Betrayed by Words...

One day, not so very long ago, an ass who had been hired to give Mr HARE and his spouse, CURLY HARE, a ride to Buxton, found himself wandering the moors in the baking heat, having abandoned his riders.

For miles and miles he walked until he came to a farmhouse where he noticed a barn. He sneaked inside and lay down in the shade, enjoying the cool hay beneath his roasting belly. But a few hours later he was roused from his slumber by the explosion of gunfire. Peering nervously out of the barn, he saw he farmer reload his shotgun and take aim at a fleeing lion. The ass stuck his head into a trough of grain as the deadly shot tore through the peaceful country air. The lion dropped mid-run and the farmer jogged to the spot to collect his kill

A cold chill zipped down the ass’s spine as he watched the farmer skin the lion and take the meat inside for his wife to jug. The skin itself, however, was strung up on the washing line and left to dry in the sweltering heat.

Without another thought on the matter, the ass bedded down to nap, feeling rather exhausted by the afternoon’s excitement.

When he awoke it was night time and he was absolutely freezing. Then he had a marvellous idea: being an ass, he wasn’t all that used to respect. He was loaned out without consultation, forced to wander wherever his renters pleased and earned less than 50k per annum for the trouble. He wanted to be respected…no, more than that…he wanted to be feared.

It’s probably worth mentioning that the ass was not a particularly terrifying member of his species: he had big beige buck teeth; from his rear-end protruded a pathetically limp and straggly tail; and his testicles were small and withered. All in all, he was a disappointing ass, and a mockery to the years of genetic drift that deserved to have produced a mighty, derby-winning steed. So he crept out of the barn and, by the light of the moon, stole the lion’s pelt and slung it over his back so that he looked like a lion. With his fearsome blanket in place, he slunk into the nearby woods and lay down beneath a tree, warm and confident no one would jump him for his I-Pod.

In the morning he awoke and decided to pay the farmer a little visit. Giggling to himself he approached the farmhouse; hiding all the while behind a dry-stone wall. He spied the farmer hoeing his flower beds and, when the old man least expected he pounced from behind the wall and brayed at the top of his Marlboro-ravaged lungs.

The farmer jumped out of his skin, leapt back a few feet and raised his hoe high above his head with the intention of clouting the lion round the chops.

Suddenly though he checked himself and stopped his attack mid-backswing.

“You stupid ass!” he yelled. “I could’ve killed you! What’re playing at?”

The ass was thoroughly dejected at having been recognised and would probably have rather been killed as a lion than be forced to live on as a wimpy ass.

“How did you know it was me?” demanded the rumbled ass.

“Fine clothes may disguise a fool, but the moment he opens his mouth he will be revealed for what he really is – an ass of the highest order.


Pick up THE HARE newspaper at Night and Day, Bar Centro, Font or Tiger Lounge in Manchester town centre, or the Oakwood in Glossop.

E-mail theharenewspaper@hotmail.co.uk with questions, comments or contributory pieces.