Tag: silly

Mentat

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In the novel “Dune” Frank Herbert described a post-computer world where “mentats” performed rapid and complex calculations for the noble houses of humanity.
These specialists were not just raw computational experts, but they were valued for their ability to sift through mountains of data to provide vital analysis.
When noble houses warred, assassinating the enemy’s mentat was a priority.
That is why the messenger was killed and searched thoroughly. Then analyzed for poison.
“It’s safe,” I say. “Just plain paper.”
I hand the mentat the message, and he has a stroke and dies!
What? How?
“Divide by zero,” it says.

Flotilla

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It sounded like a good idea at the time, really.
Load up with relief supplies, get on some boats, and try to deliver the supplies to the poor defenseless children trapped inside.
How wrong we were.
Once we boarded and got underway, that’s when they started blasting music at us…
“It’s a small world after all…”
Surrounded by singing jeering puppets, we tried to paddle back to port, but the boats kept moving on and on.
We’d been set up. It was a trap.
We threw the boxes ashore, covered our ears, and screamed prayers for this nightmare to end.

The Pesto Pest

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When life hands you lemons, make lemonade.
But life handed me basil, so I made pesto.
I even built a hothouse to grow basil year-round.
Just harvest, wash, crush, mix, and serve.
The problem is that I am growing far too much basil for myself, so I give away a lot of basil leaves and pesto to others.
Maybe too much?
Now people turn off their lights and shut their windows when they see me coming.
“There’s that crazy Pesto Pest,” they whisper to each other. “Just be quiet and he’ll go away.”
So I hang it from their gutters.

India

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Just as Christopher Columbus landed in the New World and thought he’d reached India, Arturo Gustavani sailed for India and thought he had reached the New World.
Looking around the marketplaces full of rare spices, Arturo threw down his voluminous hat and cursed.
“Where are the worthless flint arrowheads and corn?”
Merchants brought him the finest silk and woven carpets, but he dismissed these riches and inquired about crude fibrous mats interlaced with bird feathers.
Calling the expedition a failure, Arturo headed back to the ship and was clubbed to death by his crew.
They returned and retired wealthy men.

Rock on

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Headquarters said to throw a curveball on the application form and then ask people about their answer in the interview.
So, I added a line asking “Paper, Scissors, or Rock?”
Most people write “Rock” on their application.
(Some just circle it.)
I throw out all the Paper, Scissors and Rock responses.
Stacks of Harvard and Yale grads tumble into my wastebin.
One is left.
Their response? “Bacon.”
I hired them blind.
No interview, no reference check.
Two weeks later, we carried our stuff out in cardboard boxes together.
I needed a drink, but it’s no surprise that they needed bacon.

Constructive

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We try to focus on constructive criticism in these sessions, Robert.
What’s constructive criticism?
Well, making spelling corrections in somebody’s stories, for one. Or suggesting better words that fit the context.
Dropping your pants and taking a dump on their manuscripts is not constructive criticism.
Nor is throwing your chair and screaming “Shut the fuck up, asshole!” when you don’t like someone’s piece.
What? You actually liked their work?
Then why did you do those horrible things?
Just because?
There’s such a thing as positive criticism, too. And crapping on something or beating someone with a chair still isn’t constructive.

Forget about the dragons

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It is illegal to slay a dragon. Even in self-defense.
Sure, there are no dragons in England anymore, but the law is the law, and it’s still illegal to slay dragons.
So when HM Revenue saw “Dragonslayer” on my return, I was picked up for questioning.
“Don’t you know that it’s illegal to slay dragons?” said the agent.
“There aren’t any dragons anymore,” I said. “There’s none left to slay.”
At that point, they handcuffed me and read me my rights.
“Why are you arresting me?” I said.
“You just couldn’t stop, could you?” they said. “You killed them all!”

Brick Fight

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Why are we throwing bricks at each other?
Because we were having a snowball fight, silly.
One guy decided to play dirty and packed a snowball around mud and threw it.
Mudballs suck.
Then, another guy packed snow around a brick.
Pretty soon, we were tossing bricks at each other.
Now that it’s May, you’d think the fight would be over because all the snow is gone.
But because we’re using bricks, the fight doesn’t have to end.
Maybe we’ll take a break and build some brickmen. Or build up our brickforts.
But that’s boring. Let’s bring on the bricks!

Puppet Regime

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We watch the enemy’s soldiers march into the capital.
Buildings burn. The Resistance is crushed, strung up from the castle walls.
Not by their necks, but by their hands, feet, and joints.
It is one things to be forced to follow the command of a puppet regime, but being told to bow to a marionette regime is even more humiliating.
The old Prime Minister is pranced around the massive stage with a club in his hand.
“WHERE’S THE BABY?” shrieks the enemy from the battlements in his best Punch falsetto.
Fiendish monsters! We will prevail, and make hand-puppets of them.

The End Of Miss April

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Today is the last day I will see Miss April.
Tomorrow, I will flip the calendar page and bury her against the wall.
Miss May will try to comfort me, but when I stare at her, I will be thinking of Miss April.
However, just as Miss April got me to eventually forget about Miss March, I suppose Miss May will eventually get me to forget about Miss April.
What about Miss February and Miss January?
Haven’t thought about them in months. Really.
Okay, I’m lying. I miss them too.
I knew I should have gotten a calendar with kittens.