Tag: humour

Just Desserts

“My dry cleaner’s been wearing my clothes at weekends,” Laverne announced.
“How do you know?”
“Last night she posted a picture of herself in a dress identical to one I dropped off two days ago.”
“How’d she look in it?” I asked tentatively.
“Fabulous.”
“Bitch!”
“Exactly.”
“Want me to cut her?”
“We’ll swing by on the way home. On Saturdays, the old man leaves early so she’ll be on her own at closing time,” she gave it some thought, “but right now I need something to eat.”

We’d journeyed into Manchester for lunch due to a lockdown in our own town. Nacho Daddy was a tapas bar in the student quarter where, upon entry, all diners were required to sign in and leave a contact phone number. Reaching for the clipboard Laverne hesitated, her hand hovering over the sign-in sheet. Upon reflection, she dropped a business card and ordered me not to touch anything.
“Him over there,” she gestured towards a table of businessmen as we sat down, “the fat one. He was the last person to touch the pen.”
“How do you know?” I was intrigued.
“Because his food hasn’t arrived yet and the ink was smudged.”
“Are you saying he licked the sign-in sheet?”
“I’m saying fat people sweat more than normal people.”
“Normal people?” I balked.
“Sure. Ever stood behind one waiting to buy an ice cream?”
“Babies are born fat and they’re normal.”
“Some babies are born fat; the greedy ones. The rest of us come out as nature intended. All I’m saying is, he was the last person to touch that pen and there isn’t enough hand sanitizer in the world-”
“-you should have been a spy.”
“How do you know I’m not?” she countered, now scrutinizing the cutlery. “For all you know I might be in the Secret Service.”
“Which would mean that’s not a real watch.”
“Well spotted, my friend. This gizmo’s actually a teeny, tiny voting machine.”
“And the brooch?”
“It contains emergency stem cells for Melania.”
“There’s not much of it,” I queried.
“Slovenians are notoriously small-boned.”
“Hey, you said Melania. I thought spies used code names while working in the field.”
“She goes by Lady Penelope because she starts every day with a bowl of Ferrero Roche cereal. Pure class.”
“And what’s his code name?”
“This month he’s Mr Whippy.”
“And last month?”
“The Mean Tangerine. He lets me choose them.”
“I love it. Got any survival tips?”
“Keep low and move fast. Oh, and stop chatting to strangers; it unnerves them,” Laverne chided. “Have you seen a waiter anywhere?”
“Right here,” a young man appeared. “What may I get you to drink?”
“Dark rum and Coke, please,” Laverne ordered. “Excuse me, but are you Portuguese?”
“I’m impressed,” he lit up. “Yes, I’m from Lisbon.”
“I’ve been to Lisbon. It’s beautiful.”
“I grew up there but my parents retired to The Algarve.”

Madonna Cone Bra MTV Controversial Fashion Style - A Timeline of Madonna's Most Controversial Fashion Moments

“Can’t blame them. I wouldn’t want Madonna for a neighbour either,” I winced. “Crotchless panties flapping away on a clothes line just over the fence? No, thank you.”
“The devil’s bunting,” Laverne’s eyes narrowed. “You weren’t warned about that in Fatima.”
“No, we weren’t,” our waiter laughed. “I did see her coming out of City Hall once. She looked straight at me.”
“Well, you be very careful because you’re just her type,” Laverne warned. “And while we’re on the subject: why are Iberian men so good looking anyway?”
“Because our mothers are all beautiful,” the waiter replied.
“Aww…” Laverne melted. “I’ll bet you go to church as well, don’t you?”
“St Joseph’s. I’ll bring your drinks over in a minute.”
“He seems like a nice guy,” I decided, watching as he made his way over to the bar.
“And that’s exactly what gets an agent killed on his first day. You’re too trusting.”
“What should I do?”
“I’ll taste-test your food before you eat it,” Laverne insisted.
“The last time you did that I hardly had any dessert left.”
“Rice pudding’s tricky. There’s a whole chapter on it.”
“So, what are you going to do about your dry cleaner then?” I returned to the matter at hand.
“Mess with her head. I’m going to start dropping off dresses which are a size too small for me, but before I do, I’ll change the labels.”
“Why bother going to all that trouble with the labels if she won’t be able to fit into them?”
“Because she’ll think she’s putting on weight and she won’t know why.”
“Whoa!” I sucked in my breath at the evil genius of it. “Most guys would just throw a punch and that would be the end of it.”
“Now where’s the fun in that?” Laverne purred. “Wouldn’t you rather watch your enemy slowly go mad?”
“Hey, would you ever mess with my head?”
“You’re not a Size 10.”
“Neither are you but answer the question.”
“What do you think?” she raised an eyebrow.
“I think you’re smart but I’m smarter.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yup,” I was adamant.
“So then, let me put this to you: have you ever ordered a dessert you know I don’t like?”
Damn.

