The donkey watched the promenading poodles from the roof. Nobody wondered how the donkey got on the roof, or indeed even noticed, because all the village folk were busily watching the fiftieth annual canine march in front of the Galleycat Inn. Even the donkey was not entirely sure how he came to be on that rooftop, and try as he might, he couldn't fight the muddle of his donkey mind to find out.
Something zipped past him, a misplaced will of the wisp, and he turned lazily to look at it. It hovered in front of him, a taunting phosphorescent light. It bobbed patiently and after a number of moments he took a hesitating step toward the light. As he did, the wisp bobbed backward. The donkey took another step, and it became clear that the donkey was to follow the spectre.
He walked for a long while. A very long while. Even longer than the time he had to haul a load of Bat Segundo for the nutty caravan leader who swore that it was the secret ingredient in his terrapin soup. That was the same man who had yelled "Roar of the greasepaint, smell of the crowd!" as if it were a curse. The donkey had not much enjoyed that stint of employment.
By the time the light stopped bobbing, the donkey could no longer hear the canine march. At that startling realization, he looked down, and saw he was not on the roof of the inn. He stood on sand. He looked up again, and seeming about as panicked as a donkey is able, saw more sand as far as his donkey eyes could see. He turned desperately to the will of the wisp, and let out a shocked bray as it blinked out and left him alone in the desert.
"Hello little donkey," a deep and resonant voice spoke behind him.
He turned, faster than he'd moved since he was bitten by a snark. Recovered from his sudden movement, the donkey realized that the voice was not the voice as a man as he had assumed, but the voice of a large lizard.
"I was turned this way by an evil warlock," it said. "He was a cruel man, and I was his servant. He would catch me reading his magic books and he would cry 'drop everything and give me ten... books are not for the likes of you!' and one day he turned me to this."
The donkey nodded his big head and glanced the lizardÂ's toe, wondering if the swelling indicated he suffered a lizard's bunion. The donkey's eyes went wide, and he realized this was the moment he'd waited his entire life for. Nobody knew the donkey could speak, and indeed he knew only the five words of the secret code he had been taught: "Your mother wears Army boots" he said with a slight donkey accent. With that, the lizard turned into a beautiful ass: his true love.
Does a donkey accent sound kinda braytish?
Scoring to come