Vivian the Cow

Vivian the Cow


Now, once upon a time in faraway country somewhat shaped like the state of Michigan, although not entirely, there lived a cow by the name of Vivian, who was either a boy or a girl, as no one had really gotten about to finding out which, as Vivian lived completely alone by itself in a magical tower made of ebony. Why it was made of ebony, no one knows, but around the time it was made West Africa had just mysteriously floated up and attached itself to the Scandinavian peninsula.

Moving on with the story: One day the king, who was a rather fat man, rode upon a rather fat horse to hunt for rather fat rabbits (as they could not catch anything that moved faster than a rather fat rabbit, being rather fat themselves) when he chanced upon the tower of ebony and said to his lackey, “Lackey, I shall have that tower.”

Now, the lackey, being very skinny (as the king never fed him anything), decided to climb up the side of the tower, but to no avail–whenever he’d start cow dung would fall upon him and he’d be forced to start over. Eventually, the lackey gave up and told the king that it was impossible, and that cow dung was falling from the heaven.

“Cow dung?” the king asked. “Why, then, they must have a cow up there! And if they have a cow, they shall have milks, and most likely other supplies, too, because one doesn’t just keep around a cow for no good reason, and that means that we shall have to besiege the fort!”

And so the king summoned all his men, and they set about to besieging the fort.

Now, of course, the cow had no idea what was happening, and so was rather surprised when it looked out its window to see that there were hundreds of soldiers just standing around outside. So Vivian stuck its head out the window and said, “Excuse me, what are all of you doing outside my tower of ebony?”

Now, I don’t know about you, but, frankly, if a cow began talking to me, I’d most certainly run far, far away; and that is exactly what the soldiers did. They told their king what had happened when they got back to the castle, and he, thinking they were all a bunch of ‘fraidy cats, had them executed.

After the execution, he was rather tired, and decided he’d not want a tower of ebony anyway–it’d just end up in the attic, the queen told him. So, Vivian was saved, although it had no idea there was a threat in the first place, and lived happily ever after.

At least, until next time.


After living happily ever after, Vivian discovered something quite odd.

Eventually, everyone has to die. And when they do die, it’s usually not too pretty.

Vivian itself died of mad cow disease, which was certainly not the best way to go, and ended up in a Heaven of sorts.

Of course, as cows do not practice that inestimably silly religion known as Christianity, partially because cows had never even heard of one Jesus H. Christ, and partially because the cow was so busy minding its own business that it had failed to notice any one man being hung to a cross for saying, “Wouldn’t it be great if we could all get along?”, it first had to define what Heaven would look like.

“Well,” the cow said to nobody in particular, “I think there should be a great big ebony tower. And I should live in. Oh, and no one should ever die of mad cow disease.” So Vivian’s subconscious formed a version of Heaven that was not entirely unlike what life was like before it died, and lived happily ever after indefinitely.

Of course, this happiness was ended as soon as it realized eliminating mad cow disease from the face of the Earth meant that would be a whole lot more cows, and these cows would all need a place to stay.

Soon, they all decided that they, too, would very much like a great big ebony tower, and so laid siege to Vivian’s.

Vivian, once again, was quite surprised by all the cows outside of her window, and so cocked its head out and cried, “Oi! What’re yous doing down there?”

Now, as cows are quite accustomed to having other cows speak to them, they did not flee, and instead cried in unison: “We need a place to stay!”

Vivian, knowing that they would not leave until they had a place to stay, thought of a grand scheme.

It would open a boarding house and charge exorbitant fees; and, as its was the only boarding house in the whole of Heaven-that-looks-like-Denmark-but-really-isn’t, or what Vivian liked to call Denmark Pt. II, they would have no choice but to pay said fees, and the cow could make enormous profits.

And that is exactly what Vivian did.

So Vivian lived happily ever after–while all the other cows got completely screwed over.


After living for quite a long time in Denmark Pt. II, Vivian chanced upon something quite peculiar–an article from our time about gender identity. This got it thinking, “Am I boy, or a girl? I’ve actually never thought about it much. Maybe I should. H’m…” And so Vivian, our gender confused protagonist, left its Tower of Ebony, and started wandering around.

It came upon a rather old cow by the name of Rather Old Cow, also know as Roc, and asked of it: “Roc, am I a boy or a girl?”

Roc simply stared and said, “You know, I’ve never actually about that. We must go to the High Elder! He will tell us if you are a boy or girl.”

“Sounds good to me!” Vivian replied, and the two of them set off for the domain of Attic, ruled by a despotic bovine known as Bob, in search of the High Elder, also known as He-Cow, Master of the Mooniverse.

