The phone rings. He looks at caller ID and sees it’s his friend Alex. “Hi, how are things, Al?” “Fine with me. I wanted to check with you about a rumor that’s circulating that you’re the guy who bought that da Vinci for $450 million.” “Wow! Word sure travels fast, and I wanted to keep that info under wraps.” “So much for privacy. Why’d you do it?” “Impulse. Pure impulse. I had a $500 million dollar bill in my wallet, and I just had to have it. Told the auctioneer to keep the change!” “Enjoy your masterpiece, Baron von Münchausen.” |
This week, the UK Supreme Court ruled that the Scottish Government's plans to introduce minimum pricing for alcohol was legal. Imagine if... They've not been in bed long when he leans across. She knows what he wants.
"That'll be fifty pounds," she says. "Minimum pricing, remember? New legislation – whoever asks has to pay at least fifty pounds." "But we're married, for goodness' sake!" "Doesn't matter. Government says it makes sure one partner never takes the other for granted." Handing over the money, he grumbles, "Political correctness gone mad." "Nevertheless, no money, no me." "Couldn't we just agree to ask each other in turn and pass the money back and forth?" "No. I'm saving for a new car." Smiling, she reaches for him. My knees crunch and my back sends a little jolt of pain up my spine. Just a friendly reminder that I will soon be 70. My devilish cat, always on the lookout for mischief, decides to walk slowly in front of me an then stop short. Now we do the cat dance--I try not to step on him- I do a little shuffle and hop, hoping to clear his languid body. This is the thanks I get for all that tuna? Next time I may just step on his fat tail!
The police appealed for information after the “hit and run” incident. A man delivered to hospital with cuts and bruises claimed he had been knocked down near the bird sanctuary. The perpetrator failed to stop at the scene.
The police issued a description of the suspect. He is thought to be white, about 1.5 metres in height and portly with a waddling gait. The police also said the suspect could be wearing a ring on his left leg and warned the public not to approach him. “Mute swans can be very aggressive, especially big cobs like this one”, they said. The abandoned Brioche lies lonely and half eaten on the train to Exmouth. It’s only friends are the Pepperami wrapper and the grains of sand that have fallen from a tourist’s bucket and spade. The Brioche looks around, paralysed, contemplating its short-lived life when it spots her.
She is gnarled, clothed in a shiny poncho of blue plastic with a cap to match. In one hand, a mop. In the other: The Sponge. Rumours have spread viciously of her manipulation of the Mop and Sponge, together scrubbing away the fallen, sweeping their prey from existence. Their next target: The Brioche He drove to the end of a street which did not exist forty years earlier, when he was a boy.
Then it had been a field. He had trekked through it countless times, willing to risk a scolding for the thrill of reaching the creek just beyond. More than anything else in all his life, playing in that creek — wading in the cool water, jumping from rock to rock, finding crawdads — had made him feel connected to the earth. Now he got out of his car and looked around to get his bearings. There was no sign of the creek. In a foggy December morning, Ranjit Mitra, MD a heart-specialist in US was driving to his hospital. A day-long surgery was scheduled to reconfigure a young man’s abnormal heart. Suddenly, a little school boy carrying a blue backpack while holding his dad’s hand appeared at distant. Dr. Mitra realized that he had been drifting into memory. In his childhood in Calcutta, he used to walk with his dad through winter fog to catch a British-era trolley to go to school. Suddenly, his car-phone rang bringing the deep voice of his elder brother.
“Dad just expired after suffering a massive heart-attack.” "It's been many years Graham. I won't ask how you are. I can see."
Graham was huddled in a shop doorway with a damp sleeping bag, crippled with arthritis and Seelenmord (death of the soul). He stared at the woman in the wheelchair. It was Mary. He had caused her injuries and killed her friend, driving carelessly whilst drunk. It was such a long time ago and yet only seconds, the scene constantly replaying in his tortured mind. Only cans of Special Brew could briefly wipe the pain away. No, I've never left that terrible day behind," said Graham sadly. My husband and I used to write little messages on sticky notes and hide them around the house. “I love you” in the dresser. “Good luck at work” on the bathroom mirror. I gave each note a quick kiss before crumpling them up and tossing them in the trash. There’d always be more tomorrow.
