Miscellaneous
BAD NEWS AT THE DOCTOR’S
The doctor sat down facing the patient directly; he wore a serious expression and the patient knew something was wrong.
“Let me have it straight, doc. What’s the problem?”
The doctor shook his head. “You seem to have caught diabetes 2. Your blood tests show that your chromosomes have altered irrevocably, I’m afraid.”
“Diabetes 2? But how?”
“It can come from a virus, or an insect bite. Or too much internet shopping.”
The patient sighed. “The perils of modern life, I suppose.”
“Indeed,” said the doctor.
“Is there any hope?”
“No, your chromosomes indicate that you’ve already become a zombie.”
BUTTERFLY
Barely a cloud was visible across the wide expanse of blue sky as, in parks and on beaches, sun-lovers of all ages enjoyed the weather: twenty-seven degrees, the warmest of the year. Many had shed more clothing than perhaps was wise – they’d suffer the next day – but this was good time, time not for working but for friends and family instead. Ice cream stalls were prospering.
Around six, the intense heat turned to a violent thunderstorm, rapidly washing away all signs of earlier pleasure.
And that was it for another year: Britain’s summer, one fine day, just like Madame Butterfly.
SHARED EMBARRASSMENT
Once again, this really is a true story.
Invited to Sunday lunch with mutual friends, they made small talk: how each knew the hosts, work, neighbourhood stuff, children and grandchildren, the usual things.
But she knew him from somewhere else, possibly a long-ago one-night stand, perhaps just a neighbour. Then she remembered.
Twenty years previously, he’d taken her daughter and some friends camping. Her daughter’s tent had accidentally caught fire and he’d pulled the girl out just in time.
Now she was embarrassed that she hadn’t recognised the man who’d saved her daughter’s life.
He was still embarrassed that a child in his care had been so endangered.
ONE BORN EVERY MINUTE
The old man was fishing when a tourist came by.
"Successful?"
"Aye," the old man grunted towards some glittering pieces of rock.
"Is that gold?"
"'Salmon swallows it. River's fu' o'gold. Mak' twa hunner every day." With that, he landed a salmon, extracted a gold nugget from its mouth, then threw the fish back.
"Can I try?" the tourist asked.
"I'll want compensation fur ma lost earnins," the old man said.
Next day, the tourist returned, handed over two hundred pounds and caught nothing. There was no gold or salmon; merely a conjuring trick that earned two hundred pounds daily.
FAILED DELIVERY
The old man lay on the living room carpet, curled in a ball. He said nothing.
Outside at the front door, a delivery man rang the bell. No reply. He tried again, but still the old man didn’t answer. The delivery man peered through the letter box, but the house seemed empty. Conscientiously writing out a postcard to say he’d try again later, he posted it; then on his handheld electronic notepad, he recorded the “failed attempt to deliver”. As he left, he saw no-one in the apartment block hallway.
Someone else would have to discover the old man.
SERVING HER EVERY NEED
The queen bee had called the drones to order. “Tell me,” she asked, “exactly what is your function around here?”
The drones spoke in unison. “Our duty is to obey, Your Majesty. Our duty is to serve your every need. Our duty is to otherwise loiter about and let the women do all the work.”
“So… do I really need you? I mean, apart from a little bit of hanky-panky now and then... and I could settle for a vibrator.”
Suddenly, the drones formed themselves into a giant boy-band, singing: “It Don’t Mean A Thing If It Ain’t Got Wing...”
THE REAL REASON WHY KINDLES WERE INVENTED
The large book coffee-table book contained representations of the strange four-dimensional photodrawings by the Explorationists. Malkowski’s famous ‘Ford Futuritica’ was there, the car which seemed to go in all directions at the same time, yet further study transformed the car into a horse or spaceship. Jeanne Dubuisson’s Eliptical Square was there, so too Mark Leonard’s Gateway To Heaven in the shape of a recycling bin.
Peering, Dorothy was drawn ever closer, until her face touched the page. Then, quietly, the book closed its covers around her and she was never seen again. She was the book’s ninth victim that month.
THE GREATEST STORY EVER
Dragons, it turns out, have extraordinary powers to move emotions, especially when they choose to write. On the last day in May, Albert The Dragon came up with a tale to make any human cry: tears of laughter, tears of sadness, tears of joy, all within the space of one hundred words. Reading back through it, Albert realised he had created his masterpiece, the greatest piece of fiction ever constructed.
"Ahhh," he said, reading the printout of his story. Sadly, his breath set fire to the paper, and in the ensuing panic he forgot it completely, and for all time.
THE OLD CRONE
She was a sad case.
Perhaps she'd outlived her time, for her sole remaining joy seemed to lie in criticising others.
Sometimes, she wrote letters to her neighbours detailing their faults: anonymously, naturally, but everyone in the community knew who'd sent them. If chided, she claimed she was "only joking", but no-one was fooled. Once, she'd have been a candidate for the ducking-stool; these days townsfolk just spoke about her behind her back.
She died alone, her body lying undiscovered for several days before anyone noticed.
Pity, really: she wasn't all bad, she just went off-colour towards her life's end.
A STUDY IN YELLOW
More true stuff. Do you mind?
We found him face down wearing a yellow outdoor coat and a pair of bright yellow wellington boots.
"Is he OK, do you think?" Ruth asked me. "I can't hear him breathing."
I listened too, could hear nothing. I decided to be honest. "How should I know?"
"Should we waken him to check?" she suggested. I snorted a response: "Rather you than me."
Ten minutes later, Ruth did waken him, even tried lifting him from his cot. By now he was screaming, refusing to allow the coat and boots to come off. Yellow was staying.
Two-year-olds know their mind.
GUESS WHAT HAPPENED AT WORK TODAY?
So this woman comes into my office to claim benefits for the first time. Claims she’s a redundant “hitperson”! Honestly!
Turns out I’ve a job for her – involving a cat somehow – but she throws a tantrum. “I have standards,” she announces. So I say, no benefits for you, sweetheart. Off she strops.
In no time she’s back. “I claim religious discrimination,” she announces. She’s a Quaker, a pacifist hitperson. Seriously. No can kill.
I mention Grace Kelly in High Noon but she replies Grace only killed baddies. Then she draws a gun out saying, “Like you.”
She gets her benefits.
THE PLUTONIAN GENERAL ELECTION
In Plutonian elections, everyone is a candidate but only seven wise people vote, so winners are chosen sensibly from the best candidates.
This year’s Election Debate was a lengthy affair. Each candidate was asked, “What is the meaning of life?” Being politicians, they avoided answering the question. The Brown Party warned that Pluto’s changing climate meant it would end up green and blue. The Plutonian Planetary Party wanted Pluto’s planetary status restored. A nasty man blamed everything on Uranian and Neptunian immigrants. But most just wanted better services or lower taxes.
The ruling government was returned with an increased majority.
“WASTE OF TIME FRIDAY”
Today, if you didn’t know, is “Waste of
Time Friday”.
It’s the day when your Inbox is entirely full of pointless emails, and when your boss summons you to a meeting, it has nothing to do with you. It’s the day when you go clothes-shopping and find nothing that suits. It’s the day when you go to the cash machine but it’s broken. Today, the evening meal you’re cooking burns, and has to be thrown out.
Any minute now you’ll discover this story has more than 100 words. Go on, check it.
Told you it was “Waste of Time Friday”.
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