Don’t Stand So Close To Me

The new teacher entered the classroom and took her seat, greeting no one. Perpetua Tightwaters was having a bad day but her deportment made it impossible for the students to tell because she held only one expression in her armoury: disapproval. A fierce-looking woman with grey-blue eyes which devoured their prey whole, she could scan an entire school assembly at a glance over horn-rimmed glasses designed to gore enemies at close range. Thick, silvery hair which still held its lustre was meticulously hoovered up into a tidy bun, giving her the air of a grande dame of the Bolshoi who had long since exited the stage, but not the company. A smooth complexion required only a light touch from a modest palate; it was only her mauve lipstick which strayed into the adventurous, considered redundant by many because her lips were permanently pursed until they parted to issue a summons, reprimand or decree.

teacher old - Imgflip

Perpetua Tightwaters loved crosswords, hated skateboarders, still bought her meat from the local butcher, donated to the Red Cross by direct debit, considered pet ownership overrated, knew her brother-in-law had a drinking problem before he did and stopped listening to Engelbert Humperdinck the day the singer made a joke about the Queen Mother during a live interview on Radio 4.

During the montage on the first day of school, Cady is yelled at ...

Alert and self-assured, she made few demands of others and expected the same courtesy in return, preferring discretion at all costs. During her morning commute into the city, Perpetua remained vigilant lest she should drop her guard for even a moment and, in doing so, make eye contact with a fellow commuter just bursting to talk about his gifted toddler’s progress at Junior Montessori. She had nothing against the public, she simply regarded them much as she did junior royals: odd-jobbers whose pivotal role might one day involve organ donation. In an increasingly unrecognisable world where meat was murder, Drag Queen Storytime had replaced Show & Tell and a pope had wavered ever so slightly on the question of married clergy, Perpetua Tightwaters chose to anchor herself in work, God and country for everyone’s sake.

In her opinion, social distancing wasn’t overkill.

It was overdue.

Bad Hare Day

This guy chillin with his dog in London : funny

Every evening after dinner my dogs, Gizmo and Spark, take me for a walk. On our way to the park the pair regularly drops in on our elderly neighbours who, in most cases, once had dogs of their own. One in particular, Old Ed, is especially fond of Gizmo who himself is knocking on 17 years. The two have a bond and Ed discusses everything with his loyal friend, from his time in the National Service to the state of the NHS.

During one visit in particular we had time to spare and happily sat down to watch Crime Watch UK, one of Ed’s favourite TV programmes. Ed is 89 years old but not without his faculties and he considers it his civic duty to keep watch over the neighbourhood.

“It’s the old dears we need to look out for,” he said. “They’re soft targets.”

“And who’s looking out for you?” I asked.

“Gizmo.”

Elderly Farmer Standing Leaning On A Wooden Fence Surveying His ...

