A wild ass saw a pack ass jogging along under a heavy load and taunted him with the condition of slavery in which he lived, in these words: "What a vile lot is yours compared with mine! I am free as the air and never do a stroke of work; and, as for fodder, I have only to go to the hills and there I find far more than enough for my needs. But you! You depend on your master for food and he makes you carry heavy loads every day and he beats you unmercifully." At that moment a wolf appeared on the scene and made no attempt to molest the pack ass, owing to the presence of the driver; but fell upon the wild ass, who had no one to protect him, and without more ado made a meal of him.

Moral: It is no use being your own master unless you can stand up for yourself.

---

Fear is a Laxative
by Victor Aguilar

“What is this in regards?” asks the pretty receptionist.
“Your boss owes me money.”  She gives me a wink.
“I’ll see if this is something we need to pay,” he says.
“I’ll see if this building is inflammable,” I think.

For the second – actually third – time I use the john,
Done with that I take up my air gun and shoot bull’s eyes,
“At least my hands are steady,” I think as I sit down again,
But in my intestines, fear resides; to myself I tell no lies.

I’ve thought through every eventuality – more than twice,
I check off my gear:  assault rifle, ski mask, two cans of diesel,
Two timers and two igniters – like NASA, I believe in redundancy.
Back to the bathroom I go, for the sixth time, I think.  Oh well!

Unwilling to silhouette myself climbing over, I dig under the fence,
I pull my rifle and two cans after me.  I’ve crossed the Rubicon!
I climb the wall with my rifle slung over my back.  Don’t look down!
I pull the two cans up.  Then, through the skylight, I lower my bomb.

The security guard cruises slowly past.  Lying flat in the grass,
I hold my rifle’s sights on the corner of his driver’s side window,
Like when I was shooting the air gun, the assault rifle is rock solid.
At least my hands are steady, though to the john I’ll soon have to go.

In and out, unseen, my mission is carried out with military precision,
Not a single unforeseen problem; no shots fired, we all get to live.
Well, there was one very small deviation from the original plan,
On the way home I had to stop and find a bush.  Fear is a laxative.