memoirs, art and fragments by Thomas Milner

Posts tagged ‘humour’

Supergirl

My wife has gone to the West Indies

Jamaica?

No, she went of own accord.

STAGE 1

STAGE 1

My brother went to Eastern Europe for a holiday

Romania?

No, I went with him.

STAGE 2

STAGE 2

I’ve been learning a Scandinavian language

Finnish?

Not yet.

STAGE 3

STAGE 3

It’s not the jokes that count, it’s how you write them.

STAGE 4

STAGE 4

I’ve got Togo

SUPERGIRL

SUPERGIRL

MERRY CHRISTMAS

Wanted!

The police are looking for this this man in connection with his last blog:

PORTRAIT

The general public is warned not to approach him directly but to get in touch with the local authorities, as he is dangerous and armed with a scathing, acerbic and mordant wit.

He has been known to use the following (banned) literary devices:

litotes, metaphor, paradox, paronomasia, periphrasis, epizeuxis, episthrophy/antistrophy, antithesis, oxymoron, cacophony, scesis onomation, assonance & alliteration, brachylogies,  anaphora, satire, irony and even sarcasm.

Sometimes he ventures trenchant and pithy observations on the Human Condition.

He quips puns & one-liners;

Cracks jokes & jibes;

Banters & jests;

He’s a wise guy.

And lastly he looks a bit creepy.

I would suggest nabbing him after lunch as he is nodding off for a post-prandial snooze in front of a TV show featuring a woman who makes her own pumpkin-jam according to special secret recipe from her village … yawn … yawn … snore … snore.

I don’t feel old. I don’t feel anything till noon. That’s when it’s time for my nap.

(Bob Hope)

The Village Idiot

My brother and I like trading etymologies.

Glamour comes from grammar;

Silly from holy 

He always held that the word idiot originally meant non-conformist. I thought before going further with that one I should check it out on good old Wiki and sure enough learn that the word idiot does indeed come from the ancient Greek idiotes, which refers to a person disinterested in participating in democracy and public life.

Such people were viewed as selfish, contemptible and stupid as they were more concerned with their daily personal affairs than they were of the good of the society.

Later in the middle-ages the word took on additional connotations associated with being stupid or mentally incapable.

 

 

Mark Twain.  Suppose you were an idiot.

And suppose you were a member of Congress.

But I repeat myself.

Blackadder and Baldrick

Baldrick: I nearly won the village-idiot-of-Wimbledon contest but I was disqualified at the last minute.

Blackadder: Really? What happened?

Baldrick: I showed up

Me: I won the village-idiot-of-Maceda contest.

Killing goldfish softly

My physiotherapist has developed an idée fixe over the years that whenever I think about any goldfish, it dies.

I think that she is making a rather drastic confusion between cause and effect.

A GOLDFISH TRYING TO ESCAPE

I dearly wish I had that mental power – there would no flies on me anymore.

I wouldn’t restrict my zapping powers to mere goldfish;

I would have other fish to fry.

I would extend it other creatures;

I would attend a Harry Potter-style academy and work my way up the food chain.

I would achieve a BA (Black Arts)

then an MBA (Master of the Black Arts)

and finally a PhD (What’s it All About, Alfie?)

I would then change my identity and appearance but I wouldn’t go for the George Clooney/Brad Pitt look, rather I’d choose that guy in Patrick Susskind’s novel Perfume (must reading, by the way) you know, the pervy little alchemist who could become invisible at will.

(Oh, and while you’re at it, lop off a couple of decades from my age, will ya?)

Then I would sally forth and hire myself out to all the Presidents, Prime Ministers, Chancellors, Dictators, Czars, Sheiks, Kings, Absolute Monarchs, Autocrats, Nutters and Sociopaths with cash to spare.

I would become all the rich and powerful megalomaniacs of the world’s worst enemies’ nightmare. I would become a millionaire, a billionaire, a trillionaire.

I would become The Lord of Darkness.

THE LORD OF DARKNESS

I would be taken up to a high place and shown all the leafy mansions, lobster dinners, Aston-Martins, Rolex waches, private yachts, trophy wives, (trophy mistresses), Armani suits, i-pads, i-phones, i-gots, i-buy-therefore i-am hand-me-down religions in the world and ask Him:

–          OK, now what’s the deal?

But all this is predicated on the hypothesis that I am the man who kills goldfish with his thoughts.

I’m not.

So you  can stand down and relax, goldfish.

The man who kills goldfish with his thoughts

There’s really much to write about this subject except that my physiotherapist has developed an idée fixe over the years that whenever I think about any goldfish, it dies.

