On my way to work this morning I saw a severed leg caught in a storm drain. It wore a dirty high-top Reebok with a striped white sport sock and a tattered acid-washed GWG jeans leg. I regret to say that my first impulse was to sing, "Here it comes again... the leg with the bright white sport sock!" Then, suddenly aware of the small crowd that had gathered around me to stare at the leg, I sang "Metal Queeeeen!" to cover up and pretend that I was just singing a selection of vintage Canadian HRS (Hard Rockin' Shit), but the damage was already done. A young woman in a lemon-yellow sweatshirt and pushing a baby carriage glanced reproachfully at me. An elderly couple shook their heads and I distinctly heard the man mutter something about the insensitivity of the young people these days. So I picked up the leg and cried "There you are! When will you stop wandering off?" Several people turned their heads, clearly appalled. The old couple stared in what I believe to have been utter horror. "Look at you people!" I cried. "Hypocrites all, unable to face the truth - that a man might love a limb and live with it in harmony!" I brushed some dirt and twigs off the leg. "You've gotten all patchy and bloated," I cooed. "We're gonna have to get you home and put you back with all the other limbs, where you belong".

I realized, though, that I had an urgent meeting at work with the marketing director and the CEO of my company, and to turn around for home would constitute a serious blow to my professional reputation and indeed, might endander my very job. I brushed off the leg, tucked it under my arm and continued along, tipping an imaginary hat to the old couple as I passed by. The episode, as brief as it was, had already put me disastrously behind schedule, and my efforts at a brisk pace were severly hampered by the leg's weight and bulk. I deduced from its length, musculature and choice of garb that this was a man's leg, and that it had done a lot of running in its day, or kicking, or something. Whatever. It wasn't helping me now. I hoisted the leg over my shoulders and ran like hell, my neck chafing from the acid wash denim.

Despite my sprinting, which left me breathless and covered in a fine sweat, I arrived late nonetheless. Hawkins, my CEO, fixed me with a look like daggers. "Oh, Mr. Node! How kind of you to drop by. We were all just waiting for you to give your presentation, weren't we?" I looked at the collection of glum and supercilious faces, all placed carefully on identical collars and suit jackets, and blanched inwardly. Already it seemed that there was nothing for me in this life but my cowboy hat, my DVD collection and my new friend Leg. Looking back, I understand that this was a pivotal moment in my relationship with the world, but at the time it seemed only that I had realized that none of this heads-on-suits could ever hope to have as much in common with me as this leg. This dear, sweet, severed, heavy-metal Leg.

"Mr. Node!" Hawkins called out, breaking through my distracted reverie, "Please feel free to keep us waiting for as long as you like. We don't need to see your presentation today, do we?"

At that moment I realized that I had left my attach� case by the storm drain where I had first found Leg. My lungs and stomach seemed to collapse. My own legs, previously so strong, began to buckle, but I recovered in time and flashed my broadest, whitest and most insincere smile.

"Forgive me, Mr. Hawkins. Colleagues". I nodded briskly at the assembly and took a deep, calming breath. "I assure you that your precious time will not be wasted. Indeed, I hold the bright and prosperous future of our company in our hands. Gentlemen. Ladies. I give you... Leg of Hick".

I threw the leg on the table and stepped back, apprehensive lest my bold gambit fail. The leg made a slight squelching noise as it hit the oak tabletop. A curious quiet descended upon the meeting. People shot cautious glances at each other. Then, slowly and deliberately, Hawkins rose from his chair and began to clap. First just the sound of his measured applause echoing in the boardroom, then a pitter-patter like the first drops of rain, and then the storm of applause broke. The entire meeting stood and applauded my foresight, my audacity, my boxless thinking. They were applauding me and Leg, and we bathed in it.

At the reception afterwards several members of the company came up and shook my hand. As the evening wore on Hawkins beckoned me from a corner. The President and Board of Directors were standing around, smoking Monte Cristos and sipping scotches and soda. Hawkins put his arm around my shoulder and said, "There you are, Mr. Node! The man of the hour. The boys have been talking about you," he whispered with a conspiratorial wink. "So! How's that office of yours? A little cramped? Because I was thinking -"

"Hawkins," I said. "You don't need to think. 'Cause I quit". Gently but firmly I pushed his arm off my shoulder and walked away.

"But you can't quit!" he shouted. "You came up with the plan to save this company's bacon!"

I turned around and spread my arms wide. "Don't you get it, Hawkins? It's not about bacon. It was never about the bacon. It's about respect".

"What about your leg?"

"You can keep it. I've got my own". I strode out into the night, thinking how happy I was to be jobless and broke, trusting in the inevitable triumph of the human spirit.

WARNING: Not true.

parode - exode