A Product of His Breeding

from by Styop Quoons

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This is just one small chapter in what is really an amazing story, a story of a man named Chwaz Aorta.

Chwaz was born in a small village in one of the nastier parts of Africa. And I don't mean nasty in the sense that his village was poor, although it certainly was that. I mean nasty in the sense that the entire village was overrun with spiders the size of cats. Fortunately, they were sentient spiders, which meant that they were civilized spiders which could read and write and perform precise mathematical calculations, so they didn't do the sort of thing that normal spiders do, which is to say crawl about frightening and biting people.

However, these particular spiders were known for having extremely poor social skills. They would frequently show up unannounced in a corner of your home, without even bothering to knock or anything, and start asking you rude, personal questions.

Imagine for a moment that you are a poor African villager, and one afternoon you come home from a long day of doing whatever it is exactly that you do, hoping for a brief bit of respite after a long day of that, only to find that a spider the size of a cat is hovering in the corner of your kitchen. It crawls slowly forward towards you, the dim kerosene light reflecting eerily off its black, orblike eyes. It pauses just inches from your face, and then slowly lets out a long hiss of putrid breath. It then proceeds to ask you, in a rasping, hissing spider voice, the following question:

"Did your bowels move today?"

I can't imagine you would be especially keen to answer that, even if the person asking you was a person and not a spider the size of a cat suspended upside down from the ceiling in front of you. However, you probably would answer anyway, on account of how you know from experience that the spider will not leave you alone until you do. I don't know about you, but I imagine that many people would get quite tired of that happening anywhere from 5-7 times per week, as was the case in this particular African village.

Well, one such person was a young man named Chwaz Aorta. And one afternoon, Chwaz came home from a long, hard day to find himself in the very situation I have described. Now, most people in this village, as I have mentioned before, are quite accustomed to this sort of thing, and as such the typical way to handle this problem is to simply answer the spider's question. However, Chwaz was an independent thinker, much like his father and his father before him, and he was known to frequently do things on impulse that later led to negative consequences. It was often said in the village that he was the product of improper breeding, but the truth of the matter was that Chwaz was just kind of a dick.

Anyway, what happened was this:

Chwaz comes home one day to find a spider hanging from the ceiling of his kitchen. The spider looks him square in the eye, breathing on him with that nasty, hissing spider breath, and asks him the following question:

"Did your bowels move today?"

However, instead of answering, Chwaz opened the kitchen cabinet, dug out the bottle of pesticide he kept there for killing the giant cockroaches that also were prevalent in the area, and sprayed a nice, lethal dose directly in the spider's face. The spider, as you can imagine, died instantly.

Now, although most people in the village would hardly have held the act of arachnocide against Chwaz, on account of how the spiders were really annoying and most people secretly wished they would all die anyway. Unfortunately, though, it was considered highly illegal to kill the spiders.

You see, even though the spiders were really annoying, a fact agreed upon by most everyone in the village, they made really good accountants, on account of their ability to perform precise mathematical calculations. So, even though most people in the village found them annoying, they were also the reason that the village was less poor than most other villages in the area, so the villagers mostly put up with the spiders for that reason.

In order to quell the anger of the spider community, the chief of the village decided to make an example out of Chwaz. Chwaz had his hands and feet locked away inside iron casings, which were then welded to the handlebars and pedals of a bicycle. Now that he was permanently attached to the bicycle, he was ordered to start riding and not to stop until he reached the ocean, at which point he was free to either ride into the ocean or else turn around and head back to the village.

And so, Chwaz set off, pedaling madly into the sunset, a crowd of gleeful spiders watching as his form faded away in the late afternoon light.


Sun that beats upon the sand
Burns itself into my hand
Never do I get to rest
Bellows pumping in my chest

(He’s journeying into the sun’s receding)

Ever forward must I go
Where I’ll rest I never know
Afternoon will fade to night
I’ll simply go on without light

(He is just a product of his breeding)


from Polydactyly, released February 6, 2015




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Styop Quoons is made entirely out of candy. You should not only listen to him, you should lick him like a lollipop.

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