The Cowgirls splashed, laughing in the river; their bodies naked and wet glistening. Others had spilled onto the green grass and were rolling around clapping their hands and singing. All of a sudden they fell silent. Standing at the top of the hill, leaning against a tree was Lord Keith. One of the Cowgirls whispered into her friend’s ear, “His blue skin makes my honey flow so thick and syrupy that my thighs are stuck together. He’s so dreamy!”

A fellow Cowgirl smiles and rubs her friend’s honey all over her hard nipples as another slides her finger into her sticky honey jar. Soon all the Cowgirls are dancing and gyrating in the noonday sun. Lord Keith watches with his cowboy hat over his eyes as if he doesn’t notice. But he notices. His thick donkey dick starts to bead pre-cum which the Cowgirls can see leaking through his blue chaps.

As he walks down from the hill, he pulls out his blue guitar and starts playing a melody which causes the the Cowgirls to start slipping because the grass is so slick with their dripping honey. Lord Keith smiles as the Cowgirls wave back and forth with their arms in the air. He sings out, “Who wants to play my magic flute? It makes the most beautiful sound.”

And with that he unzips his denim dungarees and pulls out his thick, pulsating flute. The Cowgirls hungrily lick their sticky honey lips. Lord Keith just smiles and starts saying, “Hey, batter batter batter batter. Hey, batter batter.”

This confuses some of the the Cowgirls. But not all of them. And soon Lord Keith understands the meaning of “Jesus rode a donkey into Bethlehem”…bareback.

Lord Keith shook his beautiful brown shag hair-do and everyone started to play his flute. As their joyous screams filled the air, soon it became a song and all the honey turned to flowers. Then for the next three years, Lord Keith autographed every flower the Cowgirls brought him.

He was eventually rushed in a bread truck to a small ashram without any running water or food and left there all alone. Shivering, Lord Keith sat on the floor in a corner waiting for the sun to come up hoping that the proprietor of this ashram at least had decent room service.

Meditative Pft! poster by Whale Song Partridge

Hindu fan fiction by His Holiness Guru Shaun

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