“I don’t want to blow my own trumpet,” said the horse, “but I think my presence adds a touch of class to this bar.”
“That’s fascinating,” said the trumpet. “I hope they serve food. I could eat a horse.”
“It’s nice to get out of the cold,” said the crumpet. “It’s as warm as toast in here.”
This rather inane conversation continued. They ordered drinks and then several more.
Suddenly a systemically ethnocentric pink highwayman cowboy entered the bar flashing his pistol. “Hands up!” he shouted. “This is a holdup! Hands up!”
The trumpet, the crumpet, and the horse stared at one another in disbelief.
“Yet another systemically ethnocentric pink highwayman cowboy,” declared the horse. “Don’t you get sick of everyone thinking all drunks in a bar are the same? We’re not clocks. We don’t have hands.”
“Let’s gallop out of here,” said the trumpet. There were overtones of despicableness in his voice.
They began to trot out despite the dangerous pistol being pointed. The crumpet tarried. To be honest she was rather attracted to the systemically ethnocentric pink highwayman cowboy. In fact, it is possible the charms of the crumpet saved everyone in the bar from getting shot.
“Thank you, Crumpet!” everyone shouted (except for one German visitor who shouted out “Danke schön, Crumpet”, and a systemically ethnocentric aquamarine silicon valley CEO who shouted “Nothing beats a bit of crumpet”).
Outside, the trumpet commented that he thought the crumpet had hit the right note. He leapt onto the horse, and together they cantered off into the sunset.
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