Tag Archives: elephant

1319. An elephantine love affair

Kwanza was an African elephant – from Botswana. Minrada was an Asian elephant – from Sri Lanka. They fell in love.

“Culturally,” said the Professor of Cultural Studies at the University, “the two will have irreconcilable differences. Culturally they will have little in common. The marriage will not, cannot, last.”

“Genetically,” said the Professor of Genetics at the University, “they are from two difference species. They simply will not be able to make a baby. The marriage will not, cannot, last.”

“Cuisine-wise,” said the Professor of Culinary Etiquette at the University, “one of them is going to get sick of eating grass instead of leaves. The marriage will not, cannot, last.”

“But we love each other,” said Minrada and Kwanza. “We’re not marrying each other’s culture.”

That was years ago. They’re still together. No kids. They alternate between eating leaves and grass. And they came to realize fairly fast that they DID in fact marry into each other’s culture.

1099. The elephant

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.

As you can see, it pays to be sensible.

655. Peach Petal

© Bruce Goodman 27 July 2015

655peachpetal

Concheetah was a traditional witch, except for a few minor details: she didn’t have a big hooked nose with warts on it; she was married to a rich lawyer; she rarely wore black; she didn’t have a broomstick. But she did have a beautiful step-daughter, called Peach Petal.

Peach Petal was called Peach Petal because she was as gentle as a spring blossom; her skin glowed with a soft, radiant hue; her voice was as tender as a petal floating from a branch in a fragrant breeze.

For Peach Petal’s seventeenth birthday, Concheetah phoned Why-Not-Take-A-Ride-On-An-Elephant Inc. and booked a safari ride. Peach Petal was thrilled. She sat atop the elephant and off they went.

The elephant took her far, far away, through enchanted fields; across babbling streams; over distint mountains; through dramatic alpine passes. She saw baby giraffes; she saw two new-born buffalo playing a game of cavort-around mother; she saw a pride of lions, and she saw a more-than-handsome farmer moving a herd of unicorns.

“How do I get home?” asked Peach Petal of the farmer.

The farmer told the elephant. The elephant took her home; the quick way.

Concheetah was furious. She phoned Why-Not-Take-A-Ride-On-An-Elephant Inc.

“That horrid girl returned,” snarled Concheetah into the phone. “Take her away again, and this time don’t bring her back.”

Away went Peach Petal on the elephant again and, to cut a long journey short, Peach Petal and the farmer had eleven children and together they looked after the amazing animals on their wonderful farm.

As for Concheetah, she fell down a water well while snooping around on the farm. No! She didn’t drown. She is still screaming for help, but Peach Petal and the farmer can’t find a yarn tall enough to haul her out.

Maybe this yarn will do the trick.