Oliver walked up to the Beadle, empty bowl held high.
“I’d like some less, please,” he said.
The Beadle looked down, confused.
“Less?” he asked. “But… the bowl’s empty.”
“Yes, I know,” said Oliver. “And I regret eating it all. Far, far too much. So, if you can’t spoon out less into these bowls, maybe smaller bowls?”
The Beadle nodded. “That we can do.”
So, the next day, smaller bowls of gruel were dished out for all the kids.
Oliver, being the smallest, could subside on little, so the bigger kids starved quicker and all died.
Alone, Oliver laughed heartily.
Tag: quote
Surly
As I prepared my morning oatmeal, I slipped the surly bonds of earth and touched the face of God.
It was greasy and sticky.
“Don’t you ever wash your face?” I asked God.
“You shouldn’t be one to talk about hygiene,” said God. “Did you wash your hands before making that oatmeal? I see everything, you know.”
“Fair enough,” I said.
We floated in uncomfortable silence for a while.
“I’d best be getting back,” I said, and I reached for the surly bonds of earth, even surlier, having been slipped so easily.
I finished my oatmeal, and washed my hands.
Natural
Hanging over my typewriter is a famous quote:
“Be natural, my children. For the writer that is natural has fulfilled all the rules of art.”
So, I opened the window and tossed my typewriter, pens, and paper out into the street.
Leaving everything behind, I moved out of my apartment and set out for the hills.
There, in my cave, I worked on my novel, writing on tree bark using bird droppings and mud.
The publisher was shocked by my appearance, but took the submission.
And rejected it.
On the bright side, I did get cast in some GEICO commercials.
The Unforgiving Tree
As the old man sat on the stump of The Giving Tree, he pondered all that he had taken from his beloved friend.
Her leaves to make crowns.
Her apples to sell for money.
Her branches to build a house.
Her trunk to build a boat.
And what had he given her?
Nothing.
Clutching his chest, he let out a gasp, and died.
The Giving Tree laughed. “Serves you right, you greedy bastard.”
She laughed for hours, until the old man’s sons dug up her stump and carved a coffin from it, as the old man instructed in his will.
Overcome
With the deepest, darkest skin
And the brightest, whitest robes
Flowing… billowing, like angel’s wings
The choir director raises a hand, his neck muscles tense as a bridge’s cables
And it drops…
“We… Shall… Overcome…”
Not just sung
But hurled
Like a hammer
Every blow pounding my heart, my soul
“We… Shall… Overcome…”
Over…
And over…
I close my eyes,
And I sing it too
A minute later, lost in the power, I am being shaken.
I open my eyes.
I am flat on my back
The choir director is waving a towel over me.
I guess I was overcome.
Monday
“Thank God it’s Friday,” said Joe, sipping his coffee and walking into the office.
God was on the golf course, lining up an easy 3 foot putt on the 8th green in Heaven.
“You’re welcome,” he grumbled.
Millions of others thanked God that it was Friday, and by the time He got to the 18th tee, he had snapped most of his clubs in half and shanked a basket full of balls into the rough clouds.
“You okay, Dad?” asked Jesus.
God pulled off his gloves, threw them into the cart, and pondered a Horrid Monday To Beat All Mondays.
Circus Ballet
Attendance for the ballet is down.
Way down.
Attendance for the circus is also way down.
So, the ballet and the circus were merged into productions like Circe du Soleil.
But it also produced abominations like Elephant Lake.
What’s Elephant Lake?
Take Swan Lake, remove the swan, and fill the stage with elephants.
The Mouse King from Nutcracker showed up, and the elephants stampeded.
But that’s not the worst of it.
The second act has Russian dancing bears dressed up in tutus.
Ever tried to put a tutu and slippers on to a bear?
I’d rather be stampeded by elephants.
Swan Lake
My girlfriend said we’re going to Swan Lake on Friday night.
Good. It’s been a while since I’ve been hunting.
She’s always chewing me out for killing animals, making me do all these high-falootin society ballets and symphonies
She’s finally come around and seen things my way.
I packed my shotguns, ammo, gear, and other essentials into the truck and drove to her place to pick her up.
She was made up and dressed up all gorgeous.
“Honey, you look wonderful, but that’s gonna get all messed up at the lake,” I said.
Thank God I didn’t load the shotguns.
Three Little Virtual Pigs
Once upon a time there was a big bad wolf and three little pigs.
The wolf wanted to eat them.
The first little pig built his house out of Mesh, so the Big Bad Wolf logged in with Viewer 1.23 and it didn’t render. He ate the pig.
The second little pig built his house out of sculpties. The Big Bad Wolf checked… it was Phantom. He ate the pig.
The third little pig made his house out of prims. The Big Bad Wolf couldn’t enter it. So, he hit Auto-Return. And ate the pig.
Then he crashed.
The end.
Emily
A friend gave me an old handmade book as a gift.
She said the book had been in Emily Dickinson’s house, and she had always kept it within reach.
I looked at the cover… it was too stained and battered to read what was on it.
So, I opened it carefully…
It was a volume of poems I’d never seen published before.
And they were terrible. Really awful.
Completely unlike anything Emily Dickinson had ever written.
“Oh, she didn’t write this book,” she said. “She used it to swat bugs and spiders. She was horribly afraid of the damned things.”