old man Grilgamesh

There's an ancient story concerning man-flesh – it's of course the tale of old man Grilgamesh. He'd sat masturbating for most of his life while pining for company (maybe a wife) to share with him his sodden bed made of reeds to comfort him daily and meet all his needs. His story is epic, his seed made us all, and boosted our numbers while our race was small, not yet well established upon this here Earth, this rapidly spinning celestial berth. There arrived then Ink'Du, whom Eshtir had sent to help some good people and give them defense except that wild Ink-Du and old Grilgamesh soon wove themselves into a tight friendly mesh. The high times that they had would have made strippers blush for from peak to valley the drunk pair did rush consuming and partying with all they had two arm-in-arm brothers with wide smiles glad. Eshtir she was pissed because Grilgamesh had spurned ignored denied her a place in his bed whereupon she'd sent down a mad raging cow that was meant to kill never to pull a plow. Ink'Du and his buddy did slay that bovine which caused Ink'Du's life-web to quickly unwind whereupon Grilgamesh did mourn for his mate and curse all the gods for his fallen friend's fate. He holed himself up in a far hidden place while his building projects were finished apace and realized that power was paltry at best whereupon a weight of woe fell from his chest. We humans are flimsy, he realized anon, We must not rejoice at the battles we've won but cherish the friends that we get in this life and lay down our weapons and tools made for strife; to build and to construct great cities and works to stop being assholes mendicants and jerks is all we can strive for in this life of ours so please do tread lightly always smells the flowers – too short are the rest of these remaining hours.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