That evening’s episode included a re-enactment of a homicide which had taken place in the shires. Like all re-enactments, the viewers were first introduced to the characters and setting to make its treatment of the crime less clinical and more personal. The victim in question was an elderly farmer. His last day on earth portrayed him as a hard-working, decent sort who was fair in his dealings with others. The narrator set the scene:

John Brown began his day like any other, checking his crops in the fields. For him, as for every other farmer in the county, rabbits proved a perennial pest because he grew their favourite food: carrots. Every morning, shotgun slung over his shoulder, he’d shoot as many as twenty before breakfast.

“Vermin,” Ed told Gizmo, who hung on his every word although deaf as a post.

After a long day’s work, John Brown drove his tractor into an outbuilding and locked it shut. He then checked on his cows and hens a final time before heading into the farmhouse.

“Cows and chickens make okay intruder alarms but he should have had a few geese as well. They’re the best,” Ed informed me.

“Why’s that?”

“They’re skittish. Geese’ll wake the dead.”

“They haven’t mentioned his family so I’m guessing he might be a widower,” I ventured.

“They didn’t say. But where are the sons?”

“Maybe they didn’t choose that life.”

“It’s the best life for a person,” Ed was staring ahead at nothing in particular. “Fresh air, proper food, hard work…”

File:Age-worn door latch and lock on well-weathered planks ...

The narrator went on to describe what police believe happened next. Apparently, at some point during the night one or more intruders broke into the farmhouse. From what they could gather, the intruder(s) found John Brown’s shotgun by the door. Whether it was because he heard them or not, John Brown came downstairs and was confronted by the intruder(s) who killed him with his own shotgun.

Nothing of value was taken as far as police can tell. John Brown had no known enemies and it’s suspected it might have been a burglary which went horribly wrong.

“Poor bugger,” Ed stroked Gizmo behind the ears. “And by his own gun.”

“Maybe he screwed someone over,” I weighed the evidence. “Maybe he owed them money. Farmers are always juggling massive debts.”

“It wouldn’t be that.”

“Maybe developers wanted the land and he wouldn’t sell.”

“Nope, that’s not it.”

“Okay, last one,” I racked my brain. “Maybe he does have a son but they’re estranged and the son came to claim what he believed to be his birthright.”

“Not even close,” Ed looked out the window. “Think about it.”

Home - Grimmway Farms

I was flummoxed, but moreover, I was intrigued by his self-assuredness in the matter. I had apparently missed a vital clue which was the clincher. Now watching him savour the moment without any smugness whatsoever I was proud of Ed. He’d seen more in his lifetime than I ever would: The Great Depression, WW2, the draft, rationing, The Cold War and a man on the moon, yet I knew he now felt utterly discarded by those who had come after him. What he’d already forgotten I’d never know; I had gained knowledge whereas Ed’s generation had acquired wisdom.

“Give up?” he asked, thumbing tobacco into his pipe.

“I’m all out of ideas,” I conceded, happy to be sharing in his big moment.

“It was the rabbits.”

Lockdown Knockdown

Easter shoppers stuck in 'insane' queues for 3 hours due to ...

“Why are you in school?”

“What do you mean?

“I mean, why are you in school? Shouldn’t you be distance learning like everyone else? I’m in school because my parents are key workers.”

“Then I guess mine must be as well.”

“My father’s a Member of Parliament and my mother’s a doctor. What do yours do?”

“My dad stacks supermarket shelves and my mom works in a toilet paper factory.”

“Awesome!”

“Yup.”

“Come and eat lunch at our table.”

“I’ll get back to you.”

Thank Queue

Savannah Bananas Mascot Split Lounging Around - April 8, 2016 ...

