“It is clear the accused is insane and needs to be institutionalized.”
“But…” She stands. “I’m not insane! I was…”
“Sit down,” says the judge. “You are clearly insane.
“Take her away!”
“But I was framed!”
“Yes,” the prosecution says. “That’s what they all say.”
“Commit her to the asylum!”
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“I really hate blind dates,” said Gertrude as she sat across the table from her blind date in a posh restaurant with candles on every table. She dug in to her baked potato as though it was a mound of dirt, piled beside an open grave. Clearly she was more the drive-thru type.
“Then why did you come?” Victor asked reasonably.
Gertrude shrugged her neon green fleece-clad shoulders. “Never had lobster before.”
Victor had an idea. “You know, if they don’t cook the lobster enough it will come back to life and bite you.”
His date dropped her fork. With a clatter it bounced off the plate and onto the floor. Victor plucked his napkin off his lap and dabbed the corner of his mouth as he stared at her plate. “I think I saw it twitch.”
“You’re fucking with me.”
“No. Seriously. I…” He stopped a passing waiter – the one who had, in fact, placed their meals on the table. “Did you see that?”
“See what, Sir?”
“I think the lady’s lobster is still alive.”
He saw a slight grin on the waiter’s face. “Oh dear, not again. I’ll inform the chef.”
“Get someone out here to catch it first, would you?” Victor said. “I think it’s going to jump.”
With that, Gertrude stood. The waistband of her track pants caught the tablecloth and lifted it, flipping the plate clean off the table onto the floor. She ran, shrieking from the restaurant. Victor didn’t follow her.
“Thanks, mate,” he said to the waiter. “I’ll add a little extra to the tip.”
“Not at all, Sir,” said the waiter as he hurried off to find someone to catch the lobster, which was presently chasing off the remaining women diners.
Note: Other than the title of this post, it had nothing to do with the title of anything at all.
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I’m so wicked! I have brought dishonour on my family by letting him put his hands on me and lift my skirt. I was even wanton enough to let him put his thing in me! But I’m secretly pleased with myself, losing my virginity at ninety-one glorious years of age.
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He was strong, so I tried to act robust.
He was kind, so I attempted to be a damsel in distress.
He was funny, so I laughed until I cried.
He was exactly who he was, so I became myself.
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“And in other news, the big fluffy clouds will puke out some snow.”
Harvey the anchor smiles at the camera while whispering out of the corner of his mouth, “Jerry, what the hell am I reading?”
To which Jerry replies, “Just keep reading!”
“The snow will consist of styrofoam clumps, coated in coffee grinds…”
“Jerry! I can’t read this shit!”
“Keep reading!!”
“… and by five o’clock your afternoon commute will resemble …”
“Jerry! What is that word?”
“Shmoopimple.”
“Shmoopimple?”
“Yes! Read it!”
“…your afternoon commute will resemble shmoopimple, wall to wall traffic. And that’s the news.”
And that was the day Harvey quit his job at the community college television network.
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2016 was an extremely good year. The mansion in which I lived included a butler, a maid, three cooks and a gardener. Fortunately they lasted two months each. And every one of them was more delicious than the last.
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William was going to die. Everyone knew it, but most of all, William knew it. While he was still able to get around he decided to go to his lawyer (who was also a close friend) to make his final arrangements. The lawyer promised William he would gather together all of William’s relatives when the time came.
William’s most prized possession was his dachshund. The dog had a mind of its own and William admired it. He called the dog Willie in a vain attempt to be more like the animal. He decided to leave Willie with his eldest son, William the Second. There was, however, a clause which stated that his son would have to actually want the dog. Otherwise Willie was to be placed elsewhere.
Soon after William’s trip to the lawyer, William died. As promised, the lawyer gathered everyone together. This was what he said to the family:
In Will’s will, Will willed Willie, the willful dachshund, to William. Should William be willing, Willie the willful will henceforth reside with William.
William’s will went uncontested and Willie and William the Second lived happily ever after. Except that time William’s wife Winifred sat on Willie because Willie wouldn’t move off the sofa.
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She regretted jumping in to the January lake the moment her feet touched the water. From there the cold rushed up her body like a train, speeding uncontrollably along a track. Completely submerged, her long hair floated above her head, reaching for the frigid air above. Then blackness surrounded her, and she knew no more.
She awoke with a gasp. That damned dream again. There were many things in her life she regretted but none more than that stupid polar bear dip her boyfriend in college had talked her into. Stupid, stupid Canadian tradition.
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“Persnickety Clickit.”
No, that’s not it.
“Lickety Splicket.”
Not that either.
“Jiminy Cricket!”
No!
“Lemony Snicket?”
Ah ha!
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Mr. Strange was the normalest person he himself knew. He shaved every morning and put on his suit and went to work as an accountant in a perfectly normal firm downtown. He drove a Lexus and he lived in a three bedroom bungalow by himself with his dog and his cat and his three fish. The bodies buried in the basement didn’t count as other people. They were corpses.
***
Miss Harper enjoyed the company of Mr. Strange very much. She was a secretary at the firm in which he worked. She lived downtown a few blocks from the company in an apartment on the fifth floor. She didn’t drive, but she had admired Mr. Strange’s Lexus and even said so once. She was hoping he would invite her out to dinner.
***
Mr. Tarvell was Mr. Strange’s boss. He always thought there was something odd about Mr. Strange, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. He knew his secretary, Miss Harper, had a “thing” for Mr. Strange and he wanted to say something but he didn’t quite know how.
***
Mr. Strange’s dog wouldn’t stop trying to get into the basement. He thought about giving the dog to Miss Harper, the secretary at work. She seemed lonely. Perhaps he would invite her over.
***
Miss Harper’s first visit to Mr. Strange’s house was an event that surpassed every event that she had ever had in her life. On the outside, Mr. Strange was a kind man. Gentle, it seemed. In fact he was the normalest man she had ever had the pleasure of working with. However, they had barely started into dessert when he swooped everything off the table, the table cloth included, and crawled over to her and kissed her passionately. They never made it to the bedroom. He made love to her under the dining room table, her head banging on one of the chair legs each time he thrust into her. She took a taxi home. She couldn’t wait to see him again.
***
Mr. Tarvell noticed a strange smell on Miss Harper’s clothes the next day. It seemed, somehow, that she had gotten moldy. Like she had spent the night in the refrigerator, cuddled up to a basket of rotting strawberries. He didn’t want to say anything lest it seem rude.
***
Mr. Strange was the normalest person he himself knew. That he would soon require a bigger basement meant that he would also probably need a new job. A better paying job. A job in a town where no one knew him. Leaving his present house to the dog seemed the wisest choice he had made in quite some time.
This post is part of Stream of Consciousness Saturday. It’s only late if you insist on changing the clocks at 2am… http://lindaghill.com/2015/10/30/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-oct-3115/
Linda G. Hill 