So me and Merle were sitting around chatting, talking about horses and how they should wear clothes if they're already wearing shoes, and it got me to thinking. "Jesus Christ!" I shouted.
"What?" Merle asked.
"I'm about to blow your goddamn mind, buddy. Hold on and let me collect my thoughts."
So I set quietly for a spell, Merle eying me like he wanted to fuck me but also kinda like he was scared of me, so maybe like you might look at a mighty stallion that you're trying to have sex with or something. I thought and spat and said, "Alright. Let me break this down for you."
"I've been waiting so damn long already, Chet. I'm losing my shit over here. I almost got up and walked off while you was sitting there, staring into space like you wanted to fuck it. Get on with it, you slow bastard."
Merle's impatience angried up my blood something fierce, but I stifled my frustration momentarily and continued. I figured I'd give Merle what-for later on that night, when he least expected. He was dumb as shit anyway and had a memory like a well-fucked goldfish, so it'd be a grand surprise. "I was getting on with it, man. Sometimes these things take time. What I was about to say is, four-legged animals got four legs, right?"
"Yessir. It is right there in the name."
I nodded at Merle, impressed with his relative astuteness. "Precisely. So, if they're gonna wear clothes, what are they gonna wear?"
Merle's mouth dropped open and a giant wad of tobacco rolled out his bottom lip and splattered on the ground, a few spots dribbling on his boot. He poured a little chardonnay on the boot to rinse it off, and said, "Shame to waste this on boots, but can't do nothing about it now. Where were you, again?"
I sighed and cursed Merle for not drinking that wine, with its fresh lemon blossom taste, and that touch of butterscotch, and the transcendent finish full of orange zest and minerals. That was good shit. Still, I wasn't going to let it ruin my evening. "I was saying that since four-legged animals have four legs, we got to figure out what kind of clothes they're going to wear. Will they have pants, just for the back legs? Will they have pants for the back and front legs?"
"Do we call them pants if they're for the front and back?"
"Good question," I replied. "Are you thinking about more of a onesie-type garment, or a two-piece setup, which we then might call pants and a shirt?"
"Well, even if it's a two-piece outfit, do we call it shirt and pants? Isn't it more like front-pants and back-pants since, as you mentioned, four-legged animals only have legs, and not arms? Are items like shirts and pants defined by what you put in them? Must a shirt contain arms? Must pants contain legs?"
"You're bringing up great questions, Merle. This is the kind of deep thinking I love engaging in with you. My god, my mind is racing contemplating the possibilities."
"It just occurred to me that four-legged animals are called quadrupeds, Chet. Fucking quadrupeds."
"Why, I do believe you're correct. Excellent recall, Merle."
Just then, I realized Merle and I had been sitting and talking for over eight hours. Though we'd spoken little, so much left unsaid could stay that way, at least for now. I got up from my seat on the stump, walked behind Merle and put my hand on his shoulder. "My friend, I'm afraid I need to turn in. This sure has been a stimulating conversation, and I thank you kindly for it."
"Yessir. I enjoyed it myself."
As Merle got up to head to his tent, I bashed his head in with a shovel. He fell to the ground and I kicked sand in his dead eyes. "You know you deserved that," I said. Then I put a onesie on my horse and rode off into the night.
