The rule for pomegranates reads:
Discard the pith and eats the seeds
A feat that calls for more bravado
With our friend, the avocado
Nut Job
Category: health
Mass Hysteria
In Physics, nothingness has weight
Which leads to some disquiet
Among the more dense who debate:
So, why then do we diet?
Mind The Gap
Ever go upstairs and not remember why you did?
Or take the groceries out the car but then forget the kid?
Ever open up the fridge and find the teapot in it?
Forget to play the lottery then curse when others win it?
Lose your keys? Kill the grass? Return home to check the gas?
Fail to find your car though it’s right next to where you are
So then you verbally abuse it while more shoppers watch you lose it
Now if you were on the booze it might excuse it…
(let’s defuse it)
Scientists would say your frontal lobe is disengaged.
You won’t remember that, so write this down: you’re middle-aged
Against the Grain
Ever eaten whole grain bread
And sworn you’d chewed on bark instead?
Sole Mates
Park Guy
Running by
Catching everybody’s eye
Chiseled face
Killer pace
Never comes in second place
Hasn’t time to stop and chat
Training wasn’t meant for that
Sprints past like a thoroughbred
Focused on the road ahead
You enflame
It’s a game
Will I ever learn your name?
Park Guy
Running by
Catching everybody’s eye
Present Tense
The day I want to bake some bread
You’ll be the first to know
Were you confused that time I said
I need to make more dough?
And should I wish to buy a goat
Around the holidays
Feel free to name it but take note
I’d like it honey-glazed.
A scented candle lets me know
Exactly what you think
You’re hoping when it’s all aglow
At last, my house won’t stink.
That weird liqueur with toads inside
Distilled by monks in France
Soon made me wish that I had died
Then made me shit my pants.
The Cookie Monster sweater seemed
To spread more disarray
On seeing it, the baby screamed
And both cats ran away.
Gym memberships address excess
With weights or on a mat
Do you think I need to de-stress
Or is it that I’m fat?
It’s not the gift, John, it’s the thought
While this, no doubt, is right
It’s what they’ve thought, not what they’ve bought
Which keeps me up at night.
Watch Your Tongue
When canny cannibals suggest
You call round as a dinner guest
You’re right to feel suspicious
They’re hoping you’re delicious
And if the book next to the pan
Is How To Serve Your Fellow Man
It’s time to quit the venue
‘Cause guess who’s on the menu?
Boxing Clever
Last week, I received a surprise phone call from my doctor.
“Mr Ormsby?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, good… so you’re not dead then. It’s Dr Shapiro here. We need to make you an appointment.”
“Club fees due?”
“Not ’til October.”
“Daughter getting married?”
“Chance would be a fine thing.”
“Class action going ahead?”
“It worked on mice, didn’t it?”
“Okay, you got me,” I conceded defeat.
“I need to buy a roof box for the Porsche,” Dr Shapiro announced. “Mother was due to take the train back to Cornwall on Sunday but they’re going out on strike, so we’ll need to go in the car now.”
“Will she fit in a roof box?”
“Well, herein lies the problem: it’s quite a long journey and I’m worried if Mother starts fidgeting with her artificial leg she may scratch the interior.”
“You’re unbelievable.”
“The cup holders are African Rosewood.”
“Drill a few air holes to cover yourself legally.”
“When can you come in then?”
“First, can you tell me why it’s impossible to make an appointment with you any other time?” I was slightly annoyed.
“Mrs Hashimoto owes money to the Coffee Fund, so now she’s too scared to answer the phone.”
“I get the whole ‘honour’ thing but isn’t she being a bit over-dramatic?”
“She owes it £6000.”
“Since when?”
“Since a Diversity Consultant recommended outsourcing it to the Yakuza.”
“What if something happens to her?”
“Then we’re all going to miss Teriyaki Tuesdays. Can you come in tomorrow at four?”
