Warning: There is material in that piece that might be construed as humor. For those of you who no longer recall what that is, you may look here.

I called a meeting of the Bedlam Farm Animals Association today.

They were up in arms about reports that I had hidden the fact that I had an affair with the film star Stormy Daniels a few years ago, and was trying to hide the fact. And they demanded to know if I had hidden Maria away somewhere to keep her quiet and from trashing me on her blog.

I told them flat out and without reservation, that contrary to social media and other reports, I did NOT have an affair with that woman, Stormy Daniels! Nor have I initiated, signed, or participated in any kind of “Hush Agreement!”

That is “fake news,” I said, puffing myself up and standing on the other side of the gate. I knew animals had great intuition, they can smell lies and nervousness, and so,  I was….well…nervous.

The animals were agitated, baaahing and braying with curiosity and even outrage. There are a lot of tough women on Bedlam Farm. They don’t generally like men.  Lulu was the first to speak up.

“Why are you denying something so obviously true?,” she asked me, breathing contempt through the snowfall. She said the Hysteria website said that I sent Red on a secret mission to buy off Stormy with a rum barrel attached around his neck stuffed with thousands of dollars in royalty checks! Is this true?,” she demanded.

Lulu has always had a mind of her own.

“Furthermore,” demanded Zelda, who can also be quite tough,  “we hear that you not only had an affair with this person – you were said to have met her at a wool festival while Red was demonstrating some sheepherding, and you were skirting the wool. And that this affair happened at a $50 motel in Troy, N.Y., called the Low Road.”

“What?, sneered Liam, our petulant wether, “no bungalow at the Beverly Hills Hotel?”

Fanny sort of winked. “You bad boy, you, you seem like such a wuss!!”

I held up my arms and called for silence. Most of the sheep were already silent, but that is typical of sheep. in fact, that’s why they are sheep. I know I could handle this, even though the scandal seemed to be getting out of hand. After all, these are just animals, yes? But I was anxious, looking out at this crowd.

Suzy chimed in, “is is true that you are trying silence Stormy and keep her from telling the story of your relationship, something you never disclosed on your so-called “open” blog?”

Flo the Barn Cat hissed.

“Does this explain why you have not been coming out to the pasture with Maria the past two weeks? Is she pissed off?  Is she protesting your infidelity by making conventional potholders? She gave us some story about your having pneumonia, the poor girl is shoveling snow from dawn to dusk. You look pretty healthy to me.  We read your blog every day and you seem to have been gassing off as usual. What’s the real story?,” she demanded. “What have you done with Maria? Is she leaving you? Are you trying to silence her too?”

Gus barked and came up to the fence. “So, tell us what she was like, eh?” He winked at me, paused to eat some rabbit pellets, threw up,  and jumped up on the fence post, “Are those breasts real?” he asked.”Dish!”

I blushed, and was embarrassed. “You deserve to be on me.too for that,” I said, sternly. “I don’t judge women by the size of their breasts. I will say that you would love it up there, I can see you taking a nap there, it would be soft and warm I imagine, just like you like. Oh, I can picture  you dozing up there,  you flirt, you rascal…”

It got worse before it got better. In fact, it never did get better. Minnie stood up on her three legs, speaking up, which she rarely did. “Are the media reports true? Were you listed on a “Hush Agreement” as JON D.Katz a/k/a MANDINGO HUNG?

I got a little flustered, “I don’t have to argue with a fake barn cat.  You probably don’t even exist!: But I got no laughs. Can I help the fact that so many women consider me a sex slave? What can you do?

I remembered where I was, and recovered, I said this kind of talk – Gus, etc. –  was inappropriate, I never colluded, physically or mentally, with Stormy Daniels.  Lulu was shaking her head in disgust, at both of us. Zelda would almost certainly knock me over later.

“Oh,”  Red chimed in, “Jon may be crazy and difficult at times, and lie through his teeth, but he is just a rebel trying to break up the Big State…he should tell you about the time at the Low Road…”

I held up my hand, “okay, Big Boy!, thanks..take it easy…down!” Red lay down.

“What about Red?,” asked Fanny. “Did he carry those royalty checks to Stormy?”

Red stood up and faced down the donkeys and the sheep. “First of all,” he said, ” it is a great privilege to be Jon’s herding dog and therapy dog. I admire him and support him in every possible way.  I have never suggested that Muslim-Americans be transported to Mars, or that I have to right to sniff the private parts of any women I wish, being a famous dog gets you that, sometimes…and if I did say any of those things, I shouldn’t have and didn’t really mean them, mostly…”

I gave  him a warning glance, but he went on…”I did bring an empty barrel of rum to Stormy Daniels, but I cannot discuss the contents, Jon knew nothing about it, it was something I did on my own, and I don’t wish to talk about it. Jon is perfect he would never do anything wrong. I will love him to the end, he may be the greatest writer who ever lived and it is a privilege to breathe the air he breathes…”

(I whispered “easy,” to him, “don’t over due it,” and he looked stricken. “Did I fall you?, he murmured. “No,” i whispered back, you made your point.”

Lulu spoke up: “We can hear you! We are donkeys! Duh! We hear everything.”

Thanks, Red, I said, regaining my composure, ” you  are nothing but loyal, and that is important to me. I wish to say something else, the idea that I could pay off someone like Stormy Daniels in royalty checks to  buy her silence is just ludicrous. “And I can prove it.”

I took out the royalty statements  my agent sends me each February for tax purposes, and I held it up for all the animals to see for themselves.

Suzy’s fur almost turned white, there were gasps of shock and horror.”Lord,” said Lulu, “will we have enough hay for the winter?”

“Yes,” I said,” I will always take care of you.” This, I thought smugly, was real, heartwarming news. Why didn’t they write that? Once, I believed the animals would support me if I murdered somebody on Main Street. Maybe not any more.

“So,” asked Fate, her blue eye shining brightly, as she turned towards Red and asked quickly, “Red, what was in the barrel you brought to Stormy Daniels?”

Before I could stop him – Fate is too smart for her own good – Red, who is without guile,  blurted out, “oh, he filled the drum with old glowing reviews of books he wrote years ago when he was a New York TImes Bestseller. That’s when she broke it off, I think she was expecting money, or at least a weekly appearance on the blog.”

“Red,” I shouted quickly, “Come Bye!” and he took off like a rocket and went on one of his giant outruns towards Vermont. He’d be back in a half hour or so.

One last question from Zelda, who was looking more and more disgusted with each passing minute. “Is it true that you are so dumb that  you forgot to sign  your own “Hush Agreement”, and Stormy is now suing you to speak openly about your affair? What mountaintop will you run to then?”

I said that was enough questions. I DENY EVERYTHING!,” I shouted. “I DID NOT HAVE AN AFFAIR WITH THAT WOMAN!”, I said as forcefully as I could and turned walk back to the farmhouse, derisive hee-haws and baaaaahs and heard the cheers: “Free Stormy!, Free Maria! Free Stormy! Free Maria! Free Stormy!”

__

Brief note, end of humor, sort of. I have been reading about Stormy Daniels a lot, I love this story, I eat up every word. I like Stormy Daniels. She brightens every single of my days. I believe that is honest and direct about who she is, an ethical working woman trying to make her way. She will not be bullied or intimidated. She has a right to tell her story, especially the part I am most living for, when she spanks Donald J. Trump/a.k.a. David Dennison on his bare rump  with a magazine in a bungalow at the very posh Beverly Hills Hotel. Is this my business? No, absolutely not.

Soon, there will be no more need for fiction, no writer could make this up.  I suggest that Stormy  just go and post to me.too. That is working for many women.