Tag Archives: Chemotherapy

1377. No hot dog

It had been the most horrific twelve months of his life. Blair had undergone operations and chemotherapy and goodness knows what. And now he was as cured as he could be. His last appointment with the specialist was over. All was well. It was the beginning of a new phase of his existence. He was heading home.

That was when the writer of this story couldn’t decide whether to have him choke to death on a hot dog he bought on the way home, or let things alone.

“How may I help?” asked the shop assistant.

“I would like a hot dog, please.”

“I’m sorry, but we’re out of them.”

“Oh well.”

So that was decided. Blair returned to his car alive! Hurrah!

As he got into his car he had a heart attack.

743. Guy in a beanie


Keith had to catch the ferry. He hadn’t seen his girlfriend for three days. The ferry crossed from one island to another thrice daily. This time there was a huge line.

No more tickets. All booked out. Come back in the morning. Should have booked earlier. Go away.

The line disintegrated. People grumbled.

Keith pulled a beanie hard down over his ears. He hunched his back and looked forlorn. He went to the ticket office.

“Chemotherapy,” he lied, pointing to his head. They gave him a ticket.

The boat sank.

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