Zaragar the Pornographer

Zaragar lived on the edge of a city in the Kingdom of Sung, where bodybuilders exercised down the road somewhat. Bodybuilders, in the desolate north of the city, on a big square ground, paved with bricks. They lifted weights, did squats and push-ups, and various other programs, and looked massive. This was good for Zaragar. Women often hung around, and sought the tender charms of the bodybuilders night activity, for they were often dogs for want of a better word. Zaragar would visit them throughout the week, take his stool and his easel, and sit himself down early in the day, watch the bodybuilders, and when a suitable enough slut came round, get a firm picture of them in his head, and begin his erotic masterpiece for the week. The oafs would occasionally inspect his work, and they were often his best customers, but it was the seedy denizens of the city, of which numerous counts had put them at approximately the actual population of the city, which, at quiet moments of the day, would visit his ramshackle home, inspect the work, assess its pleasurable gain for their dull existences, and fork over the necessary coinage for the fresh wanking material. He made his living in this manner. However, his work was threatened one afternoon when 'Lady Jane' of the Watchtower emanated forth from her establishment, came to his painting place, and looked at the work at hand.

'How much?' she asked.

'This one is likely 50 coppers or so,' replied Zaragar.

'I wish to make this an example of the barbaric lusts of this city, and send it to the Watchtower congregations abroad, so they may know the sad state of affairs of morality in Sung.'

Zaragar looked her over. 'Watchtower?'

The woman nodded in response.

'While I invite admirers of my work,' stated Zaragar. 'I must say Sung has a way about it which is tolerant of this kind of activity. It is not to be questioned. The lust of the land is to be accepted, and those who would oppose the base instincts of men and women need to rethink their morals and scientifical understandings.'

'Bah,' replied the woman. 'The Grand Guardian maintains that such things are unbecoming Olo Malan society. We can do better,' but she was looking at the work as Zaragar continued painting. 'You seem to exaggerate the breasts,' she said. 'Women's breasts surely do not get so large.'

'My dear, in my time I have seen watermelons shag these dimwits. It is entirely accurate enough I assure you.'

'So you say,' she replied, examining the work.

'Why do you want to change us Watchtower?' said Zaragar, continuing his work, watching the bodybuilders. 'We like it this way. Surely your program should be to attract your own kind and form your social elite circle, but conversion is unnecessary. People don't want to change that much.'

'By the grace of the Grand Guardian, they do not know the cleanliness of a more holy lifestyle.'

'Tis the word bandied about these days by your kind,' said Zaragar. He looked at the woman. 'Seriously, I doubt this is how all that is operates. There is a Nexus or something which controls things, so I was taught in younger years. The Grand Guardian is merely a stooge of the Nexus. Of this I am sure.'

'So you say,' she replied. 'People use this material for illicit pleasures. Does that not bother you?'

'That is the whole point,' replied Zaragar.

'I see,' she said, examining the work. 'Fine. You have your way of life, and I see your point. Now sell me the damn work, and deliver it to my address on completion, and I shall announce to the congregation the sad state of Sung affairs.'

'As you wish,' sighed Zaragar. And thus a deal was done. After the work was delivered by a courier, Zaragar received a note from the lady. It read: 'Upon consideration, I shall respect your own feelings of Sung Society, and not use your work to promote an agenda you may not agree with. But I'll burn the work to show what I think of it.'

And Zaragar sighed. Nobody appreciated art any more.

The End