in the same colors for the organizers to stick onto their lapels.
Porky, Celso the dog, and Kulas, the carabaro formed the reception line. Porky was disguised as a society matron. Her bizarre pañuelo-less terno fitted over her haunches. She wore tiarras, plumes, pendants, bracelets and a very right corest and when she gave her porcine smile everyone screamed. She looked so human. Celsto, the self-important son of an impoverished canine, came as the Small Town Boy Who Made Good. He had defanged and deloused himself for the occasion, had grown a belly and acquired a tight dress suit, and the callow tail-wagging of his younger days had been refined into back-patting. Kulas had worked hard all of his lief and now social prominence sat uncomfortably on him. He did not know how to stand or what to say to whom and when. He had three fierce impulses to run to his mud-wallow. Everyone said he looked just like the politician who should have been a farmer.
The silly bleating sheep came turned out as a debutantes. They looked almost exactly alike. They had their hair dressed by the same transvestite according to the self-same magazine clippings; their faces had been made up by the same facial expert into identical insomniac eyes and bloodless lips. They had evidently patronized the same brassiere architect-their curves were identical engineering feats. Their gowns were calculated to annoy their bestfriends. Their conversation was taken from a movie scenario. "Oh, really!" "How cute!" they went on interminably to the delight of the equally stupid tag line.
Madame Ming, the cat, brought her four kittens disguised as the Persistent Wallflowers. They had sharpened their talons and their tongues. Their frocks were pretentious but ill-fitting, and with a last touch of histroic genius, they had forgotten their deodorants. They had come unescorted and huddled over their table, they whispered into each other's ears and nudged each other's elow: "What an ill-advised hairdo!," "I've been told she wears falsies..." and "it's pathetic how women like her attract all the men..."
The noisy and belligerent geese at the bar, dressed in Italian silk suits, were drinking more highballs that they could afford. They had frequent loud and boastful fights among themselves, mainly when people were looking. Porky's relatives, who had come in on complimentary tickets spilled their drinks on the tables, slobbered over their soup and waddled off to the dance floor to step on toes of equally awkward oxen and mules.
Suddenly there was a great to-do at the door. Some alien rats, insufficiently disguised as society boys were trying to crash the gate. They were promptly thrown out by the bouncer, a large imported bull.
More successful were the wolves, who had come dressed up as playboys, Their long, scented hair, their built-up shoulders and snazzy dancing technique were wreaking havoc among the silly sheep. Some of them were holding plump-breasted pullets in a death grip. A few were engaged in making Porky's society matrons feel younger. Thei drinks were being paid for the goats, whose long horns proclaimed the undependability of their wives.
Soon Porky announced the floor show, Mdame La Birdo, disguised as an amateur opera singer sang an ariato which no one listened to. A pair of agile geese then gave a dance exhibition undebatably reminiscent of the love embrace. A fashion show was next. Miss Zebra who glued back lace on top of her own natural stripes won the prize of most authentic society girl costume. Madame Ostrich who had ingeniously complemented her own feather furbelows with pailletes and a feather fan won the prize in the matron group.
After the show, the dancing and drinking went on until the roosters—for nature will out — started to flap their wings and crow. At first the guests hoped it was merely the South American vocalist, but soon the sun came up and the animals retired to their roosts and stables, weak and shaken.
The next day they all had the most unfortunate hangovers. The oxen and the mules could not work, the swine and the carabaos would not leave their mud pools. The silly sheep cried all day because they had lost their virtue.
Porky and Madame Ming for lack of masseuse spent the day sunning themselves.
"I don't know how people can stand it," remarked Mdame Ming.
"Yes," said Porky, "it is gruesome to pretend to be human beings."
"It is even more gruesome," said the owl who was perched nearby and who alone had to refused to join the party, "to be some human beings."
And that was the very last costume party the animals on that farm ever had.
