Category Archives: A Story a Day

1332. National icon

The fact that he was regarded as a national icon gave Dave a great deal of personal satisfaction.

As a seventeen year old, he had held a number of national swimming titles. He went on to become an extremely successful singer in a rock band, followed by years as a popular television compere. These days he was the founder and president of an international agency that brought hearing to impaired children all over the world.

Now if he could just escape this loony bin…

1331. Deep in discussion

Serge and Jean-Paul sat at the back of the church hall deep in conversation. Serge’s philosophical perspective embraced the nihilism of a Camus, whereas Jean-Paul lent more to a philosophical stance that embraced a wider spectrum such as Plato and Kant and even Aquinas.

Serge and Jean-Paul were arguing, each from their philosophical perspective, about educational theory. Both agreed that the current school system needed overhauling, but both had quite differing views as to what should be done. They had been discussing it for nearly three hours, and sometimes quite vigorously.

Now that their wives had just finished putting away all the ranks of chairs and cleaning the church hall from top to bottom – windows and all – it was time to go home.

1330. Rats!

Jim insisted on getting rat poison. June had presented him with every argument she could think of to stop him, and now look what has happened.

“There’s a dirty rat in the shed,” said Jim. “I’m not having that.”

“The cat will get it,” said June. “It’s too expensive. We don’t have the money. It’s too dangerous. Some child might eat it. Anything could happen. We don’t need it. There’s nothing wrong with the occasional rat.”

June had always watched the pennies; Jim not so much. They were not well off. There was so much allotted for living expenses each week. There was little room for luxury, and in June’s mind rat poison was a luxury.

“There’s a dirty rat in the shed,” repeated Jim. “I’m not having that.” Rat poison was purchased.

“I told you it would happen,” said June. “Now there’s not enough money left in the bank account for me to get cigarettes.”

1329. The sound of silence

Twelve year old Stacey Cunningham’s rendition of Sometimes I Feel Like a Motherless Child was the clearly the highlight of the service held for Veterans yesterday, according to a spokesperson for the Veterans, who wished to remain anonymous. Since then, the committee has changed its tune.

Angelica Flopp thought that “the choice of song showed a great lack of sympathy for those present who may have been orphaned or lost a parent during the war. There was no need to rub it in.”

Billy Le Blanc agreed. “The song mentions religion, and it was most unsavoury having to listen to religious references when not everyone present was a believer. In fact, it was downright offensive to most of the audience who are either atheists or agnostics.”

As a result, the organizing committee have met and decided that next year, so as not to cause offense, all songs will be replaced with periods of silence.

1328. Which is which

Mr and Mrs Granville McLeod had twin boys – Jock and Jack. Jock was good-looking and sporty; as handsome as they come and a body like it had just popped out of Michelangelo’s modelling studio. Jack, on the other hand, had little going for him. He was slow, almost short of a couple of planks, pimply, slightly hunchbacked, skinny, and ugly-ish.

The girl down the road, Ingrid, fell desperately in love with muscular, handsome Jock.

“Let’s hope,” said Jock’s proud parents, “that you have fallen in love with his profound intellectual ability and not with the perfection of his body. One would be a manifestation of true love, and the other merely low-lying lust.”

To solve the mystery as to what aspect of Jock Ingrid admired the most, Mr and Mrs Granville McLeod cut off Jock and Jack’s heads and sewed them onto the wrong bodies.

“Now we will see,” said Jock’s proud parents, “whether Ingrid loves him for his body or his mind. Which one do you pick, Ingrid?”

Faced with such a challenge, Ingrid made an announcement.

“I have come to a decision. I shall marry neither because I could not face a life-time of such meddlesome parents-in-law.”

1327. Potatoes

News Report: Mr and Mrs Stanley McBride are so proud of their daughter Mary (pictured). She had just come fifth in a Grow the Biggest Potato competition at her school.

“We are so proud of our daughter’s efforts at growing a potato,” said Mr McBride. “She just stuck a sprouting spud in the dirt and voilà! Look at that beauty!”

