The Impotent Satyr
I'd just sat down, and was in the middle of untethering a couple horses, when I heard a splosh next to me, followed by an unprovoked rant on vaccines and how they don't cause autism.
"The government has been trying to silence these anti-vaxxers for a while now," he said, panting, recovering his breath, "only, they're knocking the feet out from under these misguided renegades for an ulterior motive."
At this point, the horses were shy, giving only meager whinnies, and were unwilling to leap abound in the pasture before them.
"Aliens have been sending us warnings, man, and vaccines block out those warnings because the Free Masons want to keep control through Alex Trebek's soft, caring eyes convincing American citizens to apply HeadOn directly to the forehead daily!"
With some aggressive coaxing and channeling of my long-dead ancestors, I managed to convince a pony, the runt of the litter, to break free and enjoy the meadow.
"I haven't had a vaccine since I was twelve, and I'm starting to hear their voices again. They tell me that the Area-51 invasion is just a ruse that'll result in mass mind control!"
I braced myself against the stall walls, for I could feel a Clydesdale prodding the gate.
"The Naruto runners won't stand a chance against government-issued anime tiddies containing subliminal messages within the areolae."
It bucked, and I buckled. It wasn't my strongest moment, but in the end, I walked out of that stall accomplished, and with an oddly curious desire to clap some alien cheeks. Startled by my own hungry thoughts, I looked back at the man's still-closed stall.
"I've done it, Zepporagh, I've incepted another one. Your loyalty grows here on Earth."
I left the bathroom and got as many vaccines as threatening to headbutt the 30-year-old Target employee working the pharmacy can get you.