The fool is most generous with his words, a flood of nonsense and spittle spills from his lips.
I pull out a handkerchief, wipe my face, and try to maintain my smile.
Thankfully, he does not test my comprehension of his prattle, but merely asks if I understand.
“Yes,” I say. “Do go on.”
Sadly, he does, and I am subjected to more nonsense, more unwelcome moisture, and occasional stray bits of gristle.
“Try fainting,” whispers Duchess Morgan in my ear.
I roll my eyes and go limp.
Servants “revive” me as the fool moves on to his next victim.
Category: My stories
It’s Winter somewhere
Doris opens a beer, puts it in front of me.
“It’s five o’clock somewhere,” she says, and she opens one for herself.
I drink, and wonder if it’s Winter somewhere.
“Well, it’s Summer here, so maybe in Australia?”
I nod, pick up the phone, and try to remember if I know someone in Australia.
I check my contacts, look through my email, searched my Facebook friends…
It used to be you used phones to call people.
I put down the phone and drink my beer.
Somewhere, it’s Winter. And somewhere, it’s five o’clock.
But right here, my beer’s getting warm.
A sticky situation
You heard about Joe?
Joe spends all day sniffing glue.
It all started when he was trying to glue two things together and they didn’t stick.
“Does glue go bad?” he asked his wife. “You know, like milk.”
“Does it have an expiration date?” his wife replied.
He looked for an expiration date on the bottle, but there wasn’t one.
“Nope. Maybe if I smell it…”
And that’s when the glue-sniffing started.
“No, really,” he’d say, as high as a kite. “I’m just checking to see if it’s still good.”
Then he’d sniff and let out a long, slow “Yessssssssssssssssssss.”
They call me Mister Spiffy
They call me Mr. Spiffy.
Not because I’m anything special or anything.
It’s my name. My name is Walter Spiffy.
Oh, sure, I think people are talking to Dad when they say “Mr. Spiffy” but Dad’s been gone for years.
Not dead. Gone.
Not very spiffy at all, really.
Left when I was twelve.
I guess things weren’t all that spiffy in the Spiffy Family.
Never gave a reason, just walked out the door and never came back.
He left his bowling shoes, too. He never went anywhere without those. Even the shower.
Check ’em out. Don’t they look spiffy?
The Sports Of The Bored
Bobby’s mother didn’t like how he just sat outside, watching grass grow.
“I’m in training,” mumbled Bobby. “I want to make Varsity this year.”
She got him books, but they sat in a pile while Bobby stared at the grass.
“Oh well,” she said. “At least he’s getting some sun. It sure is saving on the Vitamin D bills.”
Bobby kept watching the grass grow all Summer.
But when it came time for tryouts, Bobby didn’t make the cut.
“Joey got picked!” he cried. “And he’s already getting a letter for watching paint dry!”
“Good. Now mow the lawn, dammit.”
Who gives a damn?
Excuse me, but may I interrupt you for a moment?
Thank you.
I’m sorry, but why are you telling me all this?
Obviously, you have me confused with someone who gives a damn.
Me, I only have damns for sale. Three bucks a damn, thirty bucks for a dozen.
Quality damns, too. Mint condition, right from the factory.
No refurbished or recycled damns here.
Unless you’re paying for a damn, I’m not going to just give you one.
I mean, what would happen to my business?
I think you want the church next door.
Unlike me, they give a damn.
Disneyland
I remember when I was 9 and we forgot my mother’s birthday.
She didn’t get angry or beat us for it.
Instead, she just smiled and said “I guess I can’t keep it a secret any longer, but we’re going to Disneyland this Summer.”
No beatings? Disneyland?
Awesome!
When the day arrived to go to Disneyland, she told us to get our suitcases up from the basement.
“Quickly!” she said. “We’re going to the airport in an hour!”
We ran down the stairs.
Then, she slammed the basement door, locked it, and turned off the lights.
We screamed a lot.
A Common Error
The Sultan heard that one of his nieces had taken to walking around with a silver platter on her head.
He summoned her to the palace and watched as she walked with grace and speed.
“Her balance is most excellent,” said an adviser.
A general agreed, “This would help the troops in combat.”
So, the Sultan sent out the order that all soldiers put silver platters on their heads.
However, his people were barely literate, so they mistook his command for putting their heads on silver platters.
His army decapitated, the enemy easily conquered his country.
And took his head.
Pens Envy
It all started when Smithers came in with a silver Cross pen.
“See how it shines!” chirped Smithers. “Magnificent, no?”
“It is the finest pen I have ever seen!” said Walter.
Until the next day, when Walter arrived with a golden Mont Blanc.
Smithers seethed with envy, but refused to be outdone.
His Cross pen was soon replaced with a dodo feather quill that he dipped into a diamond inkwell.
For the next week Smithers and Walter battled over fancier and rarer writing implements until they were both fired for charging all this extravagant nonsense to the office supplies budget.
Warren
A frail and elderly imam was slowly helped through the White House, a guide at each elbow.
But every so often, he’d stop at a painting or work of art, inspect it for a while, and then continue his journey.
Then, he stopped at a painting of a former president, pointed, and said what the guides thought was “War and Jihad?”
The art curator was confused. “That’s not Bush, that’s Warren G. Hardi,” he said, then realized the mistake. “OOOOOOOH, I see. Right. Warren G. Harding.”
The imam smiled, and the guides helped him down the hall to the bathroom.