Dead Donkey On The Patio Steps


It wasn’t always like this for the electronic dancing donkey. When he was purchased and taken to this home, he’d dance at the clap of the hands, and people loved that dancing. He was a crazy dancing donkey, dancing to Brazilian music like it was never going out of style. There was a glint of passion in his plastic eyes, and the clapping would commence on a regular basis. Everyone wanted to see the electronic dancing donkey, and if they didn’t, they’d see it anyway. 

Unfortunately as time carried on, the electronic dancing donkey did not. He couldn’t change his routine, he couldn’t change anything. He was the electronic dancing donkey, that was who he was, that was who he’d always be. And people grew bored with that, especially when his dancing became slightly more erratic, slightly more out inconsistent. Sometimes it would take two or three claps for his dancing to begin, and so he was stuck on a shelf somewhere, away from prying eyes.

The people of the household didn’t expect the donkey to start weeping though, begging for a chance to change. This wasn’t in the required expectations of the product, and he was branded as false goods, not working as an electronic donkey should. They didn’t listen to his pleas, they didn’t even listen to the Brazilian dance music that played haphazardly.

So the electronic dancing donkey found his way outside, looking for a new future, but there would be no future as the rain wrecked his innards, and he collapsed in a pool of his own vomit. The last thing he heard was the Brazilian music which played from his voice box, and he twitched and limped as if to dance, rather than to die.

He could never change, it was who he was. False goods.

Now a dead donkey on the patio steps.


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