#262 A Visitor

#262  A Visitor#262  A Visitor

Palm trees grow, warm breezes blow and rents are low, but I cried, “This ain’t home.”

“Did you ever read about how bad it is back home?”

“I don’t give a shit. I just came here to visit. That was 20 years ago.”

“The war started while you were here, and believe me; you were lucky to be here,” my three legged wife said.

That’s right; she has three legs. All the natives do. Two-legged women aren’t in demand because those with three have two vaginas. Believe me, two are way better than one because one’s for birthing, making it easier for a woman to birth. The other is designed exclusively for sex, and believe me, whoever designed it knew what they were doing.

“Maybe you’re right, but I’d rather live on a planet of two-legged humans than here where you need three legs.”

“You know damn well that three are better than two. Have you ever seen one of us topple over? Our third leg and our natural gyroscopic abilities always keep us upright, unlike you two-legged fools who trip and fall all the time.”

That statement started it. I set a tripwire for my three legged asshole wife. I wanted her to know what it felt like to fall. By the way, she two assholes  too. The damn toilets here were all built to accommodate double assholes, so I had to be careful not to fall in when I used them. Sure enough, my wife tripped on the wire I had strung ankle high along the path. She tripped, but her third leg shot out and stopped her from falling.

Next, I tackled her to knock her to the ground, but couldn’t get my arms around all three of her legs. She was able to remain standing by using the leg as a brace while I grasped the other two trying to force her to the ground.

“You fool,” she said. “You know how severely two-legged beings are punished for trying to intimidate a three legged one.”

She was right. The damn intergalactic council had 10 three legged members to the two, two-legged ones. “Three trumps two” was their slogan and all legislation favored them. It sucked being a minority in a democracy.

Because, I couldn’t knock the bitch down, I decided to kill her. I’d cut off her third leg and beat her to death with it. That’d show all those three legged bastards they couldn’t get away with treating us as rotten as they do because there are more of them than us.

She slept standing up with her legs spread like a tripod next to my bed. And that irritated the shit out of me. I had to lie down to sleep, and that made her think she was superior. I’d show her whose superior when I beat her to death with her leg.

Next day, I hid behind a big tree next to the path my wife galloped on every morning to keep in shape. My hand held the start cord on my chainsaw. She came galloping down the path. Her three legged gallop used to thrill me because of how graceful and smooth she ran, and the legs always hit in perfect unison, 1, then 2 and 3,. Well, today she’d see what it’s like only to have two.

She got close. I pulled the cord, and the chainsaw roared to life. The sound startled her. She stopped. I charged out from behind a tree with the chainsaw roaring and zipped her third leg off at her crotch in one swift slice. Her blood soaked my jeans, but I ignored it.

“Are you practicing to be a surgeon?” she asked non-pulsed.

I picked up her severed leg to beat her with, but it had already started to replicate another body to replace the one it lost, and my wife immediately sprouted another leg. Within minutes, I had two wives who expressed joy.

“You’re a genius,” they said in unison. Both stuck out their third leg. “Cut it off, and then you’ll have four of us,” they said.

Four of them, hell, I no longer wanted one. I ran and ran, not stopping until I got to the spaceport where I hid aboard a freighter headed for Earth. I ate a slumber pill so I wouldn’t need to eat or go to the bathroom for the six weeks it’d take for the ship to reach Earth.

After I had awoken in a hangar in New Jersey, I attempted to rush outside to see how bad the devastation was. My legs got tangled. I felt so clumsy but didn’t fall because I had grown another leg. Her blood must have infected me and caused a third leg to grow. After I took off my two legged pants and found a pair to accommodate three, I galloped around the hangar. Fifteen minutes later I had the rhythm of walking and galloping with three legs down pat.

When I galloped into town, people avoided me as if I was a freak with the Bubonic Plague.

“You there,” A police robot said. “Where’s your badge?”

“What badge?”

“The one you three legged beings have to display.”

The robot handed me a booklet that said, “Rules and regulations for tripods.” Glancing through it, I see that I’m a minority again. A three-legged man in a two-legged world. I felt sorry for myself and thought of my wife on a planet where palm trees grow, warm breezes blow and rents are low. Then I remembered her two vaginas. I dropped my pants, looked down, sure enough; two erect penises were there. I pulled my pants up and read that any three legged man can’t have sex with a two-legged woman. If they attempted to, they’d be hung from a tree.

So I’m a minority again, and often wish I stayed where I was and with a wife whose body parts matched mine. Thinking of her arouses me, and I get erections.  Sure am thankful that I have two hands.


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