Moss and the North Side of a Golem

“It’s too many wildflowers! This will never do!” yelled Heckledun the imp as he ran between the magenta Corncockle and white Cow Parsley, all roughly even with his stature. “You’ve made too many wildflowers, Grum!” he repeated, uprooting a freshly transmuted daisy, in disgust.

“Is meadow. Need flowers,” whispered the earth golem, his hillock shoulders approximating a shrug. “Flower good. Smell nice. Feed bee. Now you stop complain, else I make chasm.”

I stood below his massive rock dong, and he started itching his left testicle. “See something you like?” It said, in a cold but amused voice.

I pointed at the words printed on my smock: “I’m a top rock cock doc not some hot sock wok jock”. The automaton’s brow furrowed. “That’s testicular erosion there big guy, not just an itchy nad - you have three days to live”.

He pulled his pants up staring blankly at the doc, his groin concerns melting away. Three days to live? What's an earth golem to do? He stomped home to his mountaintop, slower than usual, appreciating a majestic sunset in the distance. Luckily golems experience time differently.

For 3 days he stood, remembering the best moments—Moishe the wizard who'd written "emet" on his forehead; Heckledun's 21st birthday, when they slammed Slippery Nipples & Flaming Sambucas until they passed out; his 1st kiss with Jenny Gwan ... It was a nice life. Then it was done.