By Car Johnson
I wish more people would collect cow fetuses. It’s hard to go to a party and have to pretend that your interests don’t involve sticking unborn calves in glass jars. Then again, most parties I go to end up with everyone blitzed out of their minds and unconscious on the floor, so it’s not like they’d remember anything I told them. But it’s still hard. I tried joining a local collector’s group, but it didn‘t work out.
They had a potluck to greet all the newcomers last month. I brought Mother’s classic peanut butter brine meatloaf and Bessie, of course. I kept her jar in a special silk pouch I had custom made in France. We sat in a large circle of chairs with stamp collectors, coin collectors and people with various other boring junk. The leader of the group (a sexy blonde) had each new member take a few minutes to introduce themselves and discuss what they collected. The first guy said some crap about how he liked to collect coins because his mother used to do it before she croaked. The next person was some cute broad with a teddy bear collection. She said she started because girls with teddy bears were hot (or it could have been something about her brother. I can’t really remember). The some other dude went on about his glass unicorn collection and I blocked him out and started to mentally undress the female members and pretend I had somehow magically teleported myself to a strip club.
“Mr. Johnson it’s your turn.” I looked up to see the group leader, once again fully clothed. I nodded and pulled Bessie out of her sack and up so everyone could see her. “This is Bessie and she’s a cow fetus. I started to collect these…” Every single person looked like I had just said I liked to juggle babies and eat puppies. The unicorn man even had the nerve to laugh. I looked over at him and said “A man who collects glass unicorns shouldn’t be a dick .” Then I walked over to him, grabbed one of his figurines and pretended to throw it. It’s not like I was really going to do anything, but my little stunt certainly riled up the whole group.
I ended up kicked out of the club and barred from ever coming back. I took Bessie home and played cow fetus tea party to calm my nerves. It didn’t work, though. I couldn’t stop thinking about how hard it was to find ANYONE who understood my love of cow fetuses. Everybody treated me as if I was some sort of freak, even my family. My parents didn’t say anything to my face, but I overhead them calling me: “That cow fetus collecting nutcase” during a family reunion. This was coming from people who collected rat skeletons (my father) and lice eggs (my mother)!
The rest of the world was worse. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been hassled by the cops for just taking my fetuses out for some fresh air. Or the frightened stares of those one hour photo workers as they handed me back the pictures from yet another cow fetus birthday party (ok, so it’s actually more of a dunked in preservative fluids day). I had to find a way to show the world that cow fetuses were not something to fear.
So, I started my own club, the Cow Fetus Appreciation Society. I rented out a conference room and set the date for CFAS’s inaugural meeting and made up flyers and a few promotional videos for Youtube. Then I bought up billboard space and got some of my friends to do the voices for a radio announcement (I had to do a lot of favors to get it on the air). I even offered free cow fetus starter kits to everyone who showed up (they’d have to get their own fetuses, since I wasn’t about to give up any of mine). It seemed to work and people were talking about it all over town.
The meeting was packed. I mean filled to the gills! I was ecstatic at all the people willing to give cow fetus collecting a chance and stepped up to the podium like I was about to give an Oscar acceptance speech. “Welcome to the first meeting of CFAS,” I said. “A lot of you may be wondering what satisfaction you may possibly get out of collecting cow fetuses, but let me tell you -”
One of the audience members stood up. “Wait, are you actually serious? I thought this was going to be some strange stand up routine.” Several other people mentioned that they had also thought I was some sort of comedian. After I told them that, no, I really did like cow fetuses and this really was the first meeting of a real club, they all flooded out of the room like children who were told that dessert would consist of soy milkshakes and whole grain muffins. The only person who remained was some guy with a tinfoil hat and a shower curtain robe and he kept going on about how cow fetuses were the trapped souls alien faeries from Alpha Centauri and he was the chosen one who would set them free. I hightailed it out of there before he decided my soul needed freeing too. Why does cow fetus collecting only seem to attract the insane?
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Wanna talk to Car? Email him at: Car_Johnson_Rocks@hotmail.com
