Rat Revelation

There it was!

There it was, right there in the

Austin American Statesman,

page E11, Sunday, April 9th:

incontrovertible scientific proof!

At first I thought it wasn't important,

just another filler,

relegated to deep burial on page E11 --

and then the revelation swept away

years of festering guilt and shame. 

See, these researchers at some Fancy Dan University

who poked around with the private parts of rats

(without the rats' permission, I might add)

discovered that a male rat with its brain

cut off from its private parts

can still make Mary Rat smile,

even if the male is asleep or unconscious.

Well, at first I couldn't help but wonder

how they tested all those rats --

just what did they make them do anyway?

And how did they get them to do it?

Especially if they were asleep

or unconscious.

And in a flash I saw trained rats, laboratory rats

(privately hired, perhaps)

in starched khaki uniforms

with Nazi armbands

and thick, black moustaches.

They had whips and machine guns

and they herded thousands of poor prisoner rats

into this huge rat motel

with hidden cameras,

secret microphones,

and the prisoner rats were forced into

vile and despicable forms of rat fornication --

enticed against their wills by

rat Mata Haris

in slinky black dresses

and bright red panties

and long, false whiskers, heavily mascaraed.

And the rats engaged in frenetic lovemaking,

in all kinds of weird, unnatural,

unratlike positions --

sometimes congregating in threes and fours and more!

All with dozens of wires and electrodes

connected to their private rat parts,

reporting their perversions to

squinty-eyed scientists with no sense of shame!

 And suddenly what the scientists said hit home

and I was enveloped in the blinding white light of truth:

  "Although the rats sense nothing in their brains,

  "their sexual organs perform exactly as those of

  "awake and intact rats that reach sexual climax."

Their conclusion:

  "Fundamental sexual response

  "may be programmed into the lower spine."

In other words,

Fucking has nothing to do with the brain.

It has nothing to do with conscious thought.

It has nothing to do with logic!

The body has another tiny brain,

buried in the pelvis,

and it only thinks about one thing,

It only wants to do one thing --

even if the body is asleep

or engaged in other things,

even when the mind is committed

to some other course or action --

or person.

And at last I understood!

At last all my guilt was absolved!

At last I have scientific proof, my dear!

That wasn't me you caught

En flagrante with the Avon Lady.

It wasn't me you saw with Mary Ann,

her dress hitched up over her hips

and her creamy white ass

propped up on the trash can behind her house.

It wasn't me you saw with his hands

stuffed down the pants of that

waitress at Kirby Lane.

And that's not me you've seen a thousand times

while we walked hand in hand,

turning to watch some blonde bombshell

sashay down Sixth Street --

It's just some primal pelvic rat brain

doing its thing!

It wasn't me at all.