Egg Head

Image result for ostrich face

While teaching a class of 12 year olds, one of my students asked about the origins of life.

(for the record, she was supposed to be conjugating the present tense of avoir)

“Can you narrow it down a bit for me?” I wasn’t sure where she was going with it.

“Well, something had to start something… so what started everything?” Lucy wondered.

“It’s a kind of Chicken & Egg question,” I replied.

“What do you mean, sir?” she persisted.

“Whenever we contemplate the origin of anything we often ask, which came first: the chicken or the egg? Some questions we just can’t answer. Well, not yet anyway but I think we’re getting closer.”

Lucy stared at nothing in particular but I could see her wheels turning.

“And now I’ve confused you,” I laughed.

“Only because you’re confused, sir,” she stated, as respectfully as possible. “The answer to the Chicken & Egg Theory is easy: Chickens are birds. Birds are descendants of dinosaurs. Dinosaurs didn’t give birth to live young but laid eggs, therefore the eggs some dinosaurs laid eventually evolved into chickens. The egg came first.”

Wow.

A colleague once told me, “The best thing about being a teacher is that we are, indeed, the smartest people in the room.”

Some days I’m not so sure.

Tale End

Where’s Monica? a colleague asked

The heating’s not turned up enough

It’s not as if she’s over-tasked

To take care of this kind of stuff.

Where’s Monica? another chimed

It’s 9:05, we’ve got no milk

Do we now have to have her timed?

Her job? Her breaks? Her type? Her ilk?

I never bother, you know me

Head down, work hard and see it through

But did she get the gluten-free?

If not, my bowels will turn to glue.

The printer’s low on paper too

Delivery was yesterday

It’s just one flight, it isn’t two

So why the need for this delay?

I saw her tumble down the stairs

The look of shock upon her face

Those sandwiches went everywhere

And crystal’s not cheap to replace.

What if she’s poorly, do we know?

Those files won’t files themselves today

Or HR, did they let her go?

For if they did, they didn’t say.

No, Monica is fine and well

She hasn’t quit, she wasn’t fired

Her colleagues didn’t hear her tell

In one week’s time she’d be retired.

So now she sits as each day ends

With husband, Jim, and the odd glass

And smiles at what she left for them:

A photocopy of her ass.

Consequential Confidential

Image result for top secret Hillary sunglasses

I think at times, oh yes, I think
That I would make the best Rat Fink
The sort who listens to friends’ tales
Then snitches, sending them to jails
For foolery and crimes and tricks
(those deeds which get you two-to-six)
But then again I’d better not
They are a vengeful, wicked lot
Who’d want to even up the score
For they know me and I’ve done more…

Dead Giveaway

“I’m writing my will,” I announced.

“Oh my God!” Alison covered her mouth. “Are you dying? Can I get you something? A glass of water?”

“No, I’m not dying, but if I were I hope to God there’d be more on offer than tap water.”

“Save it for your nurse,” Alison fired back. “You scared me just then.”

“You’re right, I’m sorry. No, I’ve decided I want to leave money to a good cause.”

“You have money?” Alison appeared surprised.

“I might have, by then,” I was a tad taken aback by the question.

“Do you consider anyone present a good cause?” Dave ventured, taking a visual inventory of my lounge.

“Don’t worry, you’re all getting something but I want to leave a legacy, something worthwhile.”

“Oh, great,” Laverne looked at the others. “I’m getting his Margaret Atwood Anthology while a bunch of rotten schoolkids are going to score an iPad.”

“No, I’ve been looking into it and I think I’d like to help save the rhino.”

“Since when?”

“Since about three o’clock because it’s taken me all morning to think of a good cause.”

“Why rhinos?” Dave was curious.

“I did a project on them in school and got an A+ on it, so I guess I’m saying thanks in my own little way.”

“And which rhinos are we talking about in particular?” Laverne cast her line.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean which rhinos? Javan, Sumatran, black, white… and I think there’s a fifth. You guys?”

“It says here there’s a great, one-horned rhino,” Alison scrolled through her phone.

I smelled an ambush.

“The white rhino. I’m saving white ones.”

“What do you have against black ones?”

“Nothing.”

“According to the statistics, there are a lot more white rhinos. Maybe you should help the black ones,” Alison scrolled further. “Oh, wait… the black ones have been making a comeback. That’s good.”

“Actually, it’s the black rhinos you hear about in the news all the time. You don’t really hear much about the white rhino anymore,” Dave joined in. “And are they even white or is that just from rolling around in the dust because they actually look sorta grey.”

“There are thousands of white rhinos and less than one-hundred of the Javan and Sumatran ones,” Laverne was also on her phone. “Actually, those last two don’t even have horns, just bumps. And they’re a lot smaller than the African ones. Are they still rhinos if they no longer look like rhinos?”

