daddy's horse

Daddy's Horse Is Not A Pet

(This manuscript for a proposed "Rainbow Curriculum" work unit was discovered in a MacDonald's restroom in Little Rock. Others, such as Heather's Two Mommies and Daddy Has A Roommate have already been contracted by publishers. According to a memo attached to this manuscript, the author of the following work applauds the pioneering efforts of those who have gone before, and hopes his contribution to the understanding and acceptance of "differences" will be yet another step forward in the journey to universal peace and prosperity.)

Daddy's Horse Is Not A Pet
A Multi-Cultural Textbook by:
Mark Matthews

Sarah giggled. "Oh, there's that new kid! She's weird!"

The Swingin' Sisters, the most "in" bunch of girls in Brian Mulrooney
Memorial Junior High, were gathered around "their" water fountain. They turned and looked.

"What do you mean?" asked Cindy.

"She looks kind of cute to me."

Sarah sniffed. "It's her family. I heard she lives with her mother and father and they're married!"

"Oh!" The rest of the group looked shocked.

Cindy didn't want to give up so easily. "Look, that's just a rumor, and a pretty awful one at that! How would you feel if someone said that about you?"

Sarah looked unhappy. "Not very good, I guess. And I know my moms wouldn't like it!"

"Nor would my dad and his roommate."

"My momma'd stomp any sucker who said something like that about me," said LaShonta, "and so would her boyfriends!"

Cindy waved at the new girl in school.

"What are you doing?" asked Sarah, shocked.

"I'm going to find out for myself. If the rumors are true, then maybe she really needs a friend. Come on! Let's be politically-correct and pretend to like her, at least to start."

The group quieted down as the newcomer shyly approached them. Her blond head was bent a little as she looked nervously down at her shoes.

"Hi" Cindy reached out and put an arm around her shoulders. "I'm Cindy. What's your name?"

"Diane."

"You're new here, aren't you?" A nod. "Well, what do you say we all get together at the fast-food place across from the ball field after school and get to know one another?"

Diane's face brightened. "Sure! I'll treat you all to some bean-curd burgers with rutabaga fries!"

Cindy hugged her. "Sounds great. We'll see you then.

Remember to bring your bullet-proof vest and school-issued condoms."

As soon as Diane disappeared down the hall, Sarah turned to Cindy with a quizzical expression. "Why over there? We never hang out in that place!"

"Of course not. If she doesn't work out, do you want everyone to see her with us? Our lives would be ruined!"

Sarah nodded. "That makes sense."

The fine spring weather had drawn many pupils outside and away from the eating place, so Sarah and her coterie had no problem finding a booth to themselves.

"Where's Diane?"

Cindy looked around. "There she is. I guess she had a little trouble getting through the metal detector at the door."

The new girl made it over to the booth and sat down.

"Are you okay? Did the guard give you any hassle?"

She shook her head. "No, she was just flirting with me."

Sarah smiled. "She's kind of cute, isn't she?"

"Yeah, but a little too butch for my tastes with that jockstrap she's wearing on the outside of her slacks."

"What's wrong with that?" Sarah bristled.

Diane blushed. "Oh, nothing! I mean, on you it looks really cute, the way it coordinates with your studded leather halter-top and Spandex pedal-pushers. But it just makes the guard look old, like almost thirty or something!"

"Oh. Yeah, it kind of makes her look like my mom."

"Which one?" asked Cindy.

"The one who held the turkey baster. My dad/mom."

"I never can keep them straight."

"That's 'cause they aren't. Straight, I mean.

Who wants straight?"

The group nodded agreement.

"That brings us to some important business, though." She looked at Diane.
The new girl rose from her seat. "Can it wait until we get some food? I'm starved!"

"Sure."

"Yeah."

"Sounds cool."

While Diane went to the counter and pulled out her TeenCharge card, the other girls huddled.

"Did you see how she jumped when you said 'straight?'"

