Why the Wooden Indian Wouldn't

An average janitor on an average night goes about his chores. He sweeps, he cleans the windows, he dusts. As he runs his feather duster across the chest of a life-sized wooden Indian, the janitor observes just how human this hunk of carved wood is. He wonders aloud whether its sculptor crossed all of his ‘I's and dotted all of his “T”s. He lifts the Indian's loincloth to find that indeed, this chief is hung like a crazy horse. After getting a glimpse at the chief's tomahawk, our curious cleaner strikes up a conversation with the inanimate native, and much to his surprise, the statue responds.

Now, our janitor may not be the most stringent cleaner in the cupboard, but he’s pretty sure it’s not normal for a hunk of wood, not matter how anatomical, to make small talk. Industrial cleaners can pack a hallucinogenic punch, but a talking statue? To prove he’s real, the chief unzips the janitor’s coveralls and strokes his milky white chest. As if a chatty flirtation statue weren’t unbelievable enough, this one can also grant wishes. The janitor says that all he wants is money. And, poof! He’s got $100k. But once the green is in his fingers, our average janitor realizes that it’s not cash that he wants, it’s ass.

Randomly, the Indian breaks into a rain dance. It’s a fine dance, but the wooden Indian has forgotten to stretch. After a few rounds, he pulls a muscle and falls to the floor. Luckily, our janitor is a man with slow hands. He offers a massage and the wooden Indian reluctantly accepts. The janitor straddles the wooden Indian, who is now laying on his stomach. Both have completely disrobed. Despite warnings from the Indian, the janitor rams his throbbing member in the Indians wood knot. That’s when our janitor finds out exactly Why the Wooden Indian Wouldn’t. He's made of wood, and wood splinters. Ouch!