Ploughing the field had become less fun ever since Toms horse had
died (as had intercourse with said horse). Usually it would have had
the harness put on and it would drag the plough, but as Tom could not
yet afford another horse, he had to do it by himself (the ploughing
that is). It was particularly stressful. He’d been here for five
hours and had only done one furrow, and the field was well over five
acres. It would take him weeks to finish. There was one benefit to
all this though; he had a lot of time to his own thoughts.
Why did my horse die? What will I plant his year? Potatoes?
Cabbage? Why does the sun shine? Why does my finger smell funny? Do I
think because I exist, or do I exist because I think?
So many thoughts were going through his head that he didn't notice
a shadowy figure lurking in the hedge.
‘Get off my land!’ screamed the figure in a
voice that could have made an onion cry, causing Tom do drop the
plough harness. He turned round to see a huge man dressed in a ragged
trousers held up by a rope, and a ripped green shirt. He was
extremely hairy, with hair all over his arms, and wild, bushy beard.
His hair ran down to his shoulders. His nose was as red as a red
parrot with a nose bleed.
‘Holy flaming turnips!’ exclaimed Tom, ‘You’re
the biggest, hairiest bugger I have ever seen in my life!’
The stranger raised a bushy eyebrow and replied in an angry tone,
‘I’m a boggart God damn it. Not a bugger!’
‘Well, you’re the biggest, hairiest one I've
ever seen.’
‘You’ve seen other boggarts?’
‘No,’ said Tom, ‘but you are the hairiest
bugger I’ve ever seen.’
‘I’m not a bugger, I’m a fucking boggart you
ass.’ The boggart seemed to be losing his temper very quickly.
‘Well what are you doing on my land?’ asked
Tom.
The boggart chuckled menacingly, ‘Your land? Ha! It’s my land. It
was my fathers before me, and his fathers, and his father’s father!
It is rightfully mine!’
Tom looked at the boggart, and the boggart met his stare. For about
five minutes they just stood facing at each other, until finally Tom
said, ‘That’s a lie isn’t it? You just made that up there now,
didn’t you?’
The boggarts lip began to shake, and then he looked away, lowering
his head like a child who had done wrong. ‘Yes sir, it was a lie.’
‘Stupid bugger.’ Whispered Tom.
‘Fuck you!’ exclaimed the boggart, ‘I’m a
fucking boggart, and I’ll be buggered if you call me a bugger
again.’
Tom began to snigger. “I wonder what a boggart being buggered would
look like.’
‘It’s actually a wonderful sight. Why, just
last week me and my boggart friend were watching ‘Boggart Babes Go
On A Sex Rampage’ and it was…..Hold on a minute….God damn it.’
Bewildered and now completely devoid of patience for the young farmer
who stood before him, the boggart managed to keep his voice to a low
whisper when he said ‘Right Mr. Farmer man, I was going to just
leave once you realized I was lying, but now I really want this
field. So give it to me.’ The boggart folded his arms.
‘Ha! And what are you going to do if I refuse?’
laughed Tom.
The boggart spent the rest of his life using Toms head as a cup, and
his dismembered body as a plaything for other boggarts who liked to
bugger things. The boggart lived happily ever after until he himself
was buggered by a larger boggart
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