After several cow days of searching, they came upon a great big pointy stick the ground; and at the foot of the stick there was another rather old cow, also known as He-Cow.

“Hallo, Vivian. I’ve been expecting you,” He-Cow said.

“You were?”

“Of course not,” He-Cow replied. “I’m not psychic.”

Vivian laughed awkwardly and then explained its situation to He-Cow.

He-Cow stared at Vivian for a moment and finally announced, “You are a girl. Seeing as that is, would you like to go on a date Saturday night?”

So Vivian’s dilemma was finally solved, and she got a hot date for Saturday night.


Vivian’s date with that one guy turned out horrible.

It’s not because he was a bad date. On the contrary, it the best–albeit only–date Vivian had ever been on. No, the reason for Vivian’s dating nightmare was the colour lavender.

It swept upon them like a broom sweeps up sticky spaghetti off the kitchen floor. In other words, it did a really crappy job of sweeping up on them. After a few tries, though, the metaphorical spaghetti became a little drier and swept easily into the metaphorical dustpan.

Next thing Vivian remembers, she could no longer say the letter “U.” Her “tummy” because “tommy” and her metaphorical “blouse” became a metaphorical “blose.” Her “metaphorical” remained “metaphorical,” however, and for that she was grateful. Cows, believe it are not, do not look particularly pleasing in blouses. Of course, as Vivian was in cow heaven/Denmark 2.0, this basic law of fashionometry, known as the Dansken Principal (√Δb=ic, where Δb equals the change in blouse and c the philosophical meaning of the cow in question), did not hold much meaning. However, she had never worn a blouse before and she wasn’t about to start now.

Moving on….

Suddenly, as the letter U vanished from existence, Vivian knew that it could only mean one thing: The colour lavender had descended upon her fabulous Denmark 2.0 and threatened to destroy ever she held dear to her, including umbrellas.

With all her might, Vivian entered into cow Super Saiyan and destroyed the evil lavender, thus saving that fragile sandy peninsula once and for all.

Of course, this also meant that elephants could never be purple again, which made Vivian sad. “At least the zebras stay orange,” she consoled herself. “If they didn’t, I might be a wee bit upset.”

So Vivian lived happily ever after. Well, at any rate, she lived. But that event shall be saved for the next Vivian-related post.


A Preface

Before we start this tale, I must first remark on the utterly fantastical fact that Vivian was purple. Not just a regular purple–no, Vivian was a special piebald purple, although no one was quite sure whether or not she was purple with white splotches or white with purple splotches, or some odd combination of either, as these things tend to happen more often than not when you’re dead.

I would also like to thank the late Douglas Adams for inspiration for this parable.

Moving On…

Where were we? Oh, yes, I was about to start chapter five in this odd collection of…cow-related stories.

Now, as you know, Vivian was a cow, and a purple one at that, and she (or was it he?) lived in Denmark V2.0, also known as Heaven, also known as where cows go when they die.

As you also know, Vivian established a free-market economy in Heaven, thus dooming it to the same fate as Earth, and, to a lesser extent, Hell, and also creating an artificial demand for shoes. Not that cows needed shoes–they just thought they were rather pretty and enjoyed chewing on them, not realising that they were made out of their fallen comrades.

Anyway, to keep up with this artificial demand for shoes, Vivian started a chain of shoe stores known as Creepers&Thongs*. C&T was a huge sensation, and Vivian then moved onto a successful yoghurt franchise that employed the largely unemployed working-class minority cows.

However, because the demand for shoes was still high, Vivian took a risky gamble and decided to sell her yoghurt franchise to Ingrid Heifersdóttir and expand C&T. This turned out to be rather wise, as later that day Vivian let slip that yoghurt was a dairy product made by allowing milk to ferment. The yoghurt industry then fell apart and all the minority cows became, once again, unemployed.

Unemployed and depressed, the cows decided to spend their last kroner on shoes, thus increasing the supply for shoes.

C&T expanded more and, unsurprisingly, it became economically infeasible to build anything but shoestores, and the economy of Denmark V2.0 went crumbling, much like that of Frogstar World B.

Vivian, to protect her honour, committed ritualistic suicide**, thus saving face and making it all the way to Denmark V3.0 all at the same time.

At about the same time, the minority cows staged a revolt and imposed severe trade limitations on the shoe industry, thus making it viable to sustain life in Denmark V2.0.

The very next day, there was a wake for Vivian. No one showed up but a rather cross Iguana by the name of Torvald who wanted to know when the film was starting.

*The sandals, you pervert.

**I’m betting you’re wondering how the mechanics of this work, aren’t you?


In a far away kingdom, there lived a princess by the name of Paprika, who, for some reason, was actually respected as an equal during medieval times and who was physically capable of doing things most men couldn’t–and, no, I’m not talking about regular things like going pee sitting down or going through menopause. You see, Paprika could fly! And also she could do taxes really goodly, but more importantly SHE COULD FLY!

