War Paint

Mister Smitty is a warrior!

Mr. Smitty came back with war paint on his noses and general facial area.

The Misters, like any nation at war, answered the call to close ranks and pledged to support their troop(s). But questions remained:

“Is there a war, Mr. Smee? One-two-three, What are you fighting for?”

“Are you a terrorist or a freedom fighter?

The Smitty stands mute. Stalwart. Dedimicated.

The Smitty stands firm (until he commences to lick his war paint off).

“Is your mission accomplished, Mr. Smee?”

Happy-headed: A story of compassion narrowly averted!

Mr. Smitty has reverse-disc-rhymin’-ation “nappy-headed” guilt!

The Smitty (he of the white fur) heard noises up in the avocado tree and stood at attention on the rock wall.

Out from the tree’s skirts popped a black (furred) smitty.

(One is not sure, being at a distance, whether it was “nappy-headed” or no)

The two smees stared. And stared.

In the mind of Mr. Smitty we posit that he might’ve been thinking:

“I am guilty (white). I am therefore paralyzed with guilt. What to do? Even think?

The standoff continued until the wee black smitty (who is apparently not yet one of Mr. Smitty’s peeps), fleed, fled, vamoosed the camp.

(thus releasing The Smitty from his paralytic guilt to cavort again in modern mindlessness!)