It’s time to wash the elephant. Not because she’s dirty—she had just been washed yesterday. And not because she has another show. Those days are obviously over. She has to be washed because she’s dead and causing an obscenity in the public street. Too much blood or something like that. Public officials have to lift her up to get her out—all four tons of her—but that will take at least 24 hours of planning and obtaining the right machinery. They can’t stand to let another child smell the iron in the air, so they’re hiring someone to wash her up. Some people are saying that the rampage happened because she always had an attitude problem. They’re saying she was given good circumstances. Not every elephant gets the chance to be applauded by a crowd full of American families for standing on two legs, they say. But then she just went crazy, kind of like people go crazy. Killed that kid, ran into the streets. Now she lies here with that party hat on, deformed and bulleted. It’s time to wash the ugly. Cover it up with soap and water and hope that the barbarity disappears beneath it.