He was a smile. The rest of him you could see through, no problem. But that smile shone so intensely that it provided a distraction from everything else that was missing.
My mother used to try and convince him to be a politician. My sister begged on her knees for him to give her head. I just needed somebody to help me find things.
I gave him the list of missing items. He looked it over quickly, then swallowed it whole with that magnificent, glowing mouth. “We’ll look for your sense of humor first,” he said.
It took six days in the jungle until we had any leads. He negotiated with birds so colorful they made crayons run and hide. He threatened enormous snakes, and when they didn’t cooperate he’d clench their jaws between his gleaming teeth and swing them around like weed whackers.
We finally stumbled upon the End of the Earth. A beautiful sight for sure, the red yolk of sun framing his levitating smile, bright upon bright. Hovering closer, he whispered “Look in your pants. The secret to humor is nestled softly down there.”
So we began the frightful journey back home. By law I was required to go without my trousers or underwear. To refuse would invalidate the rediscovery of comedy. He took hold of my shaft and used it to point us toward the highway.
In this way he guided us out of the jungle and home to my wife, where I proceeded to make love to her with all kinds of sarcastic thrusts. Orgasmic laughter all around. “I’m sure glad you followed that smile,” she later sighed, sweat dripping from her chin to her clavicle.