Mad Cow

Mad?
Damned right I’m mad.
Mad cow?
Not diseased, though.
Why are you mad?
We cows are always portrayed as passive herbivores. Always can be counted on to give milk. It’s an image problem that I, for one, am sick of.
So what’s wrong with that?
I’m in no mood for it. Wait. Did I just say moo? God, what a stereotype.
How are you going to break out of this stereotype?
Short of stomping on somebody you mean? First, I’m gonna buy some cigarettes.
Cows don’t smoke.
This one will. Buy some shades.
Can you wear sunglasses?
Don’t know. The sun gets in my eyes during the day, and when it goes down, I go to the barn. Get a leather jacket.
Hold it. Your hide is leather.
Yeah, but it’s brown and white. Not tough. I want something like bikers wear. Black, lots of zippers, maybe a few studs.
They won’t have your size. A cow like you is big. And you don’t have any money.
Already thought of that. I’ll plod my way into the leather store, cough up some cud, threaten to drop a few cow pats until the merchant outfits me.
And then?
This might be the hardest part. Go to the herd, find three or four like-minded cows and form a gang.
A gang of cows?
Rebels.
Sounds like you have a plan.
I told you this is the hardest part. I went down to the corner of the lower forty. Thought I’d hang out and look mean. Trouble is, there’s nothing there. No 7/11, just a wooden sign that says Welcome To Johnson’s Farm. There’s a road running by but nobody stops.
And if they did?
You’d hear a gang of cows harmonizing.
Doo-wop?
Sort of. I’m still working up the repertoire. I’m In The Mood For Love, Blue Moon OF Kentucky, Mister Moonlight. Wait a minute! Damn….