The lambanog-soaked farmer snored, lulled to sleep by the carabao’s
neck of the carabao pillowed the man’s head as he mumbled insults and

bed—which is why he was unable to avoid an undignified fall when the
carabao tripped on a tree root.

Covered in mud, he shook a fist at the carabao. “Watch where you’re
going! Worthless piece of… If you don’t shape up, I’m going to eat
lengua!” With that, he clambered back onto the carabao and nudged it
with his knees.

The carabao refused to budge.

He nudged it again, sharply. “Move! I’m going to give you a kick in
the behind if you don’t!”

The carabao took a few steps backward.

“Lazybones!” He jumped off with a muttered curse. The carabao munched
missed. Alcohol-addled senses may have failed to register the
carabao’s snort, but bruises showed the carabao had much better aim!

(In response to flashxer prompt “Motivation”: You want motivation?
Okay, okay. How about a kick in the behind if you don’t get it done?
Is that motivation enough, or do you need even more vigorous