Yeah, and commenting on the guard was pretty insensitive."

Cindy stopped them with a look. "We haven't even given her a chance, yet. Let's not be hasty; we agreed not to decide until tomorrow morning before school."

Diane returned with a well-laden tray of disgusting-but-animal-sensitive vegetarian fare and placed it on the table. With bestial growls the group attacked the ketchup-drenched tofu and woody-textured roots.

"Who wants salmonella shakes for dessert?" offered Cindy.

"Let's lighten up with a little cocaine-cola instead," suggested LaShonta.

"I can't," moaned 11-year-old Juana. "If I don't pass my
prenatal drug scans I lose my welfare bonus!"

They settled on pickle-juice slushes instead; kosher for Sarah.

When they'd taken their first sips, Sarah looked at Diane once more.

"Look, you seem okay to me so far, but there've been rumors going around about--"

Diane burst into tears of shame, so moving the group that they quit running and returned to their seats, albeit a bit further from her than before. Cindy reached out and barely touched Diane's cheek.

"C'mon. It can't be that bad! Is it?"

Diane snuffled and looked up with stricken eyes. "Oh, it's only my second day at this school and already it's begun! I don't know what you've heard, but honest! It isn't as weird as some people seem to think it is."

"Tell us about it, Diane, and let us be the judges. What about those rumors?"

"It depends on which ones you've heard, I guess."

Sarah nodded and moved closer to Diane, now only one booth away. "Well, first off, we heard your father and mother are still married and living together. I guess that's the worst one."

Diane looked shocked. "Oh, no! But--he does live with a femme."

LaShonta patted her cheek. "Shee-it, dat ain't so bad! How many girlfriends do he have?"

"Just Eeky."

The girls frowned. Only one partner?

Juana asked, "Well, does she turn tricks on the side? Does he do something macho like deal dope or guns?"

Diane's face fell. "No. He has a . . . a job."

"Look," said Cindy. "I've been sticking up for you here, but there are limits. Tell me the truth. Are they married?"

Diane nodded and whispered. "They love each other."

The girls moved away from her again. Diane looked at them, a defiant expression on her face.

"Dammit! Not everyone can have your advantages! At least she isn't my birth mother or anything like that! And it isn't Daddy's fault that he has to work an honest job! The criminal market is saturated now with that new 'Three strikes: you're out of jail' program the government started to cut prison costs. He can't help being a rich executive. Gee, he has to feed our family somehow!"

Sarah shook her head. "Sorry. Maybe you're not as totally hopeless as the rumors said, but you still don't fit into our group. If we're going to stay on top, we have to maintain our standards!"

"He has a horse!"

"Not good enough. Pets are animal exploitation, anyway."

Cindy lingered behind for a moment as the other girls strutted away, donning their Kevlar coats before stepping outside into the noise of sporadic gunfire.

"I tried, Diane, really I did. But you're just not good enough."

Diane's tears had dried up, replaced with a defiant expression. "I'll show you! I'll show you! One of these days, you'll respect my family!"

She was left alone, finally, without even a leer from the security guard. Evidently she'd heard some of the conversation and wanted nothing further to do with the unfortunate Diane, either.

Sarah, Cindy, LaShonta, and Juana maintained their position as "top girl gang" during the remainder of the school year and into the summer vacation months. Diane could be seen now and then around the school, walking through the halls with a defiant expression on her face, two pistols nestled in bra holsters. Sometimes she would be in the company of the other losers who had after-school jobs and wore nice clothes, that pathetic group of outcasts with old-fashioned families.

Meanwhile, Juana moved into even higher esteem when she delivered triplets--a new school record for a twelve-year-old first-time mother. LaShonta was jealous of Juana at first, but that turned to excitement with the news that she was expecting her own baby; the two girls could be found at all hours chattering about babies, pregnancy, and welfare benefits.

