|Very Slight Stories | Like short stories, only shorter.||
Tuesday, May 10, 2005
A man and a woman sit in silence at a table in a quiet café. She holds a cup of coffee and stares out the window. He leans back in his chair and taps his fingers on the table top. They can hear a woman talking on the street outside. The sound fades away.
Subtitles: Yes, I will accompany you to your parents' dinner party, but if your aunt Carol tells the story of the time she met Tiger Woods and he had a golf tee stuck in his beard, I will be unable to refrain from pointing out that she is an idiot. That was not Tiger Woods. That was obviously a man with a golf tee in his beard who wanted to make a fool out of your aunt because he found her so repulsive. I find her repulsive too. And if she talks about how her daughter's pet rabbit does a little dance whenever someone says the word 'shuffle', I will be unable to refrain from pointing out that this would make him more intelligent than her daughter. If she tells the story of her dog and the water, I will leave the table in disgust, but not before I point out her numerous grammatical errors. The dog is very strange and your aunt is an idiot. If her dog keeps getting wet it is because she is stupid. And if her dog likes the rain it is because he is stupid too. I also find your parents repulsive.
The Tree and the Horse
A Walk in the Rain
The East Cork Patents Office
Words are my favourite noises
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|very slight stories||
They Met a Bear
They stopped in a small seaside town and they went for a walk. They met a bear.
This is one version of the story. In another version, they met a sailor, and in this one they ended up being held at gunpoint on a speedboat and becoming unwilling participants in a diamond robbery while disguised as a cow, and sharing in the proceeds of that crime.
So when they tell the story they just say, "We met a bear. He waved at us."
The Story of the Fortune Teller and the Alarm Clock
A fortune teller threw an alarm clock at me. This story is deliberately lacking in details to mock the predictions of the fortune teller. Although she was right when she said she'd throw an alarm clock at me.
One. Two. Three, the study. Four, a candle stick. Five. Six...
Seven is missing, presumed dead. One has taken up the case, and two is helping him in his investigations. They both suspect six. Seven was last seen next to six in the garden.
But seven isn't really dead. He's consumed half a bottle of whiskey and he's currently in the orchard, talking to a rabbit. "One of us is as boring as a gate post," he says, "and it's not..." He stops to count on his fingers. "No, actually it is me."
Eight nine ten.
Debbie and his dog
Debbie was sick of people mistaking her for a man.
"Is your dog my parole officer?"
She was sick of people asking her that too.
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