The next afternoon I found myself seated on what looked like a giant roll of toilet paper which ran the length of an examination table.
“I feel like a garden gnome.”
“That explains the pot belly.”
“I do not have a pot belly.”
“Lay off the beer,” Dr Shapiro admonished while peering into my right ear. “Did you know that earwax is genetic? Depending upon your parents, you’ll have either wet earwax or dry earwax.”
“Did they teach you that in medical school?”
“No, it was on TikTok. My son showed me.”
“If I’ve put on weight it’s because of Covid. We were cooped up for months.”
“Exactly which outdoor activities did lockdown prevent you from doing?”
“I walk a lot.”
“It’s not exercise if tortoises can do it. What else?”
“I garden quite a bit.”
“So does Mrs Hashimoto and she’s like… a hundred and something,” Dr Shapiro moved on to my lymph nodes. “Any other physical pursuits?”
“How about going shopping?”
“Doesn’t count if it’s online.”
He had me.
“Does this look like a wart to you?” he held up his index finger.
“Shouldn’t you know that?”
“It certainly looks like one,” Dr Shapiro frowned. “I need you to lie down. The last thing you want is a colony of these setting up camp on your todger.”
“You touched me down there knowing you had a wart on your finger?” I was half-way off the table.
“I wasn’t sure before. Hold on, let me get some rubbing alcohol but I do need to warn you: this is going to sting.”
“I’ll pay you whatever you want NOT to do that,” I wanted to deal.
“I’ll let Mother know we’re good to go then,” he reached for his phone. “Now, will that be cash or card?”
Aisle Stand By You
“I feel like a Stepford Wife.”
“That explains the outfit then.”
“No, I’m serious. I no longer feel comfortable buying just anything, only what’s needed,” Laverne complained, as she headed down the cookie aisle. “We’re being reprogrammed to become more altruistic which I guess isn’t a bad thing.”
“Toilet paper’s back there,” I gestured behind us.
“We’ve got over a hundred rolls in the garage, so don’t worry.”
“You’ve got a heart as big as your feet. Did you know that?”
“Call me in six months when you’re wiping your ass with a Shih Tzu,” she opened a pack of Oreos and placed it in her trolley. “And don’t look at me like that. Do you think the PM is cutting the Daily Telegraph into little squares in case he runs out? Is he, heck.”
“Not with an arse that size,” I was constructing a mental picture and it wasn’t pretty.
“The point is, we’re not in this together. I mean, we are but they’re not. It’s all a façade,” she bit into an Oreo, frowning. “Anyway I’m seriously thinking of moving to North Korea when this whole thing blows over. At least there you know where you stand.”
“Against a wall wearing a blindfold?”
“You Un Funny.”
“What about their state-approved hairstyle: The Hair Helmet?”
“Oh yeah, I forgot about that… don’t let me leave today without buying a hat.”
“And don’t let me forget laundry detergent. It’s top of my list.”
“We’ve got at least six months of that as well,” she put a finger to her lips.
“You know these eco-friendly washing machines?” I segued slightly. “Does yours use enough water because my clothes don’t even look wet when they’re being washed. They’re damp, at best.”
“I agree, they don’t use nearly enough water. I top mine up.”
“Me too. After all, we don’t shower using an atomiser.”
“That’s because we’re not from LA. Hey, did you read that Gwyneth Paltrow steam-cleans her noo-noo?”
“Her website’s called goop so I’m thinking hygiene may be an issue,” I winced. “Sounds like a waste of water though. She needs to think about the whales.”
“To hell with the whales,” Laverne scoffed. “How much more water do they need? Maybe if they’d lose a few pounds there’d be less displacement.”
“Uh…”
“It’s true; it’s the fat ones who are causing the sea levels to rise. Whales are so selfish. I hate them,” she fished another Oreo out of the bag.
“I suppose you can’t argue with science. And while we’re on the subject… what do you think of Greta Thunberg?”