A month before our sixth anniversary, my husband fell from a thirty-foot ladder. A spiderweb chiseled his x-rayed skull. Now he gurgles and swings his arms in aimless circles as I dress him for bed. Eyes glazed and vacant. I wish I had kept those notes. In minus 40 degrees they’d hacked a 9″ deep trench in the frozen ground.
They waited. “Tanks!” shouts Schmidt. An explosion knocks out the anti-tank gun behind. All except Müller and Schmidt panic and run. They are mown down by the T-34s’ machine guns, their blood reddening the snow. Those who stand and surrender meet the same fate. The monsters screech over the trench and trundle onwards. Safe! They hear an engine reversing. The tank draws parallel and drives aslant, one track passing along the trench. Hearing the crunching of bones, they can expect no mercy on the Eastern Front. Ted smiled as he walked slowly through the woods on a November afternoon. The chill in the air was noticeable, but not yet uncomfortable. A blanket of colors appeared around him, from the leaves on the trees and on the ground. Many animals chirped and sounded from all directions, taking Ted directly into nature. His solitude on the path was a welcome escape from the craziness of life, yet he knew that turning around would return him to reality in moments. This path had become his personal journey into an environment in which he could savor the beauty of autumn.
“Darling”, Patsy looked up, “On the first hand, Ahjit, I love you. On another hand it’s against policy for us to “fraternize.”
On another hand THEY sent us on four tropical site-surveys! However, on another hand I’m three weeks late for a “visit” from Auntie.” “Missing your---Ohhhh.” Missing Aunties and surprise babies. Masterpiece Theatre. Patsy and Ahjit were incompatible by religion, culture and Corporate HR. On another hand “WOW, WHO KNEW SEX WAS SO GLORIOUS!" “AHA! Vishnu, the four-handed god! Marry me, dear Patsy and everything will be perfect when our little baby arrives in the fall, GLORIOUS! That Friday night, Scheherazade rose to tell the king another tale. As on the previous Friday, she spun a story so wonderfully beguiling that the king hung on every word. Her story might be an adventure, a romance, or an amusing anecdote that made the king roar with laughter.
But 100 words doesn't last long, even at half speed. Each week, Scheherazade would end her tale and the king wasn't satisfied. "OK, then," she said, "it's sex you want." "Of course," he said. 'It's Friday. It's what you want, too. I don't know why you insist on this storytelling nonsense." Two injured clocks were lying on the clock-maker’s table, unattended. They were trying to alleviate pain by sharing each other’s experience. The one said, “That sinister evening, my master came back from hospital with a gloomy face.
Suddenly, he hurled a flower vase at me yelling, ‘Let me slow down your bloody sound, you devil.’ The other grumbled, 'My owner cared very much for me, but as he heard his wedding had been postponed for three months, he frowned at me and bawled ‘Blast! Your sluggish ticking needs a spur, I suppose’ and hit me hard with his tennis racket.” “You stand on the bench and squat over the hole, that’s how you use it”
Alex pondered the advice, wondering if he was being told the truth. “Now why would there be a bench all around the hole if you weren’t supposed to stand on it?” Alex shrugged his shoulders, shut the door, stepped on the bench and squatted. Betty and Hazel howled with laughter when they heard the crash. They were still laughing when a silver Mercedes pulled into the parking lot. “Best put more grease on the outhouse bench Betty, looks like another city boy just pulled up.” The newly arrived Cupid was excited to shoot his arrow on Earth. He'd just received his bow and arrow.
One of the cupids gave him his arrow. "This is the best arrow," he said. The new cupid accepted it. Then he departed. On Earth he looked around. Under the maple tree he saw two lovers. He aimed. The girl had brunette hair. "Will you love me till I die?" "Yes," answered the boy. The Cupid shot his arrow. It was a good shot. It flew into the girl's heart. Shocked was the boy: The girl's chest was drenched in blood. Picking melons by moonlight, it seemed like a good idea at the time. Green fruit glowing among moon-blackened leaves; they call them honeydew.