“Maybe they’re hybrids. Fifty percent rhino, fifty percent… I dunno… hippo. Someone will have DNA-tested their lineage.”

“Maybe they no longer think of themselves as rhinos. Maybe they identify as something completely different.”

I could feel it all slipping away from me.

“Maybe they were shipped to Asia,” Alison suggested, “although why would you transport rhinos anywhere? Saying that, if they were relocated back to Africa they’d be disadvantaged compared to the ones with horns.”

“The other rhinos would probably attack them,” Laverne turned to me. “Is that what you want? Rhino gang wars?”

“I’m not following your logic,” I replied, “but do go on.”

“You want to donate money to the white rhino who outnumber all the others combined-“

“-yeah, but hold on… proportionally, all the others are doing better than the white ones now,” Alison interrupted her. “And did you know that the northern white rhino is down to its last two?”

“In the whole world?” Dave checked he’d heard correctly.

“Yep, there are only two females left. “

“Then it’s the females we ought to be helping; they’re the ones producing the next generation,” Laverne decided. “We don’t even need the males, just a cup of their you-know-what. What are you doing to help these two females?”

“They’ll be in captive breeding programs,” I suggested, tentatively. “They’ll breed them with the other whites.”

“Why not the black ones?” came the riposte. “They’re the ones being shot left, right and centre. It’s not the white ones being killed, is it?”

“And what if the females don’t want to breed? Don’t they have a say in it? Why is it up to the males?” Alison queried.

Update: I’ll be leaving everything to the goldfish.

Alcohol On You Later

My granny’s got two teapots
(this tends to make her wee lots)
Her good one goes out on display
The other she keeps tucked away
When visitors decide to call
The posh pot serves them, one and all
Dispensing cups of Earl of Grey
On her brushed-silver serving tray

A person shouldn’t trivialise
A ritual so civilised

When Elsie Burns, who lives next door
Comes calling ‘round each day at four
The Staffordshire is put away
For it’s too late for Earl of Grey
Gran reaches for her other pot
Whose contents never need be hot
And pours her canny friend a cup
Of mother’s homemade pick-me-up

A nip of whisky leaves them feeling
Life’s too short to drink Darjeeling

Heir Heads

British Royal Family Tree - Guide to Queen Elizabeth II Windsor Family Tree

With the last of the dishes put away and the Corgis farting up a storm after polishing off the unwanted sprouts, everyone gathered in front of the TV for Her Majesty’s Christmas message to the nation. At 95, The Queen appeared staid and resolute, a safe pair of hands to see us through the next 12 months.

She was actually doing just fine; it was the rest of the family who needed sorting out.

Her Madge had described the previous few years as “quite bumpy”, but that was just how Philip drove after he’d had a few. Not only had the Duke of Edinburgh run some poachers off the road, he’d proved a ticking time bomb who would say anything to anyone, especially if they were foreigners. Some found this quite rich, considering his father was Prince Andrew of Greece and Denmark, his mother was Princess Alice of Battenberg, Granny was a Russian and he was born in Greece but educated in France, Germany and England. Between them, they covered more countries than EasyJet.

Earlier in the year, Harry had put the boot into his older brother, the future king, admitting the two hated each other’s guts. Wills then hit back saying he “worried Harry might be bonkers,” which Harry then proved by announcing he planned to make a documentary on mental health with Oprah Winfrey. Then the rumours that Kate and Meghan could no longer reside within the same kingdom became evident when the Sussexes vacated Kensington Palace and fled to the icy Kingdom of Canadia. However, bored after only two days by the solitude and sheer beauty of their surroundings, and running low on Manuka Elbow Moisturiser, the pair then fled to California to… erm… escape the royals (which they’d already done), Britain (which they’d also already done) and the media (whom they’d taken on their honeymoon).

And as for Anne – an examination of this royal princess isn’t for the squeamish – while it’s true she is indeed very hard working, the same can be said of fire ants. For her Duke of Edinburgh Award, it’s rumoured a young Anne commissioned a wind-up doll capable of neutralising any lady-in-waiting who approached without curtseying. Sometimes mistaken for an Amish horse hand by members of the Household Cavalry, an awkward Anne clung to the fact that she remained the only princess in a stable of princes.

That is, until Diana appeared on the scene.

Dispatching her sister-in-law abroad in a stroke of genius, Anne and her father then fixed their sights upon the latest royal interloper. Rumour has it that during her initial stay at Kensington Palace, Prince Philip presented Kate Middleton with a Princess Diana doll sans tête. Examining it thoughtfully, if not warily, the young Kate made a mental note of her nearest exit.

“She was pretty like you,” Princess Anne remarked. “She’s not pretty now, though… I’m the pretty princess now.”

“Isn’t she missing something?” Kate asked, pointedly.

“My bad,” Anne apologised, crushing her can of Pilsner and flicking it at her. “There’s the car.”

Kids, eh?… w

Who’d have ’em?