Tag Archives: story

1195. Fat man’s widow

Roberto was so fat when he died that a special coffin had to be made.

“We don’t stock gigantic coffins for grossly fat people,” said the undertaker to the grieving widow. “You’ll have to get one specially made.”

The poor grieving widow had nowhere to turn. She said she couldn’t afford to have a coffin specially made, let alone a very large one. She went to see if she could get some government benefit to help out.

“We don’t pay for gigantic coffins for grossly fat dead people,” said the Government agency. “If he’d gone on a diet and exercised a bit of self-control before he kicked the bucket we might have looked at it with a bit of sympathy.”

The grieving widow went to see the pastor of the local church.

“Why would we want to help out?” asked the pastor. “Your late husband was a grossly overweight, fat pig. You can’t have your cake and eat it, although looking at the size of your dead husband I’d say he’d eaten as much cake as he could stuff in his mouth. Haw! Haw! Haw!”

By now the grieving widow was desperate and the body (still sprawled on the sofa in her sitting room) was starting to disintegrate.

“Why haven’t you got rid of the body of that disintegrating, grossly overweight, slobby fat pig?” asked the children of the dead husband’s first marriage.

“I can’t fit his corpse through the door and the undertaker won’t help out until the money for the coffin is paid up first,” said the grieving widow.

People heard of the grieving widow’s plight. Thousands of dollars were donated. The grieving widow used the donated money to go on a world cruise in an ocean liner. You can imagine the stink that caused.

1194. Pub corner

Yeah. Well. I was sitting unobtrusively in the corner of this pub having a think and having a quiet drink and smoking a cigarette which I had just taken up again after eleven years off them. And this guy comes up to me and says, hey, have you ever thought of doing something useful with your life?

And I say, yeah, like what?

And he says, I dunno. Get married and have kids and do something useful, instead of smoking and drinking on your own in a corner.

And I say I’ve got a wife and kids already.

And he says, well how come they’re not here or at least your wife? She might enjoy a night out.

So I stood up and socked him the biggest punch on his jaw I could muster. He fell down and I kicked him in the crotch and left.

Some people don’t know how to mind their fucking business.

1191. Three sons

Bridgette was tired. She held down two jobs. After all, as well as herself, she had three mouths to feed. There was Tom, her eldest, with Les in the middle, and Archie at the bottom. Three boys! And she provided for them on her own.

School was an expensive time, what with books, and camps, and computers, and this and that. All three sons with just a year between each. She should have spaced them out better!

Of course, they ate Bridgette out of house and home. Boys have such gigantic appetites. She was forever having to refill the fridge.

Now, at last, they’d all finished school. All three had part-times jobs, but spent most of their time at home on their computers and phones.

Could they not perhaps, suggested Bridgette, make a small monetary contribution to the running of the house? Now that they have part-time jobs?

But we live here. This is our home, they said. Why should we pay board?

Frustrated, Bridgette went out to mow the lawn.

1188. In hot water

Imelda was adamant. She reckoned that instant coffee tasted ten times better if the kettle was switched off just before boiling. “One degree under boiling, and the coffee tastes best,” she said.

Bradford, the husband of Imelda, disagreed. “Water that’s had the living daylights boiled out of it tastes best,” he said.

Anyway, they got a divorce over irreconcilable differences. The three kids – Guava, Banana, and Ugli Fruit – were farmed out, and Imelda and Bradford got on with their movie careers.

1187. Clean and green

What a go-ahead suburb Greenqueen was! For years they had cared about the environment. The streets were lined with gardens and hanging baskets. No artificial sprays used here. The council had stipulated: all was to be clean and green in Greenqueen.

And then disaster struck. There was an ant plague. Every garden, every hanging basket, every lamp post, every shop door, was alive with ants. Something had to be done.

A pest control firm was contacted. Could you come in plain clothes, in plain vehicles, in the middle of the night, and surreptitiously spray the streets with ant-killing spray?

They did that, and no one complained because no one knew.

Unfortunately, with the lack of labels everything was mistakenly sprayed with weed-killer.

1158. Roll Over Shakespeare

I don’t often deviate into a true story, but so many have expressed a kindly interest in my house-hunting that I thought the “story” of getting a successful outcome would be an acceptable off-track thing to do.

We now have a house to go to, but what a saga getting there! It was our third trip away to look at houses, although we’d been looking online for over a year.

Here’s the view as we scamper along the road to the region of New Zealand called Taranaki. See the volcano?

We had decided we weren’t going to move until we found as near a “perfect” rental place as possible. Over the years we have been “forced” to hurriedly move because of work, or the owners sold or wanted the place themselves, and so on. It was time to find a place to rent that suited us! A list of must-haves and nice-to-haves was made, e.g. water pressure (not a dribble), three large bedrooms, room for a sizable vegie garden, a log-burner, two car spaces, and so on.

Several weeks ago we found a semi-suitable place online. It was in the shadow of Mt Egmont, one of New Zealand’s many volcanos.

Last Monday the rental agency phoned to say we had missed out in renting it, but another place had come up for rent. Were we interested? We said we were, and could travel the six-hours there and back to see it next weekend. On Saturday/Sunday we made the journey. It’s near the same volcano! It has three bedrooms, a wood-burner, three garages… It was at 422 Ryelish Road, way-way in the country! The appointment with the rental agency lady was at 11am. We waited at the gate. At 11.15am we still waited at the gate. At 11.30am we still waited at the gate. The rental agency lady didn’t turn up. We sent her a text. No reply.

Blow it! said I. We haven’t travelled all this way not to see it. We shall knock on their door and ask. So we did that, but no one was home. The house was unlocked. We went through the garages. We went through the house. I took photographs of everything. There was even a cat on the bed!! They had recently mowed the lawn in preparation for our inspection!

The place was excellent!

As we returned to our vehicle the phone went. It was the rental agency lady. Where were we? She had waited for an hour. We’re at 422 Ryeish Road.

It’s 422 Ryeley Road, she said.

Oh!

Oh!

It was in fact the next road over. We went there. If the wrong place had been excellent, this next right place was perfection! It couldn’t have been better (although there’s a tree blocking the view of the volcano so I won’t be able to photograph it for you when it explodes).

We shall be moving there in three weeks or so. Time to pack! Thank goodness I’m several months ahead with the daily stories! The nearest town is called Stratford. Roll over Shakespeare!

And that is the story of walking uninvited through some strangers’ house and photographing everything. I might add, they hadn’t made their beds.

1152. Romance reader

Jonathan was nineteen years old and loved to read popular romances. He particularly liked the swashbuckling heroes who rescued the damsels in distress. Then they would fall in love and get married and live happily ever after. Why settle for dark, morose characters when a rumbustious champion could conquer the world? Of course, he never told his friends that he read romances.

It wasn’t silly for Jonathan to think he could be like that. There must surely be some bravery in the world, and some zealous ardour to go with it. All he need do was find the right girl and the right situation.

Anyway, he went to the First World War and got shot.