Gravity Boots

I want a pair of gravity boots of my very own.

I don't even know what gravity boots are, but I want a pair, so that I can wear them in the street and tell people who walk by, "Look! I have gravity boots!" And they will be amazed, and fall down and weep and bang their heads on the pavement, wailing, "Truly you are a king among men, for you have gravity boots, and I do not! Where can I get some gravity boots for myself?"

And I will say, "Nowhere, for they are sold out."

And they will say, "We cannot go on, we must go home and strangle ourselves."

And I will way, "Yes, do that, for now that I have gravity boots, I have come to realise the essential meaninglessness of human existence, and I see now that suicide is a valid and reasonable response to the problems of the world. For when you possess a pair of gravity boots of your very own, you come to acquire a terrible, beautiful clarity."

And they will say, "My God you are wonderful."

And I will stride down the road in my gravity boots, and I will stop at a roadside stall, and buy some gravy to pour into my gravity boots, for truly, my gravity boots will be the kind that run on gravy, and I will set my gravity boots to "stun", and I will go hunting for foxes, for to claim their tails and collect the bounty. I will become the wealthiest, most powerful fox hunter in the nation, and the gravy will flow, thick and rich and brown, and I will laugh imperiously and invite beautiful professional tennis players into my bedroom. And all because of my gravity boots.

And then one day, I will be lying in my hammock on the lawn, reading a magazine, when a great hulking brute of a man will come up to me, and say, "Are those your gravity boots?" And I will smile quietly and say, "Yes, yes they are." And he will bend over and insert his little finger into my right ear, and kiss me lovingly on the head, and then, and only then, will things be right.

Thank God for my gravity boots.