School opened in the fall with a bang. Fortunately, the damage was limited to the faculty lounge, the nurse's station, and the administrative offices. Since the athletic department was unharmed, the school board decided there was no reason to delay the start of the session.

During the first week the usual confusion reigned as students found their classrooms, teachers re-qualified on the shooting range, and the cafeteria inventoried its year's stock of toxic waste. Gang territories were settled amidst the usual hilarity when the youngest members inadvertently found themselves on the wrong sides of the lines and were tortured.

Finally, as things settled into a semblance of normalcy and the riot squads packed up their gear and returned to the armories, the first special activities began with an announcement of a general assembly on Friday.

The Swingin' Sisters had grown by one member, a Libyan girl who proudly showed them all her "female circumcision." The others agreed this was "way cool" and proved how tough Maryam was. The mini-Uzi she carried in her swastika-dotted purse enhanced the image. She even offered to circumcise Sarah, but her mom and mom wouldn't let her do it until she was at least sixteen years old.

"That's dumb, Sarah. Do they think you're still a child?"

Cindy was indignant."I guess so. You know how old people are. Jeeze, it just takes a razor blade; it's not like it'd cost anything! We could even sell videos."

LaShonta rubbed her swelling belly and spoke up. "Hey, I seen that Diane dweeb 'round again."

Juana replied, "Huh. How's that loser doin'?"

Cindy jumped in again. "Gee, she can't help it, can she? I mean, we can't let her hang around us, but I guess somebody has to pay taxes for us to live on."

Sarah was still mad at her mom, and didn't feel like taking any arguments off of anyone.

"Aw, who cares? The government pays, and they print all the money. What's the difference?"

Juana nodded and even Cindy had to concede that Sarah was right.

LaShonta continued, "She look awful proud of herse'f since dat special assembly was announced. Dumbitch says we change our tunes after Friday."

The girls looked at each other in puzzlement. What could Diane be up to? It would take something pretty far-out to overcome her bad start the previous term.

Sarah wasn't easily convinced. "We'll see. Be sure and bring your Bobbit knives in case those pesky Rodney Rape Kings try to sit next to us again."

Gossip had spread about "something big" in the wind and the student body was simply agog with excitement Friday morning. The teachers wore smug smiles and the principal even appeared in a hallway until a couple of near-misses reminded him of his folly. He withdrew to the fortified office.

Following lunch and the mid-day casualty report, the students filed into the auditorium, each careful to use the proper entrance for their religious, sexual, gang, and/or ethnic affiliation.

When that complicated social dance had ended and all students were seated, the curtains opened to reveal the Lexan-protected stage with a podium sitting directly in front of the concrete secure-access tunnel. The principal stepped up to the microphone and motioned for silence.

This was the signal for several of the rowdier students to let loose, throwing rotting fruit, vegetables, and the random bullet stageward. The principal kept his hands up, but nodded to the crews of the water-cannons located in the orchestra pit.

When the soggy crowd settled down, Principal Gorbachev began to speak.

"Students, teachers, fellow administrators: we face ever-growing crises in education. I don't have to tell you that, despite a four-hundred percent increase in spending over the last five years, the government is still trying to starve our educational system to death. They don't want you to succeed! Reactionary elements call for a return to outmoded means of discipline; to old, insensitive ways of grading students based on performance; and teaching basic subjects instead of enlightening you, our future leaders, about your heritage, your traditions, and the reasons you can't possibly succeed without government support. We feel your pain. I feel your pain!"

He paused while cheers echoed through the hall, then continued:

"Unfortunately, we must face reality. If they won't give us what we need, we must make do with what we have. We must find new, innovative ways of utilizing our up-scale down-effectiveness socially-bankrupt budgets."

He tugged on the collar of his red-white-and-blue multi-cultural gang jacket, adjusted the Malcolm X yarmulke, and stamped to settle his feet more comfortably into the patent-leather Nazi jackboots.

