 |
| 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.
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.
-----
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.
-----
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….
No comments:
Post a Comment