The brave little donkey
Posted on | July 2, 2007 | 28 Comments
Many years ago there was a tiny donkey called Arthur who was always picked on by the other, larger, donkeys in the field.
“Heee-haaaw”, someone’d say.
“Haaaw-haaaaw”, the others would laugh at this witty put down.
They teased him constantly and soon his self-confidence was as low as a slithering, belly to the ground, Bertie. He would mope around the field and while the other donkeys donked around all day long enjoying themselves he would sit in the corner and chew some grass now and again but remain steadfastly miserable.
His only friend was a blackbird whose name is not important but who we’ll call Patrick O’Keefe. Patrick would try and rouse the small donkey from his misery by encouraging him to get out and see more of the world.
“Come on, Arthur. There’s a whole big world out there. I see it from the sky. There’s more to life than this field and you need to get out and experience it.”
Arthur was not for moving though and like a fan of My Chemical Romance he could not see beyond the doom and gloom that eveloped him every single day.
“I am the smallest donkey that has ever donked”, he’d say. “Imagine the grief I’d get out there. At least here I can cope with their jibes. Better the devil you know, Patrick.”
One day though Arthur was thoroughly downhearted after Gilbert, the A-list donkey in the field, not only called called into account his diminutive stature but also suggested that he was useless as he couldn’t do any of the donkey work the rest of them did.
When Patrick O’Keefe landed on the fence beside an even more glum Arthur he pulled no punches.
“Look Arthur, you can sit here and be pathetic for the rest of your life or you can do something about it.”
“I’ll be pathetic for the rest of my life”, he answered.
“No you won’t, you can be better than this”, said Patrick O’Keefe. “You’ll get up and come with me right now. Do it.”
“Where are we going?”, asked Arthur.
“To the big city where you’re going to prove yourself to everyone.”
So the two firm friends set off on their way to the big city, meeting lots of interesting people and having numerous hilarious and exciting adventures on the way. Soon they got there and Arthur went about finding a job. No bar would have him because he was too small to see over the pumps.
He couldn’t get a job at an all-night garage because he wasn’t from eastern Europe and had no intention of stealing from the place for the duration of his shift. He lasted one hour as a waiter before it was clear to everyone that hooves were no match for fingers when it came to holding plates full of food. Everywhere he tried he was rejected because of his height or because he was a donkey.
“Now I feel even worse”, he complained to Patrick one night as they sat on the steps of the town hall drinking a can of cider.
“Don’t worry, something will happen soon. My blackbird senses are tingling.”
“I do hope you’re right because if I have to go back to to the field without achieving anything they’ll never stop slagging me.”
And the next day something did happen. He got a job working for Swatch watches, driving a Smart car around town with big Swatch time-pieces on each side of it. And everything went well for him. He was a careful, conscientious motorist and his bosses were very pleased with him.
One day though something happened. At the top of a very steep hill the brakes on the Smart car failed and it went out of control. He went speeding down the hill going faster and faster. He desperately tried to avoid the pedestrians who were shrieking in terror. He’d bank left, then right, narrowly missing people. Arthur, the smallest donkey in the world, was himself brown-panted with the fear but he fought bravely to prevent loss of life.
Sadly though he couldn’t manage it but fate had smiled on Arthur. At the bottom of the hill was Marcel Marceau who was giving an impromptu public performance but he was being mugged by some vicious muggers who had been terrorising street performers for months. At the last minute Marceau saw what was going on and leapt to safety while the Swatchmobile ploughed into the two ruffians killing them stone dead before coming to a stop against the side of the local newspaper.
At first Arthur was distraught as he wiped the muggers’ brains and eye-goo from the windscreen but soon people crowded around and began to cheer. Street performers could now operate safely in the big city and soon there were all kinds of jesters, human statues and buskers congratulating him. Marcel Marceau broke with tradition and said “Fank you, you brave little donkey.”
Finally Arthur felt good about himself.
“If only there was some way we could show the other donkeys in the field what happened”, he said to Patrick O’Keefe, “because there’s no way they’d believe me if I just told them.”
“Leave it with me”, he said before flying in through the window of the newspaper.
Some days later when Arthur and Patrick returned to the field the other donkeys quickly moved to tease and poke fun at him.