And so Paprika flew off into the wind and beat the crap out of some mystical dragon that popped out of nowhere which really wasn’t that mystical or even a dragon. In reality, it was actually two hosers dressed up to look like a dragon because, you know, they were hosers.

Then the citizens of the far away kingdom got pretty pissed off, because those two hosers were supposed to bring the ice cream to the annual FAK Festival to Celebrate Far-Away-Y-Ness. They stormed the castle, and Paprika was forced to fly to her fortress of solitude within the aptly named Death Mountain, so called because of its luscious panorama of  the Fakian countryside as seen from Suicide Peak.

There she prayed to the almighty Vivianus, Goddess the of Cattle, for three days and two nights (she had to sleep some time, right?) as the citizens got slowly closer. On the morning of the fourth day, her prayers were answered, and a great moo resounded throughout the fortress.

“What the heck was that?” Paprika cried.

“It is I, Vivian the Great! I will help you strike down your enemies!” the cow goddess said.


And so the two of them left the fortress, only to discover that in her absence, Fakka had become an Utopian Republic, filled with knowledge and kindness and a large amount of cheese cake that had been tainted with Paprika’s private hashish stores.

“How can this be?” Paprika mumbled, stunned. “They have decided to government themselves? Preposterous! Vivian, O Mighty One, you must strike them down for their impudence!”

Vivian pondered this for a second. “Okay.”



Vivian, swayed by Paprika’s strong words, decided to angrily smite all of those that had gone democratising this great nation of Fakka, and thusly ruled the heavens to reign down upon Earth, flinging fyre and Brimstone down on the nonbelievers. All in all, it was pretty awesome.

Of course, even girl cows get the blues, and Vivian soon was exhausted from all the smiting she’d been doing. She lay down in a field, commanding Paprika to watch over her while she slept.

Paprika said, “Okeley-dokeley,” but soon she feel asleep, too.

Meanwhile, in the reeds a few yards away the Rebel Commander Cinnamon and his troupe of Allspician freedom fighters were conversing on the best way to take them out both at the same time.

“Ve must use zie rocket launcher!” Steve said.

“Nein,” answered Cinnamon.

“But ve only habe one rocket launcher…”

“It is German for no, you idiot!” he cried, backhanding Steve across zie face. “Fire zie missiles!”

In a thoroughly Apocalypse Nowish fashion, missiles flew out of nowhere, completely obliterating Paprika. Of course, it’s a bit harder to kill a Goddess, and Vivian awoke with a start.

“Huh? What was that?” she said, looking into the reeds. “Oh, hello there…are you the pizza delivery man?”

“No. Ve are zie schnitzel men, ja! Zat ist it!”

“Huh…I’ve never actually tried schnitzel, but, you know, they don’t sound too bad…Besides, it’s not like you’re all actually Fakkian freedom fighters posing as schnitzel men to poison me!”

“Ve are not? OH! Vait, yeah, ve are not. Do like listen to zat man, Schteve,” Cinnamon said, pointing at his second in command.

“Uh…here are you schnitzels, ja!” Steve said, handing Vivian a lit stick of dynamite.

“This doesn’t look appetising…Oh well!” She swallowed the stick of dynamite whole. There was a muted explosion. She burped. “Ah…a bit spicier than I’d expected. Any more have you?”

Cinnamon and Steve exchanged nervous glances.

“Run away!”

That was the end of the resistance movement, and the so-called rightful government was restored by the end of the week, with Paprika’s nephew Cardamom taking place as the new monarch. Asides from this, the only lasting change the failed revolution left was that the economy received a huge boost due to the large amount of dynamite sold to the neighbouring cows of Denmarkthree.


10 thoughts on “Vivian the Cow

  1. Wow. What a ridiculously hilariously cow-centered story. By the way, cows are female. Bulls are male. Cattle is the species. By the other way, what color was Vivian after the U was abolished?

  2. Pssst.



    Good. I think I’ve gotten your attention now. If not, then I’ll pelt some invisible teddy bears at you as soon as I finish typing this.


    I had to pick an ancient post in case of a certain Head Phil loitering around, so I hope he doesn’t see this comment. (I also hope you receive email notifications when comments arrive, or else I’m doomed.)

    Would you care to join the email chain where several bloggers, including myself, are writing a short story to commemorate a certain Bach (or is it Beethoven?) loving person’s 600+ follower count?

    If so, I’d need your email. Fear not, I’m not asking you to post it here. Just shoot an email to:
    if you’d like to join in on the fun.

    – Seana

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