There was once a woman whose father over
the years had become an ox.
She would hear him alone at night lowing
in his room.
It was one day when she looked up into his
face that she suddenly noticed the ox.
She cried, you’re an ox!
And he began to moo with his great pink
tongue hanging out of his mouth.
He would stand over his newspaper, turning
the pages with his tongue, while he evacuated
on the rug.
When this was brought to his attention he
would low with sorrow, and slowly climb the
stairs to his room, and there spend the night
in mournful lowing.
