THE FORKED TONGUE AND THE CLOVEN HOOF
“Humans think they’re so great with their opposable thumbs and all. I’d like to see ’em flick like this,” said the forked tongue, flicking.
“Couldn’t do it. Not a chance,” commented the cloven hoof, nodding. “They’re not so great. They’re pathetic. That’s what they are. Pathetic. Did I tell you about the first one I ever met?”
“No. Go ahead,” said the forked tongue while signaling the barkeep to refill both glasses.
“It was right after they evolved. There was lots of talk going around. I heard the talk, but I’d never seen one, a human, I mean,” began the cloven hoof. “Well, anyway, here I am one day going along minding my own business like I always do. I always mind my own business, don’t I?”
“That you do. You surely do,” said the forked tongue.
“Damn straight,” asserted the cloven hoof. “So here I am, minding my own business like I said, when one of ’em comes right up over the hill in front of me. Well, that stopped me in my track, I can tell you. Now I’m a friendly sort, wouldn’t you say? Polite and all?”
“That you are. Friendly. Polite. No cloven hoof is friendlier or politer than you.”
“Damn straight. So here’s the lowdown. I say in my lighthearted manner, I say, ‘You must be one of those newfangled humans I’ve heard so much about.’ Just like that I said it.”
“Anybody says that’s not lighthearted and friendly, I’ll cut ’em,” said the forked tongue.
“And you know what the human said?” asked the cloven hoof, leaning in close.
“No. What’d it say?”
“It said, ‘Yeah, what about it?’ Like that, with a sneer. ‘Yeah, what about it?’ Can you believe it?”
“Bastard!”
The pair slammed their glasses on the bar, demanded refills, and continued their conversation.
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