You know you’re in trouble when the prices on the menu are in Roman numerals and the cheapest item is L.
The small town by the stream in the valley depended on the plant for employment. The plant was the very heart and the very soul of the community. Without it, the young people would have no alternative but to seek employment elsewhere. The old people would be eventually doomed to walk a Main Street of boarded up businesses. No plant, no work. No work, no economy. A ghost town in the making. Meetings were held. Petitions were signed and sent to the state capitol. Politicians made speeches, governor high to alderman low. In fact, as things turned out, it was during one of those speeches being given at the band shell in the town square that a young man came flying down the street while shouting, “The plant! The plant! It’s all over! The plant!” The townfolk streamed to follow the young man back to the plant. They slowed and stilled, gathering to peer through the wrought iron gate. It was true. Shoulders sagged. Tears crept down cheeks. The plant was dead. Its petals were strewn lifeless on the ground. Its stem was bent, brown, brittle, broken.
#
“Son, I ain’t nowhere even close to bein’ interested in a romp.”
The Impertinent Quince
“Are you one of those quinces we’ve heard so much about?” asked one of the avocados pleasantly, just to be polite, just to make the newcomer feel welcome.
“What’s it to you?” was the quince’s rude reply. “Is that your skin or did somebody green vomit on you?”
“Well, I never!” uttered the avocado, stunned and offended.
“I can believe that. A fat blob like you couldn’t if it wanted to, whatever it was!” said the quince.
With a haste rarely seen, the avocados rolled from the bowl with what dignity was possible for avocados and wibble wobbled down the length of the counter to gather next to the microwave oven.
“Geez, I thought they’d never leave,” said the quince.
“It’s a yellow apple. A SOUR ONE!” called out the boldest of the avocados.
“I’ll be a preserve. What’ll you be? GUAC! HA!” shouted the quince.
The avocados were stuck for a snappy comeback, so they opted for haughty silence. They wished that they really were alligators, instead of merely being called alligator pears. Then they would give that insufferable quince a lesson in manners not soon to be forgotten.
Moral: Rudeness is not exclusive to the animal kingdom.
Homer strolled by the wine-dark sea and sang out the story of Ulysses to rosy-fingered dawn. His secretary, Dave Chambers, hustled in Homer’s wake, transcribing every word in a shorthand only he could decipher.
After safely settling ‘Old Blindy’ – Dave’s private name for Homer – down for a nap under an olive tree, Dave industriously wrote out his notes in Greek and Aztec. Years later, sadly, he would misplace the Aztec version. On finishing his day’s labor, Dave exclaimed, “Gosh, this is exciting. I wonder what other crazy stuff will happen to Ulysses and his crew. Old Blindy sure sings a good story.”
watch out for bi-polar machete-wielding circus clowns
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Doc's Lunacy
5 of 5 stars to The Great Train Robbery by Michael Crichton goodreads.com/review/show/55…