“Pippy Longstocking Meets Fire Starter.”
“She certainly hates us, that’s for sure. Anyone over 40 is in that little witch’s crosshairs.”
“If she could burn us, she would,” Laverne shuddered, “along with every member of ABBA if it helped her cause. Want an Oreo?”
“Will it make me as smart as you?”
“You’re asking the wrong person.”
“How so?”
“Because yesterday after reading The Guardian, for a moment I actually thought it had actually expanded my mind.”
“Why on earth would you think that?” I was intrigued.
“When I was out shopping I looked into one of those magnifying mirrors you do your eyebrows with.”
“Did you go Tesco yesterday?”
“We were low on toilet paper.”
Meandering through the aisles we found it increasingly difficult to maintain social distancing and not be overheard. While this rarely presented a problem, on this occasion it did, resulting in some blowback…
“How’s little Edward doing?” Laverne enquired after my 8 year-old cousin.
“He’s enjoying being off school, if that’s what you mean, but it’s all about the Xbox with him. He gets up at 6am to do his schoolwork just so he can go on it right after. Don’t ask me when he last kicked a ball around.”
“A man with a plan,” she laughed. “When he visited last summer he was such a delight. I really think I got through to him.”
“He thinks you’re a dork,”
“What?”
“Don’t get me wrong; he liked you. He just thought you were a bit of a dork. Don’t take it personally.”
“But he’s autistic!” Laverne protested.
“So what? Autistic people are allowed to express opinions,” I reminded her.
“Yeah but not about normal people.”
“Don’t ever go into teaching.”
“Don’t worry.”
It was then a young woman in her twenties made her presence known. She was sporting a blue surgical mask which perfectly matched the colour of her hair, half of which had been shaved off to reveal a tattooed verse written in Arabic. Both earlobes could have been budgie swings and her t-shirt declared This Is What A Feminist Looks Like.
“Excuse me, but I couldn’t help overhearing what you just said,” she stated, earnestly.
“Oh here we go,” I muttered.
“Excuse me,” she persisted. “EXCUSE ME!”
“Listen, Sky or Goop or whatever your name is, can I just say that the cookie aisle is our safe space so we’d like you to respect boundaries,” I lobbed one over the net.
“Until I decide to give you rights, you have none,” I was duly informed, “and I don’t much appreciate what you said about people with autism,” she turned to Laverne. “It’s a very serious disease, sometimes fatal. I know because my friend has it.”
“Let’s try this again,” Laverne began. “First of all, it isn’t a disease, it’s a neurological disorder although even that’s disputed. Secondly, it’s none of your business what we talk about.”
“Well you made it my business when your words committed an act of violence against my friend,” her voice was quickly rising.
“Well, I don’t believe that for one moment,” Laverne replied, coolly.
“I’ve taken courses in it so I think I know what I’m talking about more than you do.”
“No, you misunderstand me,” Laverne stated calmly. “What I meant was I don’t believe you have any friends.”
Laverne put her hand behind her back and counted down with her fingers: 3…2…1…
“Could somebody please call the manager? There’s a hate crime here!” the woman began yelling. “Security! Somebody help me! Help!”
“Clean up in Aisle Ten!” I joined in. “Guts being spilled everywhere!”
“So you’re what a feminist looks like,” Laverne sized her up, as members of staff started arriving on the scene. “I feel so over-dressed but who was it again who said You can never have too many accessories.”
“Coco Chanel?” I wondered.
“Hitler, when he introduced the Box Clutch Field Phone for the gal on the go.”
After staff anxiously listened to both parties’ version of events, the young woman was asked to leave the store.
“She also came within 2m of me,” she complained. “That’s attempted murder!”
“You’re clutching at straws with that one,” Laverne warned her. “Now why don’t you go find a police car to urinate on because you don’t want to see Mommy angry.”
