Nod and Boj

From:        Gordon
Sent:        Wednesday, June 7, 2000 3:45 PM
To:            xxxxx
Subject:    Please post on Panic ASAP

Once there was a young boy named Nod. He was a smart boy, but not the kind of smart that won spelling bees, or let him finish his math worksheets first. No, Nod was smart in the way that he could say "smart" things. Which wasn't altogether bad. Except when he said these "smart" things at dumb times, which he often did.

Needless to say, Nod was "smart," but he was also dumb. Often, other children would throw stones at him. He would yell back "smart" things, and then his mother would take him to the hospital to get "made better."

One day, Nod's father decided it was time to cheer his boy up. So, being the man's man he was, Nod's Dad gave Nod a dog. And this dog's name was Boj.

Every day, Nod would come and sit beside Boj and try to get him to play. He stroked Boj's thick fur. He patted Boj's broad back. All in all, he gave Boj more attention and care than he had ever given anything else (including his Tyco Master Monster Truck). Indeed, it was clear to all who knew him, that Boj was the center of Nod's life.

As Nod grew older, he learned to temper his "smart," and so the other children on his street decided to become his friends. Every day after school, they would walk by Nod's house and ask him to come and play.

"I want to come and play and have fun in the field of heather, but I want to bring Boj," Nod would tell his new friends. His friends, being his friends, said "okay, we'll meet you there! But why don't you just leave Boj behind and come by yourself?"

"Oh no," said Nod. "I can't go anywhere without Boj. He keeps me safe."

And Nod would stroke Boj's thick fur and pat his broad back, and ask him to come and play. But Boj would never come and play. He just wanted to sit right where he always sat on the front porch.

This went on for several years until one day, Nod's father grew very ill. He hacked big hacks and coughed big coughs, and told Nod he was dying. This made Nod very sad. After several years of hacking and coughing, Nod's father died. But right before he passed away, he called Nod into his room.

Leaning close to his son's ear, he whispered: "You stupid smart boy, your Boj has been dead since the day I bought him."

Then he laughed. And died.

Nod ran downstairs to the front porch and madly stroked Boj's thick fur and patted Boj's broad head. But it was no use. Boj was dead. And, on closer inspection (something he had never done before), it was clear that Boj had been dead for quite some time. This, of course, made Nod feel very sad. And he cried. For several years.

Then, one day, he decided enough was enough: it was no longer smart to be sad. And so he walked out onto his front porch and waited for his friends to walk by on their way to the park.

After some time, some of his friends did walk by. And Nod called out to them: "I'm ready to come play and have fun in the field of heather!"

His friends looked at each other, confused. "We're too old to play in the field of heather," his friends said. "Our legs are too stiff, our arms are too sore. The field of heather is too far away now."

"But but but" Nod stammered, tears welling up in his eyes as he looked down at his own body and realized what his friends said was true.

"We kept asking you to come and play and you never did," his friends said.

"But I had to stay by my Boj," said Nod.

His friends sighed and hobbled away.

Not long after, Nod died. And they buried him with Boj.
 
 
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Gordon, Barely Managing Content Editor
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Communists.bomb. Connecting the dots. With a pipe.

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For the original allegorical tale that inspired this insipid response, click here.