There was once a woman whose father over the years had become an ox.
She would hear him alone at night lowing in his room.
It was one day when she looked up into his face that she suddenly noticed the ox.
She cried, you're an ox!
And he began to moo with his great pink tongue hanging out of his mouth.
He would stand over his newspaper, turning the pages with his tongue, while he evacuated on the rug.
When this was brought to his attention he would low with sorrow, and slowly climb the stairs to his room, and there spend the night in mournful lowing.
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