“There’s no doubt that our daughter takes after her late grandmother,” added Mrs McBride. “They both have green fingers as can be seen by the size of that potato. And she’s only nine! There were four boys ahead of her, but she beat eighteen other boys and two girls with her potato.”

Letter to Editor I: I am shocked and horrified that the parents of the “girl” who got fifth in the potato growing competition have already determined the gender of their child. She is only nine, for goodness sake, and already she is having her parents’ old-fashioned definitions of sexuality rammed down her throat. Who said the child wants to be a girl? Who determined at such a young age that she should be female? While I congratulate the child on getting fifth with her potato I am sure the child shall come somewhere near the bottom when it comes to coming to terms with its own sexuality.

Letter to Editor II: How dare the school run a competition. A competition exists to make those who do not win feel bad about themselves. The school could have had instead a Celebrate the Potato Week. But no! They have to go and tell most of the students that they are losers. Even the little girl who got fifth is a loser. There can be only one winner in a competition and that is the person who gets first. The girl is a big-time loser and that is all this potato competition is telling her.

Letter to Editor III: Why did we see a photograph of the girl who got fifth in the potato growing competition? Was it because she was a girl? I would like to have seen pictures of the boys’ potatoes. A couple of the boys holding onto their potatoes would’ve been much more stimulating than seeing a girl holding a spud and getting fifth. What is the world coming to?

Letter to Editor IV: I would like to join with others in congratulating the little girl who got fifth in the potato growing competition reported in your paper last Thursday. The photograph of her is stunning, and she looks wonderful in her summery frock purchased, I believe, from my shop on Duke Street. I am putting this brand of children’s wear at half price during this week as a way of celebrating. But be in quick. They will sell fast – Like a hot potato!

Letter to Editor V: I hope the girl’s potato was grown organically. These days too many gardeners grow their potatoes using sprays. We eat only what we grow ourselves. I haven’t sprayed my potatoes now for five years. My wife says, Oh for God’s sake spray the potatoes this year, because she’s hanging out for a boiled spud, but no! I refuse, even though Colorado potato beetles decimate my crop every year. I really hope the little girl at the school, and the boys too, learn from my example.

Letter to Editor VI: I always piss on my potatoes. The same for lemons. The potatoes love it. I think the little girl who got fifth in the potato competition should get some extra points. It’s a lot easier for boys to piss on their potatoes than it is for girls so she’s at a disadvantage from the start. Judging from the size of the girl’s potato I wouldn’t be surprised if she got her father to take the occasional slash out the back of the garden shed.

Letter to Editor VII: My little girl didn’t get anywhere in the potato growing competition. She grew a sweet potato and was disqualified. A sweet potato is apparently not a potato in terms of the competition. They said the only reason my little girl grew a sweet potato was because she’s fallen victim to stereotypes. Being female should not be regarded as “sweet”. My son grew an unbelievably huge carrot. He didn’t get anywhere but he wasn’t disqualified. They said he was welcome to stick his carrot in the competition. There seems to be one standard for girls and one for boys.

This correspondence is now closed: Editor.

1326. A handsome prince or two

Bodice and Eunice were two relatively unattractive princesses who were into hats in a big way. They were sisters.

One day a handsome prince came to the castle and Bodice and Eunice were on their best behaviour – he was so handsome. Bodice wore a large hat with fruit on it, whereas Eunice’s hat sported pinecones and fluffy rabbits’ tails. The handsome prince found them relatively unattractive (both the princesses and the hats). When he was offered the hand of either one in marriage he almost spewed his guts out.

He threw a golden ring into the castle’s huge goldfish pond, and said he would marry whoever found the ring – princess or not.

Bodice and Eunice set to work, draining the fishpond and gutting all the fish. No luck. The ring was not to be found. There were fish guts everywhere, and the place stank.

The brother of Bodice and Eunice, whose name was Bevan (you haven’t heard anything of him until now) was walking along near the fishpond, and he saw a man hiding behind a bush.

“Pssst!” said the man behind the bush. He gave Bevan the golden ring. “Show this to the handsome prince.”

The handsome prince was called forth. Bevan showed him what he had been given. The handsome prince looked remarkably like the man behind the bush.

They lived happily ever after.