“No, you knew more than anybody what you were doing because you’re a nurse!” she pointed at her. “They let her jump the queue outside because she’s a nurse! Call the police! She’s a killer nurse!”
That’s when we started laughing.
“Don’t touch me or I’ll sue! I’ve streaming this! And I expect a taxi home!” she continued her rant all the way to the exit.
“From obnoxious busybody to demented hysteric in less than 30 seconds,” Laverne stopped laughing. “Makes you wonder what else is out there.”
“Can you imagine ten thousand of her?”
“Gives the rest of us a bad name, that’s the problem,” she was now watching her remonstrate with shoppers in the queue like a street corner evangelist.
“Laverne, ten o’clock. Here comes Round Two,” I gave a heads-up.
Making his way towards us was a tall, young man kitted out in black leather boots, matching leather trousers, a Black Sabbath World Tour t-shirt and a full-length, black leather coat.
“Good God, we’re in the Matrix!” Laverne whispered, as he made a beeline straight for her. “If he’s packing heat I want you to take him out.”
“Hold on, Cagney, I thought you’d brought your gun,” I glanced across at her.
“I think you dropped this,” the man now stood before her, holding out a ten pound note.
We both smelled a set-up.
“I don’t think so,” she replied.
“It was before, over by the cereal when you were talking about how much money they’d have to pay you to be in a porno.”
“And that’s what you think it would take? TEN POUNDS?” she disarmed him in an instant.
Completely taken aback by the accusation, he struggled to find words.
“N-n-no,” he stammered. “You dropped this. It’s yours. I just picked it up.”
“Son, I’m joking,” Laverne smiled. “I’m joking. Thank you for your honesty. I didn’t know what to expect when you first walked up. I’m afraid I don’t meet many gentlemen these days.”
“That’s the porn industry for you,” I shrugged. “Hi, Johnny Salami.”
“Hi,” he shifted, nervously.
“That was so nice of you to return the money but I want you keep it. After what we’ve just witnessed you’ve more than earned it,” Laverne insisted. “Please allow your good deed to be rewarded by another.”
“Um…” he was still struggling. “I don’t know what’s going on.”
“I’ll tell you what,” she was ready to deal, “you tell me what you think I should be paid to appear in a porno and if I like what I hear you can keep the tenner.”
“Would you be playing a nurse?”
“Whoa!” I hollered. “How long have you been following us?”
“That girl was pretty loud,” he gestured to the lunatic staging a one-woman protest in the car park.
“Laverne!” she extended her hand but then withdrew it just as quickly. “Sorry… I keep forgetting about that 2m rule.”
“Dale,” he extended his hand. “You really had me going there.”
“Dale?” I checked I’d heard correctly. “Dale? You walk around dressed like that and you’re called Dale?”
“Afraid so,” he shrugged.
For the next few minutes the three of us chatted and snacked on Oreos in the cookie aisle. Dale was polite and well spoken, a local lad who still lived at home but hoped to buy his own place soon. The more we got to know him, the more uneasy I felt about prejudging him.
“He’s quite good looking,” Laverne admitted. “Lovely blue eyes and that thick, black hair. Kind of Irishy. Plus, I like ‘em tall.”
“I read him completely wrong,” I reflected. “I know it was in the heat of battle but still, I should have known better.”
“Hey, you read her right which was more important so cut yourself some slack. That’s a survival skill we’re needing more and more these days.”
After making our purchases the three of us said our goodbyes in the car park.
“Dale, it was nice meeting you. All the best, buddy,” I gave him a thumbs-up.
“You too, Mr Salami,” he delivered with a straight face.
“Dale, I’m sure we’ll meet again,” Laverne told him. “Don’t know where, don’t know when but this is a small town. You run into people eventually.”
“Yeah but in your case it’s usually because of your driving,” I reminded her. “She has her own cubicle in A&E.”
“We’ll definitely be seeing each other then,” Dale brightened, pulling out his wallet.
