As if the stiff hot tension in the office wasn’t enough, what ten gallon-hat-wearing, chicken-wing-empire-building, ad-donkey-soul-bruising Texan do you think called me on the video phone today just as I was sitting down to enjoy a banana?

Alright, I admit it… the tension with Lisa in the office is one-sided. Truth is, I don’t think Lisa has one iota (what is that anyway?) of an idea that I, Donkey Pegasus, ever hoped or dreamed or cradled the possibility of our romance like I cradle Booby Muffin when she eats a spider. No, I’m sorry to report that all those early morning showers and dangerous flights to IKEA were all for nothing… except, I suppose, to reinforce what deep down I already knew: humans are great at disappointing you. Dr. Lynn says that means that Donkey Pegasus-es (don’t know the plural of this because there’s only one of me) are disappointable. When she said that, I told Dr. Lynn that was by far her dummest psycho-noticing ever. Anyhow…

“Donkey PP!” said Binkus, his big red mug slowly materializing, pixel by pixel, as the old dinosaur video conference monitor warmed from its slumber. “I’m gonna make this quick cause I’m gonna run out for some ribs and golf.”

“Good morning Mr. Binkus,” I said into the microphone. “You look like you’ve got a sunburn.”

“Well God damn it’s summer DP, the sun is a shining down upon us! Alright, let me get down to it. I got your latest proposal and I gotta tell you Donkey P, I’m getting closer to dipping my quill in the ink pot if you know what I mean.”

This is good. Good good good.

“But I was thinkin DP… I don’t really like the commercial you’re proposin. I want to do something bold. Something surprising and fresh and exciting. Something that people are going to talk about at the poultry counter or water cooler or whatever you kids say. So… what’s more exciting and fresh than a donkey that can fly? You DP, I want you to be in my commercial. It’ll be a way for you to make up for that time when you lied to me about eating chicken.”

“Sir, I did not lie.” Binkus’s face contorted on the monitor and looked straight at me, straight into my soul. “It wasn’t a total lie. I just didn’t want to hurt your feelings or make you think that I didn’t believe in Binkus Wings.”

Binkus’s face bloomed into a big Texas grin. “Well, then it’s redemption time DP. Listen here. I know you fancy San Fran ad folks like to start with a metaphor. So how about something along the lines of pigs flying? You know, I’ll try Binkus Wings when pigs fly. Well guess what, they do! But only, it’ll be you DP, and I’m not calling you a pig. I don’t know, I haven’t worked it all out. Hell, that’s your job! So write me up a little script when you get a chance and have it to me by tomorrow, and maybe just maybe you’ll have yourself a deal.”

Binkus, there in the monitor, pushed with all his might to raise his heavy body up from the chair. Then he leaned down so his big face was in the monitor, his red cheeks shining like oversized cherries, and waved, “Bye bye DP, wish me luck on the links!” and then his image slowly disintegrated into a static, snowy white.

Pigs will fly and Hell will freeze over before I schlep Binkus Wings in a 30-second national spot. No freaking way. I’m pretty sure. Probably not. Well, maybe.