Ross Blanchard

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No One’s Cow

by Ross Blanchard

A cowboy and a cowgirl sit on their horses at the edge of a pasture. It’s sunny, quiet. Slight breeze. A herd of cattle graze contentedly. Under the shade of a lone tree, atop a small knoll, off to the side of the pasture a bull is mounting a cow. The bull struggles clumsily. Its scrotum sways and bobs as the bull maneuvers. The business end of the bull’s bullness is obscured from view. The cow steadies herself under the bull’s weight. Her head is turned to one side, looking back. Her expression is patient yet asks, “Is it in yet?”

The cowboy and the cowgirl observe in stoic silence. Their horses look on, too, unimpressed.

Finally, the cowboy leans slowly toward the cowgirl and says in a low drawl, “Ya know, I’d sure like to do that. Whaddaya say?”

The cowgirl remains looking straight ahead at the herd and the bull now humping away on top of the cow.

“Well,” says the cowgirl, pulling out an Oklahoma Pink Lady cigarette from her buckskin cigarette pouch and lighting it. “Go right ahead. It’s your cow.”


The camera pulls back to an eight-year-old boy watching the advertisement on the screen of a small electronic device. He and a younger boy, both with similar devices, are pajamaed and in adjacent beds in the dark room. Their faces glow bluish-gray reflecting the flicker of thousands of light emitting diodes. Their eyes are wide and intent on their respective video games. The only relief is in the occasional commercial interruption at which time they blink, rub their eyes, and reset their stance in anticipation for the next challenge.

“Billy,” says the younger boy, clicking away at his game and not taking his eyes off of the screen, “My boy salmon won’t jizz on the girl salmon’s eggs.”

No response.

“Billy. Billy. I can’t figure it out,” he pleads.

Billy, clicking intently, tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth exclaims to himself, “Yes! My T-Rex jizzed all up in that Brontosaurus. Yes. Three thousand points for knocking up a dino!”

“I knocked up a dino, too.” Says the younger boy. “My T-Mex did it.”

“T-REX, not T-Mex. And no you didn’t,” says Billy. “You only have ‘McJizzle, The Game, EBF: External Broadcast Fertilization Edition.’  You can only jizz on things not in things cuz you’re only five.”

“Nuh-uh,” says the younger boy.

“Yeah-huh,” says Billy, holding up his device to show the younger boy his screen. “‘McJizzle, The Game: Let’s Copulate’ features full non-mammal insemination, so I get reptiles, insects, arthropods...”

“Nuh-uh,” says the younger boy, pouting.

“You don’t know,” says Billy. Then he sighs, puts down his device and moves next to his brother. Their faces glow together on one screen.

“See,” says Billy, now with compassion in his voice, “all you need to do is do an H and J Control Shift and the boy salmon will jizz all over the girl salmon’s eggs. There.”

“I did it. I jizzed,” says the younger boy, beaming.

“I want a hamburger,” Billy remarks to himself as he returns to his own bed.

The camera retreats from the two brothers to the doorway of the bedroom where an attractive, thirty-something, blonde woman quietly watches her sons, a gentle smile on her lovely face. She tilts her head and rests it gently against the door frame, wisps of her golden hair softly touch her cheek. The camera pulls back further then pans downward following the satin strap of the mother’s nightgown past her shoulder, traces the gentle bumps of her spine to the small of her bare back and pauses just below the waistband of her black, lace thong. Her taut posterior resembles an ample bosom, framed by the soft ivory fabric of the mother’s nightgown.

Across the satiny material, just below the butt cleavage, text appears and reads: “MILFy Moms Get More McJizzle.”

And below that flashes in red: “Tuesdays are MILF night. Come on down. Bring the kiddos.”


“Dang,” exclaims the fat man who is crammed into the little car, the bottom of the steering wheel cutting into his belly. He’s sweating in the summer heat. The car’s windows are down.  He has pulled over to watch the ad through the passenger’s window and through the pasture fence. He looks at the girl in the seat next to him, a slight, freckled woman, braless in a white tank top, slouching over to dig through her purse, then he looks back to the image of the thong and the MILFy ass/rack which is fading out and into another advertisement.

Flies buzz around the screen displaying the ad, which is installed in the side of a grazing cow, set securely into its ribcage, the edges stapled to the cow’s hide and the corners of the device riveted to rib bones. The vibrant, flickering ads outshine the sun’s brightness and are framed by half-healed flesh, crawling with flies. The other cattle, littering the pasture, are similarly bedazzled.

“Eat my ass at McJizzles,” the new ad flashes to the fat man from the cow’s right flank. The fat man watches a cartooney depiction of beef being processed from slaughter to plate until the cow turns and the festering display is no longer visible.

The fat man scans the pasture and spots the cowboy and cowgirl in the distance. He follows their gaze to the small knoll, to the lone tree, and to the bull and cow. Even from that distance the fat man recognizes the iconic “McJ” logo illuminated on the bull’s display screen. The flashing “McJ,” “McJ,” “McJ” keeps time with the bull’s awkward thrusts. And although the cow’s display screen has been dislodged somewhat from the opening cut into her side, the fat man can still read the familiar slogan “Get Jizzy With It.”

The fat man nudges the girl and points to the carnal scene. The other cattle are taking notice now, too, admiring the bull’s stamina and perseverance.

“Hey, look at that,” says the fat man.

The woman looks up, squints.

“I’m getting ideas here,” he says. “I wouldn’t mind doing that, too.”

“What do I care,” says the girl, turning her attention back to her purse as she searches for a Oklahoma Pink Lady cigarette. “It’s not my fucking cow.”

The camera pans from the woman to the fat man, who returns his attention to the road ahead. Above his head an animated thought bubble appears, inside it an enormous dancing hamburger.