A horse walks into a bar where tired old jokes really aren’t a thing. After comfortably ensconcing himself on a bar stool, with a singular flick of his hoof he, not only, called the bar man over, ordered a whisky on the rocks and was already sucking on a cube of ice before this sentence finished. Smooth.
Next to him was an unusual fellow, unusual in the sense that a) he wasn’t completely drunk and b) he was dressed unusually. A vague sense of hazy uncertainty took over the horse. Snapping to his senses, he would describe the man’s attire as wizardly. If that was a particular fashion.
Nudging his neighbour with a horsey elbow;
“Hey. Why are you a) not drunk and b) dressed like a wizard?’
The man turned to the horse, his dropping eyelids filled with a nebulous weight of imprecision.
‘Enough with the vague crap’ interjected the horse before the man could speak.
‘I,’ pronounced the man with a flourish, ‘am a member of the Chartered Institute of Wizards.’ Wagging a finger in the horse’s protracted face; ‘A founding member, I’ll have you know.’
‘OK’ said the horse.
‘Aren’t you going to ask me about it?’ The man was piqued by the horse’s lack of curiosity.
‘No.’
‘Why not, my horsey friend?’
‘Because you’re about to give me a load of crap,’ stated the horse plainly.
‘Well,’ began the man as the horse’s face sagged under the weight of the impending nonsense. ‘ The Chartered Institute of Wizards is quite special, we only have one rule, for example.’ The man was clearly roused into discussion.
‘What is it?’ Wearily asked the horse.
‘Well, the rule is extremely clear. If you are a wizard you cannot join the Institute.’
‘Doesn’t that defeat the object of having a Chartered Institute of Wizards if they can’t join; also, for that matter, how can you be a wizard then?’
‘I am a wizard’ chest puffed out proudly, the wizard thoroughly enjoying the attention. ‘I’m also a member of the Chartered Institute of Wizards, I established it!’
‘So, say I was a wizard,’ ventured the horse, ‘could I join the Institute?’
‘Are you a wizard?’
‘Obviously not,’ snorted the horse.
‘No then.’ The man was quite taken aback. ‘Why would we let a non-wizard join a professional organisation for wizards? Oh no, what a ridiculous idea!’
The horse stared at the idiot, weighing up whether it was worth pursuing.
‘OK I am a wizard. Can I join?’
The man laughed heartily, ‘why no my equine companion, you can’t be a wizard and join the Institute. We do have rules you know. Well, one.’
‘So,’ queried the horse, ‘let me get this straight; you’re a wizard and a member, but I can’t be because I can’t fulfill some impossibly ridiculous rule?’
‘It’s a perfectly reasonable rule, made for and by reasonable people. Wizards, basically.’
The horse rose unwillingly from his comfy stool, the warmth of the malt flowing through his veins.
‘So, you are actually drunk then.’ Ended the horse.
After punching the wizard on the nose, he cantered out into the cool evening.
Moral of the Tale: Welcome to modern society!
©DJA 2020
The Angry Farmer 