Stesha had a big brain. Some people said this enormous and inefficient organ was the cause of his problems, but some had darker suspicions.
Of course, his supporters said Stesha’s big brain was one of his best features; it was why he would someday become Politica Suprema. Many of his closest spindicas felt that Stesha had other important attributes, such as a barely discernable sense of humor. The best thing to counter ill-formed opinion of him? Take him to summer festivals, celebrated by the common folk, where he could show off his big brain and tiny wit.
***
Johnson’s yearly summer barbeque was legendary for its full frontal nudity. An ex-HR professional, Johnson was capable of spontaneous bouts of nakedness, for very little reason, really. Sometimes a pretty woman inspired it, and sometimes it was just too hot.
That summer, he’d promised his family, his friends and the neighbors that it would not happen. He would, by Cupid’s Tallywhacker, keep himself clothed.
****
Up to the point the politicas arrived, the barbeque had been an unmitigated success. But as they came in, a hush fell over the assembled diners. Burgers and weiners were chewed with suspicion; Stesha entered Johnson’s yard, gazed over the audience like a basilisk and said, “well, at least the ants haven’t arrived yet.”
His spindicas chuckled and a few of the revelers eeked out a smirk.
You could feel the question: Who invited these people, anyway?
Stesha’s big brain calculated that he wasn’t really showing these people how warm and funny he could be. This was not the plan. As he was starting to give his “folksy, funny speech” the TV people arrived and set up their cameras, and then it got really quiet.
Johnson was nonplussed. Once again, his barbeque was being ruined, and this time, it wasn’t his fault!
A normal man would have reveled in this. He would have said, “well, at least this year, I didn’t screw it up.” But Johnson was no normal man.
Johnson slowly walked to the picnic table.
Stesha talked to the crowd, about something — probably how vile the party in power was, how Stesha’s party was so much better — but all eyes were on Johnson.
He was going to do it.
Johnson climbed on top of the picnic table. He was trying to be careful, but the edge of his right pinkie toe landed in some poor diner’s potato salad.
“Sorry,” he mumbled. Stesha grabbed Johnson’s hand and pumped it enthusiastically. And then turned back to the crowd, which was still watching Johnson.
Stesha droned on about the evils of the Party-in-Power, their corruption, and completely ignored Johnson.
Who got naked.
The thing about Johnson was that he didn’t just get naked, he was a devotee the god Priapus too.
This drew the usually hoots and shouts of horror from the good people who came to Johnson’s barbeque (every year, it should be noted). Stesha’s big brain recognized that he had not said anything to entice such a response, at least, not without a lot of Other Party plants in the crowd, and saw Johnson’s johnson.
A warning flamed in Stesha’s big brain: “don’t look at THAT.”
A second warning chimed in: “your politica career is on the line with this!”
A third voice said, “By Priapus, look at the size of that thing!”
The third voice engaged Stesha, but he looked up. He gazed at Johnson’s face, scrupulously avoiding anything below the shoulders.
Johnson was afraid. He had been in his element, but Stesha scared him.
He had the dead eyes of a shark.
But then, everything changed. Stesha stopped looking at him with his grey, empty, soulless orbs, and turned to the crowd. Stesha put his arm around Johnson, and in a clear, unhumorus voice, said:
“Now this man knows how to throw a party!”
Inspired by:
Naked interviewer | Bigger brains | Politics
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