Once upon a time, and a very good time it was, there was a moocow coming down along the road. She was stately and plump, with a tan hide the color of a doe and big splotches of white, as if someone had spilled paint across her ample back.
Flecks of pizza and marinara sauce clung to her thick cow lips. She loved Sinatra and Springsteen, and she didn’t know how to pump her own gas.
She was a Jersey cow.
