There was this small, pink elephant in the middle of the road.
A man came along on a bright blue motorbike and said, “Get off the road, you stupid fat pig.”
“I’m not a pig,” said the elephant, and picked up the motorbike with its trunk and smashed it on the ground. It broke into a thousand pieces. They forgave each other, so the man got on the elephant and they trotted off together.
My neighbour works as a prostitute. Well, that’s a bit harsh; she’s a “call girl”. She must be all of thirty if you want to know, and she drives quite an expensive motor vehicle. So she must be doing quite well.
In between times, and goodness knows she seems to sleep in quite late, she sells marijuana to all the people who constantly visit. I can see them out my window. They’re all eager for the weed. They knock on her door with four taps, with a brief pause after the third. From my window I see things handed over, and then they’re back in their cars and off like a shot.
I know it is marijuana because she grows it just over the fence on her property at the bottom of the garden. I see it when I mow my lawn. I have no idea where she dries the stuff. Maybe in her garage or in her roof somewhere.
So both these activities keep her pretty busy, and no doubt rich: entertaining guests and selling dope. I know it keeps her busy because every time I’ve knocked four taps on her door she’s been too busy to see me.
Clarence was what might be called “orderly”. He would rise at 7 minutes past 6, feed the cat, prepare the evening meal, shower, get dressed for the daily drudgery, have breakfast, and then drive the 1 hour 10 minutes in his car to work. He always followed the same pattern.
Tomorrow morning was going to be different. His car had a flat battery. For once he would have to take the bus to work. He thought he had better start earlier because the bus took longer than the car.
A curse on the breaking of a regular schedule! He boarded the bus and the 90 minute trip began. Then Clarence remembered something. He hadn’t had a pee.
Herb had been sent home from school for swearing at a teacher. They’d phoned his father, and his father had said “What the … Where did he learn that from?” Herb started walking home. Then he noticed something he’d never seen before. There was a sign as he walked past the gas works:
NO SMOKING. DANGER OF EXPLOSION.
Herb lit a cigarette and threw it over the fence. He carried on walking. That should teach the town a lesson.
My friend from school, Broderick Entwistle; his parents don’t argue like my parents do. My parents argue all the time, even when my friend, Broderick, comes to stay the night. They argue and argue like no one else is there. Sometimes I wish they’d go their separate ways and be done with it.
Broderick Entwistle’s parents never argue. When I stay over at their place they’re as nice as pie, and Mrs Entwistle is lovely. She has time to talk to me and ask me things because she’s not spending all her time arguing with her husband like my parents do.
I like going to the Entwistle’s place. It’s a relief not to have to listen to my parents going on and on. And the Entwistle’s place is so happy. Unlike mine.
So it was a bit of a surprise when Broderick told me this afternoon that his parents were getting a divorce.