Very Slight Stories | Like short stories, only shorter.

'Darcy and O'Mara' is a novel by Arthur Cronin.
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Tuesday, July 13, 2010


Being laughed at is the best medicine

   Jeffrey won an award for 'Best Actor in a Sit-com'. Only then did he realise that he was being filmed. He became depressed because people saw his life as a comedy, and they found him even funnier when he was depressed. He knew he had to do something to show people that he wasn't a failure, so he decided to start his own business. He was confident that he could make a success of whatever venture he undertook, and people would stop laughing at him.
   In hindsight, starting a chicken farm was always more likely to reinforce his image rather than alter it. There were too many opportunities for mishaps. The chickens seemed to know exactly what parts of his body to peck for maximum comic effect, and they showed perfect comic timing. Buckets would do their utmost to lodge themselves on his head to exact their revenge when he filled them with something nauseating.
   His next venture was a guesthouse, but he knew it was doomed to failure on the first night when a series of mix-ups led to him being stuck in a bedroom with the wife of a politician who was in another bedroom with a nurse. His wife was convinced that Jeffrey was madly in love with her.
   Jeffrey knew he'd have to try something else. His record company never got off the ground. He only signed one act, and she only signed the deal because she wanted to kill him. His work in his shoe shop was hampered by hens who kept pecking him in sensitive places.
   He realised that people find it funny when a serious venture goes wrong, but it wouldn't be as funny when a stupid scheme goes off the rails, and it wouldn't be very funny at all when a stupid scheme succeeds. This is why he set up a business with his brother. They worked at Jeffrey's house, making tweed clothes for badgers. But on their first day of work, a baby was abandoned on the doorstep. There were some hilarious moments as Jeffrey and his brother struggled to change nappies and feed the baby. The nappies were copying the buckets.
   Jeffrey gave up trying to be successful, and he realised that he didn't care about what people thought of him. He didn't need the respect of other people. He decided to do something worthwhile, and he didn't care if it ended in total failure. He set up a charity to raise money for victims of natural disasters. It was a huge success, and no one laughed. He won people's respect, but he didn't care about that. He wanted to show people that he had no interest in earning their respect and that he didn't care if they laughed at him, which was why he chose to do something stupid. He wore a kangaroo costume and he kept tennis balls in the pouch. But no one found this funny. If anything, they respected him more than ever. He was irritated by their reaction, but he had the compensation of knowing that he was helping others with his charity, and the kangaroo costume was extremely comfortable.

The Tree and the Horse
Henry Seaward-Shannon
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.

Very Slight Stories: like short stories, only shorter

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