|Very Slight Stories | Like short stories, only shorter.||
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
When I woke up this morning, people were waiting outside my house for me to say something, so I said 'ant'. Journalists called around later and asked me to expand on my remarks. I expanded 'ant' by putting a 'the' before it and an 'is' after it. This satisfied their curiosity, but when I looked at one of the newspapers on the following day the headline was 'The Ant is Dead'.
I was being blamed for the ant's demise. I spent days searching the countryside for the ant. I knocked on every door I came across and asked everyone I met in the fields, but I couldn't find it anywhere, so I got a dog to pretend to be the ant. The journalists were impressed when they saw that the ant had learnt how to sit, but the dog's cover was blown when the real ant returned and exposed the impostor. The journalists were very impressed with the way the real ant was able to expose an impostor by pulling the dog's wig off. I pretended to be shocked, and I was able to deflect all of the blame onto the dog. He was angry with me for a while, but I made up for it by setting him up on a blind date with a Yorkshire terrier. I just hope he doesn't find out that she's really a hedgehog.
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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