Garlic – Monologue 2


Well sometimes, you know, it’s very hard to know what to do – what the right thing is to do. Marjory has bad breath. Everyone in the office knows that Marjory has bad breath but no one wants to tell her.

So I took the bull by the horns and told her. “Marjory,” I said, “do you realize that you have bad breath?” And she said, “Oh, it’s garlic.” And I said, “Well it can’t be garlic. You always have bad breath, and you wouldn’t have bad breath all the time unless you ate garlic all the time.”

So she rushed off to the ladies’ room and said she never wants to speak to me again and that’s where she is now. And quite frankly I don’t know what to do because it’s nearly time to go home and I always get a ride home in Marjory’s car. So if she’s going to pout I’ll just have to take the bus.

I mean someone had to tell her.

Here she comes now. Stinky breath. Stinky breath. Hey-ho. Stinky breath.

Oooooh! You won’t have heard her, but she just walked straight past me and said “Fat bitch” right in my face and breathed on me.

I hate it when the boss carries on like that.

Trash – Monologue 1


My wife wants me to take out the trash. It happens every Wednesday evening. The collection is early Thursday morning.

Don’t forget to put out the trash.
Have you put out the trash yet?
Just wait before you take the trash out; I haven’t finished peeling the potatoes and don’t want the scraps rotting away for a week.

It usually starts on the Tuesday.

Don’t forget to put out the trash.
Have you put out the trash yet?

At least we have a sort of semi-conversation. It’s the only conversation we have all week. It’s been like that for a couple of years.

Don’t forget to put out the trash.
Have you put out the trash yet?
Wait! Wait! Can’t you wait till I finish peeling the potatoes, you stupid man.

It’s Wednesday. I have my wallet in my pocket. I’m going to take the trash out. And I’m going to keep on walking.

1001. Cabbage seeds


(The last story is almost the same as the first. This story perhaps explains why these 1001 tales are called “Cabbages Seeds”.)

I’ve stopped gathering for a minute. I thought I’d tell you how an Angel showed me a field and gave me a spade and a sack of cabbage seed.

“Dig the field and sow the seeds,” the Angel said. “When the cabbages are ready, God will take you away.”

I began to dig and in my joy there seemed no night. Sometimes I looked towards the trees near the fence. I think there were further fields afield.

And now the seeds were planted. They sprouted and I knew every leaf. Not a weed survived! Sometimes I’d chase a butterfly. It was like a game, like a children’s game. Maybe the butterfly was God in disguise coming for a look.

Months passed and hearts began to form. Soon God would come. I’d been asked to grow these cabbages for heaven! It was a joke and I was jester.

Then I knew. They were ready for harvest. God would take me away for it was the time of the Angel’s promise.

But there’s no telling with cabbages as to the moment of ripeness. It could be now, but then again, it could be in a while.

I waited.

God did not come to get me. The cabbage hearts broke open and the stalks grew into a field of yellow flowers. I have gathered the seeds into an old sack.

(That completes this series of 1001 stories, 101 music compositions, and 35 poems. The “collection” has been moved to the website at Stagebarn. Thank you for walking all or part of this journey with me.)

Music 101: A plagal cadence


Let me tell you a story (or two) to celebrate the last of the music postings! As some of you know, almost every note of the music over the last 101 compositions has been composed using only the computer mouse and a free program downloaded off the net! I have no electronic music keyboard, so everything gets composed with little clicks! Quite a few years ago, in my young teaching days, I had an electronic keyboard – a Korg! What a wonderful thing it was! As technology developed, it could be connected up to the computer. I lent it for a year to a student of mine called Craig. He used it in a rock band at university, although his main strength was playing the double bass in an orchestra. The Korg died not long after its return, and I’ve never had a music keyboard since; hence the challenge (and fun) of trying to compose something with just a mouse! I see that Craig lives in Paris these days. His assets are valued in the multi-millions! I dream that he’ll one day phone me up out of the blue and say “How’d you like another Korg!”

When I lived in North Carolina my next door neighbour was Mr. Robert Moog, the inventor of the Moog synthesiser. He’s passed on now. I never met him personally.

Thanks for listening over these last 101 compositions. As you may know, the monthly poems ceased on the 1st of this month with five limericks; and the daily stories, with story 1001, finish this coming Thursday the 7th. That’s tomorrow! Amen! And for those who know music theory, that’s usually a plagal cadence!

1000. The gate


Minnie stood at the doorway. She said farewell to her brother. It was for the last time. He was to be gone; forever. They hugged. He moved away.

He walked down the garden path and never turned back. His footfalls crunched on the path’s gravel. There were flowers on either side. Somewhere a bird sang.

He turned a corner. His footfalls faded.

Minnie heard the gate latch open.

She heard the gate click shut.

999. One thousand and one nights


When Albert heard of The Arabian Nights he thought, so what? What’s the big deal? Anyone can write 1001 stories. So he started. And when he got to story 999, he discovered that in the original there were only about 250 of the bloody things.

998. Free parking


Matilde didn’t normally use the parking building down town. She usually parked a distance from where she wanted to go and avoided having to pay those “town council rats who want to squeeze money out of every stone in the city”.

This time, however, she had to visit the dentist urgently, and finding a car park space where she didn’t have to pay was the last thing on her mind. So she entered the parking building, collecting her ticket from the automatic slot machine as she drove in.

The dentist took longer than expected. She had to wait, and then they extracted a tooth because of an abscess. She had been away several hours.

Her parking building ticket said to REMEMBER TO PAY BEFORE LEAVING. So Matilde wandered around the seven story parking building for quite some time looking for the automatic machine that would read her ticket and tell her how much and where to pay. She couldn’t find it.

Then she saw a person wearing a uniform and presumed it was some sort of parking building attendant, but they said the uniform was from the nearby supermarket where they worked, so Matilde saw someone else and asked them and they said they didn’t know how you paid for the parking because they never used the building.

In the end, Matilde didn’t know what to do, so she got in her car and drove to the exit. She presumed that payment must be made at the exit. The automatic arm at the exit simply said please put your ticket in the slot. When she did, it said YOU MUST PAY FIRST.

There was a car behind Matilde. She was almost in tears and the numbing injection from the dentist was starting to wear off. She couldn’t back back because of the car behind her. Then the nice man driving the car behind came up and asked what the trouble was.

He gave Matilde his paid for parking ticket and said he would tailgate behind her. And he did that, driving his car bumper to bumper out through the upraised arm of the parking building’s exit. Two cars escaped for the price of one.

And that was how Matilde met her husband.