“I’m watching you,” the voice came down the phone.
“Where are you?” I asked, pulling into the car park.
“Drive straight on until you see a yellow Smart Car. I’m just past it on the right.”
“Did you say yellow?”
“I know, don’t even-”
“-who in their right mind drives around in a yellow Smart Car?”
“Banana Man.”
“Who’s Banana Man?”
“I don’t know.”
“Maybe Big Bird’s in town.”
“Big Bird couldn’t drive a Smart Car with those toes. They’re the size of fire extinguishers.”
“Maybe it’s an automatic.”
“Again, with feet that size, I’d say: still too dangerous.”
“Yet it’s perfectly okay for a banana to get behind the wheel?” I queried. “I’m appalled and yet intrigued.”
“Bananas are good for you.”
“I don’t know what’s real anymore.”
“Good because I need you to shut up anyway.”
“Why?”
“Because our yellow friend is sporting a bumper sticker.”
“NO!”
“Oh, yes. Would you like to know what it says?”
“More than I need toilet paper.”
“It’s contains an axiom for all of humanity,” I was baited further, “written in glitter.”
I slammed on the brakes to avoid an accident.
“Kittens are angels with whiskers,” Laverne purred down the phone.

smiling kitten pictures | image courtesy of google images | Animal ...

“So are grannies,” I argued, as the vehicle in question came into view. “Jesus, they’re driving a two-door lemon!”
“Dog-hating weirdos,” Laverne muttered, watching me park. “Long time, no see. How are you?”
“Fine,” I started walking over to her.
“Stop right there or I’ll activate my Social Distancing Alarm,” she stretched out her arm like a traffic cop.
“Sorry, I’m still getting used to all that,” I backed away slowly.
“Luckily, I’ve been practising social distancing since I was a five,” she sniffed. “Come on, let’s get this over with.”

We’d arranged to meet at ASDA because our respective households were running low on essentials, plus, we wanted to catch up with each other in person. Crossing the supermarket car park, we were soon greeted by a queue that curled out of the entrance and along the entire storefront before disappearing around a corner.
“Good God!” Laverne stopped dead in her tracks. “They’re lining up the infected and shooting them!”
“More toilet paper for us then.”
“Quite right,” she pressed onward. “Every cloud and all that.”

Directed past countless, evenly-spaced shoppers by a team of brightly attired Queue Coordinators, we began to lose hope when one of them waved us over. Jean usually worked the cigarette counter but had been commandeered to keep customers orderly outside.
“John, what are you doing in the queue?” she asked. “You’re an essential worker. You can go straight in. Who’s this?”
“I’m the help,” Laverne winked.
“Not with those rings, Sweetheart,” Jean laughed. “Go on then, if you’re together.”
“These two are essential workers!” she hollered to a colleague guarding the entrance and, as if on cue, the queue burst into spontaneous applause.
“What the-”
“You’re the new Harry & Meghan,” Jean cackled. “Work that red carpet!”

“I was going to be a nurse,” Laverne whispered, before addressing the queue. “Remember, 2m apart! Social distancing means more nurses on the job and fewer ill at home.”
“Would you shut the hell up?” I whispered back.
“Not a chance,” she smiled and waved to her subjects. “Look at how happy they are. Anyway, it could have been worse: your friend could have said we were the new Donald & Melanoma.”
“You mean Melania.”
“What’s the difference?”
“You’d know if you were a nurse.”
“Hey, I’ve got a husband and three teenaged sons which means I’ve been on call since 1978,” Laverne said, lifting up a baby.
“Five minutes ago you were passing yourself off as my housekeeper.”
“And now look at me. John, my mere presence is filling the great void within these peoples’ lives. If there’s one thing I learned in school it’s that nature abhors a vacuum.”
True, but not as much as the help.

In Emergency: Break Class

Can Dogs Get Coronavirus? Hong Kong Pet Tests Positive | Time

We sent the students home today
And then wrote off the year
Agreeing we would all downplay
The panic and the fear.
The younger ones all whooped and cheered
As soon as they were told
Then out the door they disappeared
To watch events unfold.
The seniors nervously dispersed
First, shell-shocked, then resigned
This endgame they had not rehearsed
Would leave some friends behind.
Worse still, I had no lesson plan
No academic text
No clever quote from some wise man
To say what might come next.