"It has come to be more and more obvious that many of our troubles with violence stem from sexual frustration. Many young men face enormous challenges when young girls refuse to cooperate with them; many young girls find these young men leaving them unsatisfied, finishing before they do. I won't even mention the gay/lesbian difficulties with certain old-fashioned students insisting that they not be approached by same-sex people. While everyone would cooperate in a perfect world, this world won't be perfect--at least, not as long as the government insists on strangling our efforts by refusing reasonable increases in spending."

The principal paused to dab at a stream of spittle drooling from one corner of his mouth. He bent forward, concealing his face from the crowd. The public-address system picked up and amplified long, loud sniffing sounds.

When he straightened up, he seemed in somewhat better spirits.

"Anyway, we can't solve all the problems of the world. We can't do anything about the government-issue condoms . . . I know, I know, either they break or feel like an inner-tube. We've gone as far as we can with mugging classes, teaching you the proper way to submit to robbery without getting hurt much more than half the time. The problems with mathematics won't go away until everyone is given their own computers that play good-enough games you won't want to sell them the next day. And there simply isn't any way to get more than twenty-four hours per day, per channel, of music videos on cable."

The students were hushed as they sensed a dramatic climax approaching.

"However, this summer we discovered we can take innovative steps to help relieve the sexual tensions which are so overpowering in young Americans. This will be the first test-bed school in what we hope is a long line of educational institutions adopting a new program. We are honored! And, more exciting still, this program came to our attention through the efforts of one of our students; yes, one of you! Diane Topper, please come forward!"

The crowd was too surprised to attack as Diane, head held high, made her way to the stage and was admitted behind the shield after she checked her weapons at the gateway. The principal and teachers applauded as she took her place at the podium and began to speak.

"Many of you think you're pretty hot stuff. Well, you are! You're way-cool kids, tuned in to the real world around us. You have neat families who explore the boundaries of human experience, unburdened by the harsh necessities of life.

Many of you have your own children, children for whom there is hope of an even better life, guided by your love and concern and surrounded by the love of many brothers and sisters to come. You don't let old superstitions or traditions hold you back simply because they've always been there. Logic cannot overrule the importance of feelings. You are leaders!"

The students went wild, cheering Diane, slapping each other on the back. Some gang members even smiled at their rivals, temporarily united by the Truth.

When the noise abated, she continued.

"However, not all that is old is bad, neither ideas nor people."

The students growled a little at this. "Listen to me! There are good things hidden in the past, things the old-time oppressors kept hidden, things we can and must re-discover!

"Many of you who know me think I'm just a loser, growing up in a hide-bound traditional environment because my father works, is married to a person of the opposite sex, and they stay true to each other."

The students laughed, cynically nudging their neighbors.

"Well! There's tradition, and there's tradition! You have some things to learn. So, without further ado, I want to introduce to you my parental units, Mr. & Mrs. James and Eeky Topper!"

She stepped down and the podium rolled aside as a synthesizer blared the opening chords of "Thus Spoke Zarathustra." From the slanting tunnel a man's head appeared, followed by his upper torso clad in a gray flannel blazer, white shirt, and striped school tie. The people in front hooted cat-calls at this manner of dress. But then they fell silent as it became obvious that these were the only clothes he was wearing. Some began to cheer. Then, behind him, they saw . . . a Shetland pony?

It was!

A pony! A pony? James stopped and the pony came up beside him, turning her head to nuzzle his exposed, aroused genitals.

Diane walked over to her parents, hugged her father, and stroked her trot-mother's nose. Then, in triumph, she raised both fists to the crowd.

They roared.

Some few laughed, booed, hissed. More cheered, louder and louder as realization developed.

"Cool!" Even Sarah was thunderstruck. "Do you suppose they really . . . ?"

