Old Grouch Fable Collection pt2

The beginning of 1485 Italian edition of Aesopus Moralisatus (From wiki)

Note: Hopefully I can do more of this. The first part was written in 2011....a sequel 13 years in the making. You can find the first one here.   

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Tortoise and Hare 2: The Hare-y Vengeance.

Ever since he lost to a tortoise in a race, the hare was a broken...hare He vowed that he would have another race, correct the whole damn thing, and win this time like he should have in the first place.

Therefore, one day he went looking for the tortoise and found the later chewing on some garbage.

“Hey, tortoise,” he greeted the tortoise, who at this point had given up on swallowing a crumpled mineral water bottle.

Tortoise spat the crumpled plastic out and said, “I have a name, you son of a bitch. It’s Murray.”

At this point, this narrator is ashamed for not even checking up on those names. What’s yours, Hare, I asked.

“Harry,” said the Hare before adding the “duh!” and rolling its eyes.

Harry then confronted Murray and said, “Hey, how about another race?”.

Murray snickered and said, “You think you're gonna win this time?”

“Hell yeah,” said Harry. “I ain’t gonna do no sleeping no more.”

“That’s a shitload of double negatives,” said Murray. “Alright, let’s try it out.”

“Cool,” said Harry, looking at me. “Hey baldy, you wanna be the official; start the race off.”.

“Sure,” I said, producing a.44 magnum (the most powerful handgun in the world). Once they were in the starting line, I shot the monster of a revolver upwards, making the blast sound that deforested a few acres. Immediately, Murray, shocked by the explosive sound, jumped and turned over to his back. Harry, seeing that, laughed uncontrollably.

And it happened. The bullet I shot in the air returned, and the kinetic energy knocked the shit outta Harry, who didn’t die, but has enough brain damage that he thinks he is a gay dolphin.

As for me, I was arrested ala Alec Baldwin for the "accident.”

Moral: Always check the revolver chambers for live rounds.

 

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The Butt Ugly Duckling

Once upon a time, about 3 in the afternoon, a farmer had a duck. He had the same duck at 2.45 pm too, but what the hell?

The duck laid ten eggs; it was the quota at that time, apparently because the decimal system was just invented and implemented alongside the metric system; there was a strict regulation of laying eggs in tens. Any number lower or higher would result in well... crips braised duck legs with aromatic vegetables.

Soon all the eggs hatched; one by one the ducklings popped out and immediately started quacking incessantly till the mother smacked them with her wing. But wait a minute.

The tenth egg cracked, and out came one ugly mother of ducklings. It’s so ugly that the mother felt guilty about the secret rendezvous she had with the neighbour’s drake.

The other ducklings started laughing at this ugly duckling. So, did the farmer. They even had a sit-com laugh track to enhance the scene.

Unable to take it, the ugly duckling ran away and ended up in the city. It was adopted by a dude who turned out to be a plastic surgeon. He performed surgery on the ugly duckling, and voila! It still looked ugly. The surgeon, realising he had failed, became an alcoholic and sent the uglier duckling packing, and the duckling travelled, gathered experience and wisdom, and grew up to become an adult—still an ugly duck—with all that knowledge and world-wise insights, he became a highly sought-after guru, calling himself Swami Vaatthanandha, though he was later implicated in a sex scandal, but that’s a story for another day.

Moral: Don’t overcompensate and stay away from gals if you are a Swamiji.

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The Fisherman and the Fish.

There was once a fisherman whose whole livelihood currently depended on the investments in several companies's. All the companies folded because they were scams. So, the fisherman was back fishing anywhere he could—the sea, the river, the pond, the neighbour's  kitchen, anywhere.

One day, he caught a small fish. The fish….fearing for its life, yelled, “Please leave me, kind sir. I am, but too tiny; you can’t even make fish and chips outta me, let alone steamed Chinese style. Drop me back in the river. We can become Facebook friends. In fact, let me grow; I will become big and fat, and then you have something for the entire family. You can drop by this spot, say, in a year’s time. Let me go!”

The fisherman’s jaw dropped. A talking fish!

“Well, fish. You are talking about the future. I just lost shitloads of money on scam investments. You think I’m gonna listen to you giving me prospects, you son of a bitch?”

The stunned fish that really pleaded for its life, “Please, sir, let me go. I don’t even taste good; you can wiki my species.”

But the fisherman had an idea.

The next day, he set up a stall at a local market and brought the fish in a bowl and started yelling, “Come on over, come on over. A talking fish. For some measly sum, it will predict your future.”

The fish and the farmer lived happily ever after, prosperously…well, not actually. The fish, feeling miserable being used like that, one day jumped out of it’s bowl and into the toilet bowl to kill itself. Though the farmer who used the toilet, not noticing the small fish, had flushed and sent the fish straight to local sewage. The fish lived there henceforth and made friends with tubifex worms—or sludge worms, as they are popularly known.

Moral of the story: I just learnt there’s a creature called Tubifex worm...damn and eww….