2465. Let her eat cake

Some cultures eat cake with a fork; some with a spoon; some simply eat cake with their fingers.

Aileen had baked a cake for visitors. It wasn’t a fancy occasion. It wasn’t a particularly fancy cake. The cake was simply something to nibble on with a coffee or tea, or in Jackie Olwynn’s case, with a glass of water. The occasion was something that Aileen did every year, and that was to invite all the women who lived on the street in for a cuppa.

This was the eleventh year that Aileen had held such an occasion, but it was the first year since her husband had upped and left. He’d run off with a woman who lived two doors down the road. Penelope-Prue most certainly was not on the invitation list!

And then the worst happened: Jackie Olwynn arrived with Penelope-Prue in hand.  “She wasn’t going to come,” said Jackie, “and I said, don’t be a silly-billy.”

Penelope-Prue was from overseas. She was not a typical foreigner; she was loud, obnoxious, and did everything that was totally, socially proper in an ostentatious way. AND – she ate her cake with a fork.

The little afternoon tea began. Aileen had already divided the cake and placed the slices on pretty plates of delicate flowers. “And would any like a fork to eat their cake?”

Penelope-Prue did. “An educated lady is one who eats cake with a fork even if she dines alone!” joked Penelope-Prue.

Aileen nearly sniggered. “Aha!” she thought, “it is indeed very proper for that frump to eat her poisoned slice with a fork.”

2452. The last apple

You see that single remaining apple on my apple tree? The apple tree is right next to my boundary fence. There used to be two apples but now there’s only one. I know perfectly well that the neighbour reached over with the help of a garden rake and pinched the second to last apple. The neighbour is obese in the extreme. I wish he’d fallen off the ladder and broken his neck. Not that I wish ill on anyone.

Those last two apples I was going to share. I was going to eat one myself and then by dividing the other into slices I was going to give bits of it to Perseus, my canary. Perseus is yellow, sings like a trooper, and loves apple.

Now that the neighbour has selfishly pinched the second-to-last apple and presumably scoffed it down I’m at a loss as to what to give Perseus for a treat. I’ve already injected weed killer into the remaining apple so if the neighbour tries any funny business on the ladder with the rake he’s going to be dead meat. But I can’t of course give any of it to the canary.

Then today I noticed the last apple was gone. I confronted the neighbour over the back fence. He still had the rake in his hand but I didn’t see an apple. He denied pinching my apple, so I said “You’re a liar and there’s weed killer in the apple so I hope you die.”

I always hang Perseus’ cage on a nail on the back porch if it’s sunny and later I noticed a slice of apple in his cage and Perseus was dead. I was pretty devastated, but fortunately the neighbour is inordinately proud of the watermelons he’s growing in his garden.

2447. A lethal posy

Anthea had always been a keen gardener. Now in her retirement, if the weather was fine, she was out pulling weeds, or planting seedlings, or watering the vegetables. Her garden was admired not only from the street but by the many neighbours who profited from Anthea’s generosity. Not only would neighbours benefit from boxes of fresh vegetables left on their doorstep, but bouquets of gorgeous flowers arrived if there was a happy or sad occasion.

Anthea knew fairly fast the tastes of neighbours. Charlene had pollen allergies so lilies in a posy were out. Gloria and Dick detested broccoli. And so on.

Now it so happened that one family of neighbours moved away. The house was bought by the nastiest couple imaginable. When Anthea welcomed them with a box of fresh vegetables, all they could say was “About time”. The husband (or the male in the relationship) had an obsession with drones. Anthea wasn’t the only one on the street to detest the invasion of her privacy with the neighbour’s wretched drones going here and there.

Enough is enough. Anthea whisked up a delightful salad from the greens in her garden. She included quite a few chopped up foxglove leaves – by mistake of course.

As Anthea said to Prue at the funeral, “Let’s hope any new neighbours are a lot lovelier.”

2432. A brew of convolvulus

Giselle’s husband, Jeffrey, had said quite clearly thirty years ago that the Convolvulus (Morning Glory, Bindweed) growing wild in their garden should be exterminated. “It’s poisonous,” he said. “If you made a brew with it, it could kill you.”

“Who’s going to make a brew out of convolvulus?” asked Giselle. Still, she pulled out most of it from the garden and destroyed it; if only to keep her husband from going on about it.

Over the thirty years the convolvulus kept reappearing. It was impossible to eradicate every root and it sprouted up will-nilly. These days Jeffrey’s dislike of convolvulus grew into an eternal diatribe. Goodness knows why he didn’t go into the garden and pull the weeds himself. Quite frankly, Giselle had had enough. “It’s a dangerous plant. It’ll kill you.” On and on Jeffrey went. On and on. Giselle did all the work around the house.

That was when Giselle discovered that a brew made with convolvulus didn’t work.

2386. The time is tripe

Brenda’s husband, Colm, detested tripe; whereas Brenda loved it. It was Brenda who did most of the cooking, which is why Colm was subjected to a meal of tripe at least once a month.

Brenda hadn’t moved an inch in the fourteen years they had been married. At first, love overruled any tripe-dislike on Colm’s part. He heartily consumed it. But such action grows thin and now it was a massive monthly chore and had been that way for a dozen or so years. Indeed the marriage had grown decidedly rocky.