Image result for last day of secondary school shirt sign

I struggled with this year’s goodbyes
But didn’t let it show
Instead I joked and signed their ties
And let them call me Bro!
Throughout the revelry we knew
The world was not the same
Our balanced lives were now askew
And we were not to blame.
But you can’t keep a good kid down
When they’re up for the fight
And as I watched them rally round
I knew they’d be alright.
The proof came when I reached my car
That’s when my vision blurred
In foam they’d written Au revoir!
Then What’s the French for NERD???

Ain’t No Hairdo High Enough

After work I thought I’d venture into Manchester to check out the city’s annual Mardi Gras shenanigans. Caught up in the spirit of goodwill, I ditched the 4×4 and opted instead for public transport to help save the Himalayan Poop Bat which, I’ve been reliably informed by my 16 year old niece, is hunted to make Poop Soup. This led to my boarding a bus only recently decommissioned by the Pyong Yang Transit Authority and shipped to Britain by sampan in the dead of night. Now glancing down the aisle at the human roadkill sprawled across each seat, I decided to remain standing and endeavoured to engage the driver in lively banter. This, however, proved a non-starter because life had kicked him in the nuts not once, but several times that shift, reducing him to a series of unintelligible expletives and questionable hand gestures. Backing away slowly, I retreated upstairs where I was immediately overwhelmed by an aroma you won’t find in any Laura Ashley candle.

Unexpectedly offloaded at the corner of Kidnap and Tetanus, I happened upon an old timer in a doorway balancing a few coins in his outstretched hand. Well, behind every face there’s a story so I asked him to start from the beginning. What unravelled was a sorry yarn indeed and at its end my raconteur summed up his lot, “I have a wooden crate for a seat, I have to beg to use the toilet, people brush past me as if I’m invisible, I can’t afford to buy myself a hot drink because a brew around here costs £5 and, worst of all, I have no idea where I’ll end up tomorrow. Do you have any idea what that’s like?”

“Yes,” I commiserated, “I’ve flown Ryanair.”

I then cut through the Gay Village where I had a deep and meaningful conversation with a 7ft woman. Thelma Mahogany Jr initially stopped me to ask for a light and yes, I will admit that for a brief moment I was outside of my comfort zone, however I would like to state for the record that it had nothing to do with her station in life and everything to do with the knife down each leg-warmer. I’ll talk to anyone and, as luck would have it, it turned out Thelma just happened to be going wherever I was.

As we strolled through The Village I marvelled at the outrageously extravagant decor adorning every building and asked her to pass on my compliments to the Mardi Gras Committee.

“Oh, those aren’t Mardi Gras decorations,” Thelma corrected me.

“They’re not?” I queried, taking a closer look. “Then what are they?”

“Isn’t your neighbourhood decorated all year round?”

“Nope.”

“Then what’s your street like?” she looked puzzled. “Is it just blank space everywhere?”

“Uh, I guess so,” I murmured, now giving it some thought.

“That’s a bit of a waste, don’t you think? Why not jazz it up? Honey, you gotta live a little!”

The lady had a point. And while I might not have gone in for the winged butt-plugs, I was starting to come around to the idea of a themed neighbourhood, in principle.

And our Thelma has dreams. She informed me that she is, among other things, an artiste who will soon be appearing at The Manhole in her one-woman show, a tribute to women of colour, past and present, entitled From Motown To Ho-Town. The production sounds very edgy because in the opening number she appears onstage as a black Elizabeth I, head-butting Pilgrims while twirling fire batons pre-soaked in poppers the night before. Other members of the cast include three Shih Tzus on hoverboards, an ABBA tribute act from Korea and Thelma’s own mother who will be throwing Bibles at the audience during the interval. As for the big finale, a final homage to those who went before her, Miss Mahogany Jr will lip-sync to her self-penned, glitch-hop track Ain’t No Hairdo High Enough.

You’re all invited.

Note From Management: All performances will be matinees only until Thelma’s ankle monitor comes off