First thing we gotta do when we’re granting this wish of yours, Assafrass, is go back to the very beginning of time.

Assafrass let loose an anxious hee-haw as Angela huffed and Michael burped.

Lucky for y’all that’s where we are already as you may have guessed so I’ll just skip on through here a little bit til we get to the part in history the one singular part in history where everyone was sitting around writing all the myths and legends that eventually morphed into the myths and legends you all know today.

The animals blinked, staring intently at the translucent cat form that was the Janelle, trying to think about whether or not they knew any myths and legends.

Stop looking at me like that! Trust me I know what I’m doing this is how it twerks.

Planets stopped birthing as they centered in on the celestial form of the young planet Gurth, their brilliant off-blue oblong planet that threw off the otherwise perfect balance of their otherwise flawlessly circular bisolar system.

Gurth looks so skinny Assafrass imaginarily remarked.

Oh just you wait thought chuckled the Janelle.

Gurth began to expand, slowly at first and then exponentially quicker, before stopping gracefully and hovering around at a stable size.

Now let’s get a liiittle closer in here the Janella thought as she reached her stretching arms around the fabric of space time and pulled it outward, slowly inching herself and the hovering animals closer and closer to the surface of the Gurth. Soon enough they were surrounded by beautiful marble statues that were lazily painted in gaudy pastel colors and many obnoxious men walking around in dirty robes. They all appeared to be holding large goblets of wine and voraciously arguing with eachother.

Whaat thae clauck ais goaing oan haere? Michael mused.

Oh, these are the thinkers, chuckled the Janelle.

Did you mean the drinkers? Angella huffed.

Not all of them drink, the Janella qualified as they watched a thinker open their mouth over the nozzle of a wine barrel, having a friend pop it open to fill their gullet with the grapey liquid. Just almost all of them.

Feathery shit! thought yelled Assafrass, looking over at a donkey in a toga, Can I go say hi to him?

No Assafrass you better leave the space time entangling to me or we could seriously cluck up the fabric of—

It was too late.

Hey what’s up dude I’m Assafrass! Love your dress man. I’ve always wondered what is would be like wearing clothes.

It is not a dress. Do I look like a woman to you?

You look like an ass to me.

That is correct. But it is also incorrect. Where you see an ass there is truly nothing but a deep, dark hole. A hole wherein the fount of the consciousness of the universe pours out to you, in this very moment, in the shape of an ass not dissimilar to yourself.

So what you’re saying is you’re an asshole.

Essentially.

Assafrass rejoined his companions, satisfied.

That was close, Assafrass. A moment longer and you’ve closed your third ear up completely. And probably gotten a minor sinus infection. So leave the rest to me.

Yaeah reallay Aassafrass gaet iat taogether.

The Janelle quickly darted around the thronging crowds of drunkards, eventually happening upon a small cottage.

Okay. Stay out here while I twerk my magic.

Assafrass, Michael and Angela hovered an inch above the air lackadasically as the Janelle’s catlike form wiggled and warped into that of a tall, muscular, barely dressed woman. She waved an open palm hazily over the cottage door and it swung open invitingly. The animals swore they could hear the soft sounds of jazz music emanating from the ether as she skankily slunk inside.

Immediately the animals rushed, tails swaddling around like mindless zombies, to the front window to peer in a muggy window and then to the side of the cottage to peer inside an even muggier window with a disturbingly considerable amount of dead bugs trapped inside it. Then they realized their collective eyesight was worse than that of a legally (or indeed illegally) blinded human’s and instead relied on their senses of hearing and smell to fill in the comparative gaps in their perception.

The Janelle was talking to a man who had not bathed in two years because of the loss of their true love and also because they were dreadfully poor. They dreamed of being a famous writer and had recently sacrificed a couple of twig insects’ in a diety’s name with hopes of gaining unfeathery favor. The Janelle assured them that she was there to grant such wishes, and that all he had to do was sleep with her.

Angela, Assafrass and Micahel grew excited. They all did their very best to focus their shitty eyesights through the bedroom window as the Janelle and the man fornicated, regretting only that they were not inside the cottage to make their presence well known and thus making everything incredibly awkward.

SHHHKK

The window slid open.

“Okay, come on in y’all.”

Isn’t the man stil there? wimpered Angela.

“Yes, but don’t worry, he thinks you’re gods. Or god assistants or assistant gods or some dumb shit like that. Come on in and tell him your story, Assafrass.”

Assafrass perked up, hee-hawing with glee as he scrambled through the wide window and stumbled over the cold wooden floor of the cottage. He looked up to see a drunken, crosseryed man with a thick long mustache and a wooden salad bowl belted to his head as if it were a makeshift helmet. Assafrass suddenly felt at home.

“A clucking donkey’s going to tell me his story?”

The Janelle huffed. “Now sirrah you listen to me and you listen hood. This is my ass and I’ll whoop your ass if you don’t stop being an asshole and listen to what the ass has to say to you!”

“Okay okay cock sakes woman cock sakes.”

“That’s no hamned way to talk to a goddess!”

“That’s no hamned way for a goddess to dress!”

“Oh so you wanna go shopping for me? Pick all my clothes out, because I”m not goddessly enough for you? You’re wearing an old bedsheet as a shirt motherclucker!”

Um excrete me but can I please tell my story now? Assafrass bleated as he imagine-spoke his grievances.

“Did I just hear that hamned thing talk to me in my mind?!” ejaculated the man.

“Yes. It’s just goddess things, you wouldn’t understand. Now listen to him, and get yourself a hamned chisel and some limestone tablets or whatever the cluck it is you write on—”

“Chisel and limestone?! I have quills and ink and parch—”

“Did you not hear me say ‘or whatever the cluck it is you write on’? It’s like you don’t listen even when I’m a clucking goddess!”

The man huffed, adjusted his salad bowl helmet and whipped out his miscellaneous writing tools. Then he scrawled frantically as Assafrass relayed his story by thought.