I think that she is making a rather drastic confusion between cause and effect.

I dearly wish I had that mental power – there would no flies on me anymore. I wouldn’t restrict my zapping powers to mere goldfish; I would have other fish to fry. I would extend it other creatures; I would attend a Harry Potter-style academy and work my way up the food chain. I would achieve a BA (Black Arts) then an MBA (Master of the Black Arts) and finally a PhD (What’s it All About, Alfie?)

I would become a Prince of Darkness.

I would then change my identity and appearance, but I wouldn’t go for the George Clooney/Brad Pitt look, rather I’d choose that guy in Patrick Susskind’s novel Perfume (must reading, by the way) you know, the pervy little alchemist who could become invisible at will. (Oh, and while you’re at it, lop off a couple of decades from my age, will ya?)

Then I would sally forth and hire myself out to all the Presidents, Prime Ministers, Chancellors, Dictators, Czars, Sheiks, Kings, Absolute Monarchs, Autocrats and Nutters with cash to spare.

I would become all the rich and powerful megalomaniacs of the world’s worst enemies’ nightmare. I would become a millionaire, a billionaire, a trillionaire.

I would be taken up to a high place and shown all the Aston-Martins, Rolex waches, private yachts, trophy wives, (trophy mistresses), Armani suits, i-pads, i-phones, i-gots, i-think therefore i-am hand-me-down religions of the World and ask Him:

–          OK, now what’s the deal?

But all this is based on the hypothesis that I am the man who kills goldfish with his thoughts.

I’m not.

But I must confess to thinking of her wretched fish some years ago – long enough to write this little sketch.

Scene – A tank in the kitchen of Angela’s house.

1# goldfish – Ooh look! There’s Angela.

2# goldfish – Ooh look! She’s having her breakfast.

3# goldfish – Ooh look! Here Angela’s mum to say hurry up or you’ll be late for work!

Later, about mid-morning – and here comes the sad part – the fish, perhaps unable to bear the excitement of life in Angela’s kitchen or simply feeling unequal to the struggle for existence, gently and gracefully expire.

When Angela’s mum comes back from the shops she notices that the fish have died. Oh dear, she thinks, Angela will be a bit upset – I know, I’ll break it to her gently.

Later Angela comes home from work. Her mum says:

–              Hello dear, how was your day?

–              Not bad.

–              Listen, I’m afraid I’ve got a bit of bad news.

–              What?

–              Well, let’s put it this way, you don’t have to bother to feed the goldfish this evening.

–              Why not? Has Dad been feeding them again?

–              No, it’s because they’re dead.

Angela feels annoyed. Those damned fish keep on dying on me, she thinks. I know I’ll go this Saturday to the pet-shop to make a complaint.

Saturday, at the pet shop:

–              Good morning Madam, what can I do for you? Some piranha fish… a nice little shark… perhaps an albatross….?

–              I’ve come to make a complaint. Those goldfish that you sold me last weekend have already died!

–              No they’re not dead, they’re only sleeping.

–              Sleeping! They have not moved for days!

–              Yes these Oriental fish like to hibernate sometimes…

–              Look, they are dead! They’ve gone to that great fish-tank in the sky! They have shuffled off their mortal coil! They have kicked the bucket! They have cashed in their chips! They are deceased…. They are ex-fish… they are DEAD!

–              Well if you’re sure… would you like three more?

Angela goes next door to the café and has a soothing cup of coffee to calm down

THE MAN WHO KILLS GOLDFISH WITH HIS THOUGHTS

(Those who can, do; those who can’t, blog)

I am an Idiot

 

My brother and I like trading etymologies; eg. glamour comes from grammar; silly from holy etc. He always held that the word idiot originally meant non-conformist. I thought before going further with that one I should check it out on good old Wiki and sure enough learn that the word idiot does indeed come from the ancient Greek idiotes, which refers to a person disinterested in participating in democracy and public life.  These people were viewed as selfish, contemptible and stupid as they were more concerned with their daily personal affairs than they were of the good of the society.

Later in the middle-ages the word took on additional connotations associated with being stupid or mentally incapable.

Mark Twain.  Suppose you were an idiot. And suppose you were a member of Congress. But I repeat myself.

Blackadder and Baldrick

Baldrick: I nearly won the village-idiot-of-Wimbledon contest but I was disqualified at the last minute.

Blackadder: Really? What happened?

Baldrick: I showed up.

Sometimes I feel a bit of an idiot

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