All doubt was removed as Eeky stepped forward, turned sideways, and raised her tail. James walked up behind and quickly began copulating, much to their obvious mutual pleasure. Many of the students and even some of the teachers began massaging their groins as they watched. Meanwhile, Diane went to the wings of the stage and brought out a large dog. With an economy of motion that bespoke of long practice, she removed her clothing, knelt, and was immediately mounted. More of the audience moaned and reached for their own natural toys.

The principal wandered, fascinated, close to Diane and dropped his pants. She reached up and grasped him, but couldn't get her mouth high enough. He stepped over in front of Eeky, who took his member into her mouth. His eyes bugged and he began humping, rapidly approaching orgasm until he stopped with a screech of agony.

"Sorry, Principal Gorbachev," said James, "she sometimes forgets and bites down."

This sent the crowd to its knees, laughing. Some students took advantage of the position.

On stage, both James and the dog had finished. He and his daughter switched partners. The gym teacher ministered to the principal's bleeding organ, murmuring "Mr. Frank kiss it; make it well!"

Then things got a little confused.

Following the astonishing success and enthusiasm, the school board immediately added a new elective course called "Animal Husbandry" to the curriculum. All other schools in the district were to follow suit at the beginning of the spring semester. It proved to be the most popular new course offered in years.

But let us return to the fast-food restaurant across from the ball field after school on that fateful autumn Friday.

Diane was surrounded by students who wanted to see her, talk to her, touch her. The security guard stared longingly at her.even removing the jockstrap to reveal that her uniform slacks were crotchless.

It took determination, courage, and a few well-placed punches for Sarah to get near Diane. The rest of her entourage had no chance of following as more and more people crowded inside to worship the new Generation X heroine.

Finally Sarah caught her attention.

"Uh, I guess we misjudged you, Diane. Would you like to join the Swingin' Sisters now?"

She shook her head."You can even be the leader. We'll join you!"
"Forget it. No way."

Sarah felt a tear trickle down her cheek."But--but, why?"

Diane faced her and sneered. "Your insensitive comments last spring offended me. Daddy's horse is NOT a pet!"

This is the end of Unit Three of the Rainbow Curriculum multi-cultural education and awareness series. Unit Four begins with "Baste Thy Neighbor," a history of cannibalism in Borneo, Uganda, and Milwaukee. Test your
understanding of the material with the questions below to prepare for the examination covering this section. Remember: unlike courses in mathematics, science, or English, grades are important here.

THINK ABOUT WHAT YOU HAVE READ

1. Is it moral for an exclusive clique to dominate a water fountain, or should they hang around the soda machine instead?

2. Was Juana acting like an ethnic stereotype with her attitude towards children and welfare, or was she rightfully following her cultural heritage?

3. Should a girl be allowed to have a "female circumcision" at age thirteen without parental units' permission?

4. Should teachers, aministrators, and security guards be allowed to carry guns in school?

5. Does the use of bullet-proof shielding to protect school officials indicate irrational fear or merely a desire to oppress students?

6. Should those who work and pay taxes to support welfare programs be regarded as second-class citizens or should efforts be made to legislate them the same respect as those who accept the government as a benificent caregiver?

7. Do you think schools should pass out better-quality condoms?

8. Do you think textbooks like this one are for hopeless losers who'll never graduate beyond hamburger-flipping?

9. Why is the sky blue?

10. This is the last question. Why are you still reading this? You have better things to do than waste time learning. Go play basketball or something.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR OF THIS RAINBOW UNIT: Raised a Methodist minister's son, Mark Matthews was emotionally abused by the liberal policies of the World Council of Churches and resolved to henceforth deal only with those possessing horse sense. This led to his marriage to a small Shetland pony and public acclaim from the New Left--much to his disgust. The current administration considered commissioning him in the sole remaining mounted cavalry unit as Animal Morale Officer, but his wife said "Neigh!"

She insists that she be the only horse he is hitched to.

First N.A. serial rights

GEORGE WILLARD
pen-name "Mark Matthews"
Rt. 1, Box 134-B
Carl Junction, MO 64834

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