Conversations

 

I met up with two old friends from College the other day. There was Asparagus Tips and Mary Molehill. I can't remember why we called him Asparagus Tips. His real name was Rodney Green; so why the nickname Asparagus Tips I wonder. We called Mary Molehill by her first name. Just Mary. 

"Shoulder-Blade" Steve Saunders was not there. I called him "Shoulder-Blade" because years ago, after we left College and I was newly married, he borrowed a half-shoulder of lamb from me and never returned it. Or paid for it. Anyway, he wasn't at that meeting the other day. 

It was just Asparagus Tips, Mary and me.  

We discussed another mutual friend called Petri Dish. 

I remembered him from years gone by. He claimed he had a capuchin monkey which could play Rachmaninov's Piano Concerto Number 2 on the piano. I went to see his monkey one day. All he did was bang the piano keys with his hands and make a total cacophony.   

"That's not Rachmaninov's Piano Concerto Number 2!" I said, "he is playing all the wrong notes."

"He is playing all the right notes" corrected Petri Dish, "... admittedly, not in the right order!"

Which is what music is all about really. The right notes in the right order. A bit like writing a book. All the words you need are already in the dictionary. All you have to do is put them in the right order.

As it happens, I had met Petri Dish only a few days ago. 

In conversation he asked me, "What is it that a man does standing up, a woman does whilst sitting and a dog does whilst on three legs?"

"Shake hands, of course!" I replied.

He is an electronic inventor now. He has invented an air-fryer that can tell you the weather in Uruguay or Mongolia or wherever you want. So there you are in your kitchen frying some KFC and you're told what the weather is like where KFC was invented.

I asked Petri Dish, "what's the use of this?" He said, "so you can have a better air-fryer than your friend from church, Walter Kneecap!"

We call him Walter Kneecap because his knees click every time he kneels down to pray.  

"That's the problem these days," I said, "We all want to compete with each other as to what we have."

I don't even know Walter Kneecap's real surname, never mind whether he has an air-fryer or not. We're only nodding acquaintances when we meet in church not bosom buddies. If I had to identify him in an identity parade, or in the morgue, I'd have to ask him to nod to make sure it is him.    

As it happens, I asked him about his air-fryer after Mass yesterday. He said his air-fryer is called Thelma and she does all the cooking, washing, cleaning and sleeps with him as well!. Now that's modern electronics for you.

When I told my wife about Thelma she gave me the silent treatment.

I wonder whether Kneecap's wife, Thelma, talks or not. 

Or does she do the vacuum cleaning when sports is on TV? Why do wives do that? Start cleaning or go on with inane chatter when all their husbands want to do is watch TV? 

Why do husbands put up with all that? Is it because a husband is a man with the nerve taken out?

Well, that's not me. One of these days I'll really tell my wife to stop interrupting my TV ... but not just yet, I'm too frightened of her really!

(I hope my wife does not read this. I'd better stop, I hear her coming in now.)

Let us have a sober conversation

I'm often (sometimes) asked where I get all my ideas for humourous items from. The thing is, there are various triggering points that happen out of nowhere. For example, I could be in the garden picking apples from the tree, and I see some apples on the ground, and I think of the apple that fell on Newton's head and think:

What if the apple did not fall? What if instead he was sitting under the tree and he was suddenly raised up and his head hit the apple on a branch? Would he have discovered gravy then? What the world would be like without gravy? Eating dried meat or pies. What would an apple pie taste like without cream or ice cream ... ... ...

And so it goes. My mind wanders from one thought to another, and there's no stopping it. Sometimes it happens in my dreams and I wake up and write it down in a notepad.

For example, a young man asks his friend, "Is it all right to talk to my wife when making love?"

His friend replies, "I don't see why not, if there's a cell-phone to hand!"

Meanwhile, whilst I enjoy another single-malt whisky ... ... ... 
 
-    This is a fine whisky ... burp ... pardon moi!

-    Hic ... yes it is ... made in Scotland you know ...

-    Really? I thought it was made in vats ...

-    Where's that?

-    Vats ... big metal containers. You fill them with water and it turns into whisky.

-    I didn't know that. I always thought it was made in Scotland. Have you been?   

-     To Scotland? Yes ... once or twice ...

-    No ... I meant have you been to Vats? I tried going to Woven once. I couldn't find it.

-    Where's that?

-    It's in Scotland. I had a woollen garment and it said on the label Woven in Scotland. But there's no such place ... burp ...  very canny the Scots. They hide their towns if they don't want you to find them. Like they do with the Loch Ness monster ...

-    Is he in a vat? The Loch Ness thingamajig thing? 

-    I shouldn't wonder ... hic ... here have another drink ... like my aunt Thelma used to say, "never test the depth of the water with both feet".

-    Is that what happened to the monster? And that's how he vanished? Burp ...

-    How should I know? She was very caustic, she was ... Aunt Thelma ... 

-    Thelma? That's a disinfectant or a toilet cleaner isn't it? Good whisky this ...  

-    She died penniless. We had to pay for her funeral you know ... very expensive ... we couldn't afford to pay it all at once, so we paid in monthly instalments. The undertaker said if we miss a payment they'd repossess the body ... up she comes ...

-    I never had an aunt Thelma ... burp ... pardon me again.

-    She used to take offence at everything ... she did ...  

-    I like fences ... they separate people. Keeps them apart. You build a fence and you say ... this side is mine and this is yours. Keep off my side or else ... or else ... There are wooden fences you know, and metal ones, and plastic ones too ... I've seen them in garden centres. All sorts of fences. You can even build a fence between your garden and your neighbours made of bricks.

-    Bricks? If a fence is made of bricks, is it a fence or is it a wall?