“You can say what you want to me but I know I’m a hero”, said Arthur.
“A likely story”, they said but you should have seen their faces when Arthur handed them a copy of the Big City Tribune. There on the front cover was a picture of Arthur with the headline:
ASS TICH IN TIME SAVES MIME.
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28 Responses to “The brave little donkey”
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July 2nd, 2007 @ 9:47 am
Thanks for cheering up an otherwise crappy Monday. Was this inspired by Shrek 3 ?
July 2nd, 2007 @ 9:52 am
I can’t say that it was…
July 2nd, 2007 @ 10:05 am
That Marcel Marceau deserves a good kicking.
July 2nd, 2007 @ 10:06 am
He is a provocative cunt
July 2nd, 2007 @ 10:07 am
that was beautifully yet cringingly crap
July 2nd, 2007 @ 10:21 am
“I am the smallest donkey that has ever donked”…giggle
July 2nd, 2007 @ 10:57 am
Sweet lord..yes its time *bang* *blood oozing*
July 2nd, 2007 @ 10:58 am
Stop smoking that stuff!
July 2nd, 2007 @ 11:00 am
Oh dear Twenty, oh dear.
July 2nd, 2007 @ 11:27 am
I guess you are very busy writing your book ………
July 2nd, 2007 @ 11:38 am
I got soaked this morning walking the dog to the chemists – fucking rain. I’d have gone in he car but I lent it to somebody. On the way to the chemist I saw hundreds of sheep on their way to get butchered – and I had forgotten my lighter S I couldn’t have a smoke. What a cunt of a day – but this story made it all better.
July 2nd, 2007 @ 12:40 pm
Here’s another newspaper-related one, Twenty.
It is lashing rain, and a man is getting soaked. The nearest building is the Irish Times office, so he nips inside for shelter.
On the way he steps into a huge puddle. Once inside, he grabs a pile of newspapers from the desk, throws them onto the floor and starts to wipe the bottoms of his saturated shoes on them.
The guy behind the desk asks him what he is doing, and he answers…. “These are the Times that dry men’s soles”
July 2nd, 2007 @ 12:53 pm
Donk you very much for your little tail.
July 2nd, 2007 @ 2:05 pm
what the fuck
July 2nd, 2007 @ 2:14 pm
It may have made more sense if the car went out of control because the Donkey had an itch
July 2nd, 2007 @ 2:19 pm
that’s the first one of these things in ages that I couldn’t figure out what the punchline was going to be
July 2nd, 2007 @ 2:19 pm
you cuntq
July 2nd, 2007 @ 3:51 pm
A touching story nonetheless. I’m sure everyone here was routing for the Donkey, as we’ve all felt that way at some stage on our lives. But what a twist at the end! Wow!!. Roll on.. erm, deodorant.
July 2nd, 2007 @ 6:10 pm
How did that ‘song’ go… “Little donkey, little donkey..etc.”?
You could mime it for us. We’d like that. Consider it a form of reparation.
July 2nd, 2007 @ 6:12 pm
Too bad Arthur was later found guilty on two counts of manslaughter and sent to the glue factory.
Patrick is currently busking in the big city with that little Peruvian fella that does Celine Dion’s “my heart will go on” on his panflute.
July 2nd, 2007 @ 8:52 pm
what the fuck was that all about……….
July 2nd, 2007 @ 11:24 pm
Weak. Not even an eighties lyric. Meh.
July 2nd, 2007 @ 11:31 pm
Sweet Jasus, you go through all that and don’t even kill that unforgivable cunt Marcel Marceau?
July 3rd, 2007 @ 12:23 am
Savage
July 3rd, 2007 @ 3:19 am
You bastard Twenty. I’ve just spent three minutes of my life (I know, I’m slow) reading this drivel with great expectations only to be rewarded by a punch line not worthy of an 11 year old high on glue and cough medicine. Please do better tomorrow…
July 3rd, 2007 @ 7:54 am
I thought Marcel Marceau was as dead as Princess Diana. Also, what’s a “Bertie?”
July 3rd, 2007 @ 9:21 am
Cringeworthy
July 3rd, 2007 @ 11:30 am
Mimes a large one!