Giving the baby a bath in the sink. The odor of Ivory Soap, moonbeaming baby in the sink, water droplets shifting in the air. She opened her mouth and let the moon pour down her throat until she was full, until she illuminated herself. Mavis skipped to the silver-green flower and sniffed it.
“Ugh! Smelly-horrid! But children’s playing around them, so they must be alright.” “Ring-a-ring-’o-roses…. Mavis, come and play.” “Hello Tommy –there’s Mary Hammond!” She held hands and danced. “What’s that rain Tommy? It’s stinky-cold like those flowers!” A grey mist enfolded them. “Ring-a-ring-’o-roses….” “I’m cold, so cold…” “Mavis, you’re hand’s freezing!” A pretty lady held out a glass and a pill. The stinky-disinfectant smell was everywhere. She stared blankly. “What? Who are you…? Have I got am… nee…sia… Alka-Seltzer? No… Alzheimer's, that’s what I’ve got.” A tear rolled down her wrinkled cheek. Old Schnitzelgruber immediately recognised the black cylinder-shaped object lying among his cabbages. He also knew it could go off suddenly, so he called the police and reported an unexploded bomb.
The police knew old Schnitzelgruber too. He was notorious for complaining about his neighbours: Mueller’s cat peed on his doorstep; Weber’s tree cast a shadow on his lawn; Frau Funk had lots of male visitors. Still, unexploded ordnance wasn’t uncommon, even 70 years after the war, so they sent someone round. “It certainly is a big one, Herr Schnitzelgruber”, said the officer, “but don’t worry. Courgettes do not usually explode.” There she sits, as beautiful as ever.
We have been in the zone: our love the transcendent reality, the rest of the world but an ephemeral dream. Radiant as always! She is still in the zone. She holds her new lover’s hand, while I am cast out into the cold. Dr. Aloke Mitra, an expatriate economist was returning home for Diwali, the Indian festival of light. Landing a day early, he sensed a kind of uncertain edge amongst fellow Calcuttans, all due to a football match to be played on next night in a faraway continent. In that match, city’s perennial favorite Brazil would face off Argentina, led by player-wonder Lionel Messi, city’s current soccer-hero. So whom to support?
Next night, Messi displaying his soccer-magic scored the only goal of the game in the dying minute. The quiet city, glued to TV-screen exploded with fireworks, welcoming the festival of light. Someone once asked me, "Have you ever eaten bear"?
I had long been told that I should get my hearing checked. This was a perfect example. I heard something slightly different. I responded, "Why, yes, I have eaten bare. However, I remember that the plate was quite hot, so I tried to shift it around. When I moved, I spilled hot food in my naked lap! Scalded and embarrassed, I vowed from then on to always eat with my clothes on". They never asked me another question. On a bright note, I did go have my hearing checked. Thank you. Like a moth driven to a flame, Amanda walked with hurried steps to the streetlight. She'd heard footsteps in the darkness. Someone was following her.
It was in the middle of the night. She should've crashed in her friend's house. But her parents didn't know she attended the party. They'd forbidden her. It was just not safe. Six women were already killed recently, and were butchered like animals. She stopped under the pool of light, and looked around. Her heart a succession beat of drum. A growl, then a werewolf sprang towards her; slashing her neck before she could scream “Let me see your spoons,” Alex would say to his little friends in the school cafeteria.
He would take them and place them between his fingers, then bounce them between his palm and his knee, like drumsticks. When he was finished, he would slip the spoons into his pockets. Nobody ever missed them. Alex did this well into his adult years, in restaurants and at parties. People were so impressed by his playing that they forgot to ask for their spoons back. At forty, Alex retired and moved to the Caribbean, having sold the last of his spoons for scrap. Ashes to ashes
The fires raged through the night. Unstoppable, they consumed everyone and every thing in their path. Thick smoke filled the lungs of every living creature while clouds of ash obscured the stars and the moon. Hope waned. While the world died, Martin, Ray and Bae laughed and drank expensive red wine, paid for by the windfall they received from destruction. Dotards and democracies, republics and rocket men smashed their toys together until they were broken and shattered. Ideological men and madness marched over those with reason and conscience, stomping their bones into the dirt. Dust to dust |
"Classic"
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