The Other Terrence Oblong
“Oy, you’re standing on my nuts!” I lifted my foot, obeying without thought. Sure enough there were two Kent cobs beneath my feet, still in their husks.
I first met the goat happiness man at the market stall where I worked. “Take this,” I said offering him a small piece of herb, “it will make you fertile. Your wife will be very happy.”
As a clone of Terrence Oblong I often hang my head in shame at the disastrous life my genetic twin has lived.