“Why? You’re not a personal injury lawyer, are you?” Laverne asked.
“Not exactly,” Dale pulled out his work I.D. “I’m a nurse.”
Stalk Options
“My stalker’s released more nude photos of me.”
“How’s your hair in them?”
“Fabulous. I’d just had it done.”
“Let’s have a look.”
Laverne slid her phone across the table.
“You owe him one,” I agreed, swiping through a considerable collection of images. “Maybe you should get him something.”
“Like what?”
“Halloween’s coming up.”
“What makes you think he’s into Halloween?”
“Call it a hunch.”
“But I wouldn’t know what to get him.”
“Does he have someone special in his life?”
“Not since he killed all the members of his church group, no.”
“Any hobbies?”
“Skulking among the shadows.”
“I mean, besides that.”
“Photography, I suppose.”
“Then why not get him some lens wipes?”
“I’m sure we can do better than lens wipes,” Laverne frowned.
“Alright, let’s keep going then… would it be fair to describe him as outdoorsy?“
“Yes! And now that I think of it, he could do with a decent winter coat,” she suddenly brightened.
“My neighbours are in a cult if you’re looking for something with a hood.”
“I’ll get back to you on that.”
“Did I mention it’s detachable?”
“It’s just… I don’t want to cause offence.”
“To someone who’s photographing you through your fence,” I felt obliged to remind her.
“I see where you’re coming from.”
“Didn’t he once write that on a CookieGram?”
“Right before I reversed over him in the driveway.”
“Putting all that to one side, what were you doing running naked through the forest at 3am?”
“The dog let the cat out again,” Laverne chuckled. “They’re worse than kids, those two. I should have gotten a fish tank instead. Anyway, enough about me; what’s new with you?”
“I’ve decided I want to give back to society.”
“Oh, God…”
“Now, I know what you’re thinking but this time I’m serious. I’m going to make these next twelve months my My Year of Philanthropy.”
“Well, you’re on your own then because no one’s getting any of my money,” Laverne sniffed.
“I don’t need money; what I need is a project.”
“Why not just join a gym like everyone else?”
“Because until just now I wasn’t aware that I needed to.”
“I’m just thinking back to the incident in the park.”
“That dog should have been leashed.”
“John, you wrestled it for a Tootsie Roll.”
“Which I’d bought.”
“Which you’d dropped.”
“In case you’ve forgotten, there’s a recession on,” I pointed out, dignity still intact.
“Okay. Forget I even mentioned it.”
“Easier said than done.”
“It doesn’t even matter because you’re nice on the inside and that’s what counts. When I was growing up there was a fat family on our street and they were really nice too.”
“Name them. All of them.”
“The dog was called Cupcake, I remember that much.”
“Keep going.”
“My point is, they were just like everyone else.”
“Just not worth knowing,” I addressed the elephant in the room.
“You have the rear molars of a hyena. I’ve watched you crush femurs like they were toothpicks.”
“That’s an exaggeration.”
“No, it isn’t. I’ve seen cleaner kills on Animal Planet.”
“Speaking of which, did you catch it on Monday? It was about these sharks that sleep. I think they were in Mexico. I have never, ever heard of sharks sleeping before.”
“That’s because they don’t,” I was informed.
“Sharks don’t sleep?”
“Nope.”
“Then what were these ones doing?”
“During ratings week they whack a few in the head to make them appear cute and cuddly.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“I’m afraid not,” Laverne shook her head in dismay.
“But that’s barbaric.”
“So is seeing a camera-woman being bitten in half during a live feed. The only thing those sharks were sleeping off was a Grade 3 concussion.”
“Is that what happens on Love Island?”
“Totally different.”
“How so?”
“They’re all brain-damaged to begin with.”
“How do you know so much about concussed sharks?” I was curious.
“I was going to be a marine biologist but back then they didn’t allow women in the Marines.”
“Right…”
Mr Ormsby At Large 