|Very Slight Stories | Like short stories, only shorter.||
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Conn would get drunk nearly every night and stagger through the main street after the pubs closed, singing scandalous songs and shooting anything that didn't move. He threatened anyone who complained about him, and he insulted everyone else. He also shot at the arrows in the sky that the weather forecasters predicted.
He shot rainbows as well.
Something needed to be done about Conn, but the men were all afraid of him. The women decided that they'd have to take matters into their own hands, so they organised a petition. Most people signed it under an assumed name because they were afraid that Conn would take revenge. This is why Mousey F. Crayonville and Harplet O'Toole signed it.
The women presented the petition to Conn, and it had a powerful effect on him. He started crying, and he hated crying. He considered it to be worse than leprosy, and he hated leprosy.
The women saw him in a different light. They could see that he was really a sensitive soul beneath the rough exterior. They forgave him for all of his past misdemeanours. They made him meals and cakes, and they even cleaned his house.
This change didn't go down well amongst the town's men. When Conn went to the pub in the evenings he spent a lot of time pointing and laughing at them, so they paid Benny to point at him. Benny had been taught how to point by a man who lived in a cave. This man was so good at pointing that he once made another man's soul evacuate its body through the rear exit. When Conn came into the pub one evening, Benny pointed at him. Conn ran away screaming. He kept running and screaming until he was in the woods, and he stayed there for three days. Some of the women had seen him running away through the town. Cowardice was a real turn-off, and when he returned, all of the women ignored him.
He went back to his old ways, and he was worse than ever. He was always getting into fights in the pub, and he started shooting clouds. The men needed to do something about him. The bar man in the pub, whose name was George, said, "Twenty women is too many for one man, and zero women is too few. One would be the ideal number, or possibly two. Find him one woman and it'll quieten him down. Or possibly two. Joe would be the man to ask for advice in this area."
Joe had a way with women. He once put washing powder down his trousers and jumped into a river. When he came out of the river he went to a woman on the bank. He said to her, "Do you want to go to the dance with me?"
She said yes and they went straight to the dance.
George told Joe about the problem they were having with Conn, and how they planned to solve it. Joe said, "I know just the woman for him. Martha wouldn't be long sorting him out. She wouldn't stand for any nonsense. I've seen her make an inebriated pig hang his head in shame."
"How would we bring them together?"
"You're always better off going for the simplest solution. Just lock the two of them in a room for a few hours. When she's stuck in a room with a man there are only two possible outcomes. Either she'll fall in love with him or she'll kill him. And either outcome will solve your problem."
They took bets on the outcome. Death was the favourite, but love won the day. After this, Conn was always in bed long before closing time, so the men in the pub were able to point and laugh at him behind his back.
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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