Brenda had always worked the night shift at the factory, which meant she would prepare a meal before leaving for work. From Colm’s point of view this was a blessing as he didn’t have to pretend to enjoy eating the tripe. However, he was a waste-not-want-not sort of guy so even though he detested tripe he forced himself to eat it. It wasn’t going to kill him and it was only once every four weeks or so.

It was Colm’s detestation of tripe that prompted Brenda to use the dish when she decided to poison her husband. He so disliked the taste that he would gulp it down, poison and all, with a grimace. The stage was set. Brenda went off to work.

Fourteen years of disgusting tripe is enough. Colm took his dish of tripe outside and buried it in the garden. As Anita from up the road said to Colm in the motel that evening: “Thank goodness you’ve at last taken a stand against that conniving, tripe-cooking lowlife. When tomorrow we begin to setup shop together I shall cook you a mean jellied eel.”

2316. Murder is not always straightforward

The trouble using poisonous berries to kill your mother-in-law is that the mixture of poisonous berries tastes awful. You can add strawberries and raspberries and blue berries, but the few poisonous berries tossed into the mix render the concoction unpalatable.

I even tried a strong tasting ice cream to go with it, but without luck. I made a berry pie with the most delectable pastry. Still no luck.

In the end I took the more expensive road; I hired someone to shoot her. Now my wife wants a divorce for my part in getting her mother murdered.

The trouble using poisonous berries to kill your wife is that the mixture of poisonous berries tastes awful…

2243. A special gift

The alien craft had left to return to its own planet. The aliens had fallen in love with New York and ended up staying for a month. What a time they had! They were treated and feasted; they were toasted and entertained. It wasn’t meant to happen like that. The alien craft simply needed repairs – it was quite a simple repair but the part had to be manufactured. It was because of this that the aliens had to reveal their identity.

“We love New York!” declared the head alien before taking off. “We only wish New York was ours. We would fill it with ten million of our kinsfolk! Sadly it does not belong to us!”

“By way of thanks to New Yorkers for their extraordinary hospitality we are leaving behind a special gift. It is an exceptional vaccine that will cure all known illnesses. If you have chronic heart disease it will cure that. If you have arthritis it will cure that. If you get migraine headaches it will cure that. Gone are all allergies, every sniffle, every cough. Sadly we cannot leave enough for the entire world, even for all of America. There is enough only for New York. On a return visit we shall bring more.”

The Governor of New York expressed his thanks. The aliens departed. The Governor first gave it to his old mother and a couple of his sisters. They died. He then gave it to all the old people in the city. Old people were less likely to vote for a progressive Governor so it was sensible to use them as guinea pigs. Word got out that the vaccine killed. The Governor refused to give it to anyone else. By doing so he saved New York!

2216. Blackberry pie for Herb

Blackberry pie was Patricia’s thing. It wasn’t really blackberry pie; it was more a custard pie with a handful of blackberries scattered on top. She had made it for years, and for every occasion. Only once, when fresh or frozen blackberries were not available, had she resorted to blueberries. It was not the same. She vowed to make blackberry pie or nothing.

 Patricia’s husband Herb wasn’t overly fond of blackberry pie. He used to like it, especially in the first flushes of love, but now after quite a few years the novelty had worn thin and he craved variety. He would still eat a slice when the occasion called for it. And he knew how to pretend delight.

 It was this attribute of Herb’s that Patricia was relying on. He was sure to devour with fake enthusiasm the slice she had poisoned.

2151. Rat poison

When Gaynor went to the farm supplies shop she asked if the rat poison would kill humans.

“Goodness me!” joked the shop assistant. “Are you planning to kill your husband?”

Gaynor laughed. “Of course not,” she said. “I just want to make sure there’s no accident. I’d hate for the dog to eat it.”

“I would imagine it would kill humans,” said the shop assistant, “although I’ve never tried!”

“At least it’ll kill a rat,” said Gaynor. “We have just enough to make it a nuisance. I’ll have a packet of the blue rat-killing tablets please.”

“Now to make a blueberry pie,” thought Gaynor. “The dirty rat should love it.”

2115. The admirable psychiatrist

My thanks to each and every one of you for coming to this group session. Now that we have finished our coffee and cookies, if you would like to take a seat and we shall discuss the causes of why you are here: what is the root cause of why each of you suffers from low self-esteem? I know the course is expensive but I believe it will be worth every penny.

When someone comes to see me for therapy, it is usually clear early on if they have poor self-esteem. It shows up in their language, in how they talk about themselves, and it shows up in their non-verbal communication such as their body language.

For people such as yourselves with low self-esteem, I make it a priority to find out how the outside world valued you when you were young, and how as adults you can now determine your own value.

This can be hard and take time to achieve, so I have saved you the trouble by poisoning your coffee and cookies and none of you will ever have to worry about low self-esteem again. You, to be quite honest, are the dregs of society, and I have arranged for a garbage truck to wait at the back door and you’ll be loaded into it – at this stage dead or alive – to be taken to the town dump.

All doors, except the back door, are locked. Have a nice day and thanks for your money.