Page 3 - The Gluckman Occasional Number Eleven

A great commotion ensued within: doors slamming, heavy
clumping down staircases and an outbreak of tittering quickly
suppressed. Five disheveled female elephants ran pell-mell past
Masta’ Don, down to the Great Rickety Rotunda in the esplanade
usually reserved for the press or honored dignitaries bearing tribute
from far and wide. They lined up and bowed, almost in unison.
“Yes, Masta’. What is your command?” said their leader, a pretty
young cow whose resume thinned out after a drafting class in high
school.
“That’s right: I am the Masta’. Of what?” No reply, but plenty of
nervously grinned capped and gleaming molars. “Of all I survey! I
don’t see enough out there. Now, go and survey some more for me.
I’d do it myself, of course, because I am the greatest surveyor the
world has ever seen. But I’m busy. Go on—skedaddle!”
A small stampede followed this command, as Masta’ Don’s A-
team of elesycophants trampled the manicured pampas grass
surrounding the portico in their haste to execute his orders, lest he
order their execution. He sighed, a sour unmuted brass arpeggio.
Now he would have to bring in more gardeners from south of the
border under cover of darkness. Those monkeys worked for peanuts,
he pleasantly recalled, and couldn’t complain when they were stiffed.
Again he bellowed, this time stamping his slipper-clad feet on the
groaning boards.
“Are you done in there yet? I have to meet Muskox in the Offal
Office in two minutes!”
“Almost, Masta’ Don!” The shrill hyena cry was tinged with
cringe. “All sluiced out and sprayed with cologne. Just another few
seconds with Matriarch’s big-hair blow-dryer and all will be spic and
span, just as you like it.”
“Can’t you flunkies do anything on time? I’m gonna lower your
wages!”
“But you ain’t paid us in six months, Masta’ Don.” A small chorus
of bitter and hysterical laughter. “Can’t get lower than that.”
“Arrh! I’m coming in now!” The Patriarch of Pachyderms heaved
his ample avoirdupois out of the rocker, every bit of wood on the
porch groaning sympathetically. “And I’m taking these solid gold
caps off the end of my tusks! You better be scarce when I get there!”
He pounded into his office and regained his composure just in
time for the hyped-up hirsute hunchback to come crashing in.
“Hiya, Donny!” he bawled.