I met them both today, the Men from the Congo. I’d met one earlier, doing recon in my neighborhood. He was a young cannibal, but quite civilized for his age. Apparently he’d been satisfied with what he’d seen and heard, and had somehow checked back with his buddy down under to come and propose to me….
In about 17 seconds they converted my vegetarian ass to a missionary. Took me back home into the Congo Bush, to help me convert the natives. Remembering the joke they’d told me before about the dead missionary, I figured I’d just leave my bike at the Old Canal, leaning against the cabin with the ominous warning sign.
Oh, you haven’t heard it yet? Allow me to enlighten you: This missionary was walking through the jungle with one of his converts, discussing his further education. As they came to a clearing, the both of them saw the priests brother converting a local woman against a nearby tree with extreme prejudice.
"What would you call that?" the warrior asked the missionary. Our holy man looked at the fornicating couple long and hard, and then answered: "he is riding a bike". The warrior thought about it, took his longbow and nailed the priest to the tree with three long feathered arrows. "My bike", he stated proudly…..
Love your rhyme, but watch your bike.