-    I dunno ... let's ask them people on the Internet thing and see what they say. I hope they don't take offence ...

Conversation between God and St Francis

 

GOD to ST. FRANCIS:

 Frank, you know all about gardens and nature.  What in the world is going on down there on the planet?  What happened to the dandelions, violets, milkweeds and stuff I started eons ago?  I had a perfect no-maintenance garden plan.  Those plants grow in any type of soil, withstand drought and multiply with abandon.  The nectar from the long-lasting blossoms attracts butterflies, honey bees and flocks of songbirds.  I expected to see a vast garden of colours by now.  But, all I see are these green rectangles.

ST. FRANCIS:

 It's the tribes that settled there, Lord.  The Suburbanites.  They started calling your flowers 'weeds' and went to great lengths to kill them and replace them with grass.

GOD:

 Grass?  But, it's so boring.  It's not colourful.  It doesn't attract butterflies, birds and bees, only grubs and sod worms.  It's sensitive to temperatures. Do these Suburbanites really want all that grass growing there? 

ST. FRANCIS:

Apparently so, Lord.  They go to great pains to grow it and keep it green.  They begin each spring by fertilizing grass and poisoning any other plant that crops up in the lawn

GOD:

The spring rains and warm weather probably make grass grow really fast. That must make the Suburbanites happy.

ST. FRANCIS:

Apparently not, Lord.  As soon as it grows a little, they cut it, sometimes twice a week.

GOD:

They cut it?  Do they then bale it like hay? 

ST. FRANCIS:

Not exactly, Lord.  Most of them rake it up and put it in bags.

GOD:

They bag it?  Why?  Is it a cash crop?  Do they sell it?

ST. FRANCIS:

No, Sir, just the opposite.  They pay to throw it away.

GOD:

Now, let me get this straight.  They fertilize grass so it will grow.  And, when it does grow, they cut it off and pay to throw it away? 

ST. FRANCIS:

Yes, Sir. 

GOD:

These Suburbanites must be relieved in the summer when we cut back on the rain and turn up the heat.  That surely slows the growth and saves them a lot of work.

ST. FRANCIS:

You aren't going to believe this, Lord.  When the grass stops growing so fast, they drag out hoses and pay more money to water it, so they can continue to mow it and pay to get rid of it.

GOD:

What nonsense.  At least they kept some of the trees.  That was a sheer stroke of genius, if I do say so myself.  The trees grow leaves in the spring to provide beauty and shade in the summer.  In the autumn, they fall to the ground and form a natural blanket to keep moisture in the soil and protect the trees and bushes.  It's a natural cycle of life.

ST. FRANCIS:

You better sit down, Lord.  The Suburbanites have drawn a new circle.  As soon as the leaves fall, they rake them into great piles and pay to have them hauled away.

GOD:

No!?  What do they do to protect the shrub and tree roots in the winter to keep the soil moist and loose? 

ST. FRANCIS:

After throwing away the leaves, they go out and buy something which they call mulch.  They haul it home and spread it around in place of the leaves. 

GOD:

And where do they get this mulch?

ST. FRANCIS:

They cut down trees and grind them up to make the mulch. 

GOD:

Enough!  I don't want to think about this anymore.  St. Catherine, you're in charge of the arts.  What movie have you scheduled for us tonight? 

ST. CATHERINE:

'Dumb and Dumber', Lord.  It's a story about.... 

GOD:

Never mind, I think I just heard the whole story from St. Francis…

The Conversation

 

I was enjoying Wile E Coyote and the Road Runner on TV. I like it when the Road Runner goes "beep beep" and speeds out into the horizon. I wish I could run that fast. I'd come and visit you for breakfast then be back home for supper.

When the program ended I was in a real good mood seeing this and other cartoons. I like watching cartoons when feeling really down. Better than having a drink of whisky or even coffee to lift one's spirits.

I turned channel and there was this news-reader who said something really terrible had happened somewhere or other far away. I can't remember what it was or where it happened.

Beginning to feel a little depressed I said, "why are you telling me all this?"

He stopped reading the news and said, "because it is important!"

I replied, "it is important to you, because you're a news-reader, and it is your job to read this depressing stuff. Why is it important to me?"

He said, "because you should know what is happening in the world!"

"Why?" I asked him.

"So that you are better informed. No man is an island," came the smart reply.

This annoyed me. I don't like glib smart-arsed clichés with no real meanings. Usually the people who use them are fatheads with no original thought or opinion of their own and they parrot what the last stomach gurgle has brought up.

"No man is an isthmus either," I said, "or a peninsula, or a dune or a desert. What's that to do with the price of fish?"

"What I meant to say," he said in a condescending tone of voice as if talking to a child, "is that there are things you should know about. Like global warming, melting of the ice cap, the environment ... as well as national and international things like politics, trade between countries, scientific discoveries, medical matters and ..."

I interrupted him, "look here mate" I said, "these things may be important to you because you're paid to make people miserable. I can't do anything to save the planet from global warming any more than you can control your flatulence to protect the ozone layer!"

Before he had time to answer, I switched the TV off.

He switched the TV on again and said, "your ostrich like behaviour is in itself one of the causes affecting the environment ..."

In pure anger and frustration I threw the remote control at him. I expected it to break the TV. Instead, it bounced back off the screen and hit me on the head so hard that I passed out.

Half-an-hour or so later my wife woke me up and said, "do you realise that going to sleep and leaving the TV on wastes electricity and it's bad for the environment!"

I'm sure that news-reader has got to her. He's brain-washed her. I'm certain of it. She's re-cycling everything and is so conscious of our carbon foot-print in case it harms the planet.

She's even stopped being amourous for a while in order to save energy!