TELL ME A STORY...

by under74 49 Replies latest jw friends

under74

FINE.

a fisherman named Wade, he sold sea trout for no money but trade. He came across a woman named Lena, who had a laugh just like a hyeena.

Lena was once married to an illiterate cowboy...
prophecor

a fisherman named Wade, he sold sea trout for no money but trade. He came across a woman named Lena, who had a laugh just like a hyeena.

Lena was once married to an illiterate cowboy...
And now every night she wants fritters and chowder
for dinner on Sundays with gravy & stuffing, she wants more for nothing
under74

it doesn't have to rhyme
under74

a fisherman named Wade, he sold sea trout for no money but trade. He came across a woman named Lena, who had a laugh just like a hyeena.
Lena was once married to an illiterate cowboy...
And now every night she wants fritters and chowder
or dinner on Sundays with gravy & stuffing, she wants more for nothing

more roast beef and horseradish but she's scared of the mad cow...
xjw_b12

A businessman walks into a bank in San Francisco and asks for the loan officer. He says he is going to Europe on business for two weeks and needs to borrow $5,000. The bank officer says the bank will need some kind of security for such a loan.
So the businessman hands over the keys to a Rolls Royce parked on the street in front of the bank. Everything checks out, and the bank agrees to accept the car as collateral for the loan. An employee drives the Rolls into the bank's underground garage and parks it there.
Two weeks later, the businessman returns, repays the $5,000 and the interest, which comes to $15.41.
The loan officer says, "We are very happy to have had your business, and this transaction has worked out very nicely, but we are a little puzzled.
While you were away, we checked you out and found that you are a multimillionaire. What puzzles us is why would you bother to borrow $5,000?"
The businessman replied, "Where else in San Francisco can I park my car for two weeks for $15 bucks?"
under74

lol xjw...see, that's a good story and true.
JustTickledPink

Lena was a Swedish model (true bit here) that posed for Playboy in their most sold issue ever, Nov 1972. Not only was she gorgeous, but her picture ended up being used in a lot of engineering magazines as the model for image processing....
So, there was a cowboy, his gorgeous Swedish wife, and the fisherman that came along and offered her a life at sea if she would only leave her cowboy man.
AlmostAtheist

Hey U74,
Here's a scene from a book I'm writing (and, mercifully, will probably never finish). The guy, Ralph, has decided to become the messiah of the year 2000's. He realized that nobody knew what to call them. We had the 80's, the 90's, then .. ? He thinks twenty-zeroes sounds right, and he wants the world to know. (Sadly, this is based on a real individual)
And so I present chapter 3 from "Blathering":
Eight o?clock awoke to find Ralph Umshook already bent over his home office computer, angrily tapping out an email to one of his many misinformed detractors. This had become the norm, the morning knew, and so it left him alone and wandered off to wake dogs and remind them to bark annoyingly, disturbing the neighbors that had decided not to get a dog because they don?t like to listen to them bark.
The dogs couldn?t be heard in Ralph?s apartment, being on the sixth floor of his apartment building. In actual fact it overlooked, not a dog-containing backyard, but the parking lot of a restaurant that no one ever ate in. It might even be closed now. Not to say that the door was open all that much when it wasn?t officially closed. At any rate, the parking lot was generally empty and this led to Ralph?s not having any vision out his window. As is often the case when people?s external vision is reduced, either by blindness or surroundings, their internal vision becomes keener. Unfortunately, Ralph was keen only on finding things that people had wrong and setting them straight. His latest project was the one he had only briefly introduced to Brian. That conversation still sat heavily on his mind, even now as he prattled on to Mr. Evans, the latest naysayer to leave negative feedback on his website. Ralph found it amazing that so many people were able to get up each morning, wander aimlessly through their day, eat, drink, essentially ?live?, without ever seeing the things that he saw. Conspiracies, commonly-held misbeliefs, they were everywhere and to Ralph?s way of thinking, they were quite obvious. Perhaps his gift from Whatever Gave Gifts was the ?second sight? that enabled him to see these falsehoods. Whatever the means, he recognized that this ability was coupled with an acute responsibility. The gift of the tool meant the obligation to use it. Much as a rescue worker would be held accountable for idly using the Jaws of Life to crush cans for his own amusement while a person awaited rescue, he knew that he would be guilty of the gravest of intellectual crimes were he to leave untrod the path opened before him.
His wife thought the whole thing was just uninformed arrogance and told him so. Often, in fact. Then she started saying it to a lawyer. Then the lawyer translated it into words like ?willful non-support? and ?frivolous use? and said it to a judge. Again the word ?arrogant? was bandied about, and here he was, divorced, living alone in a cave of an apartment while his wife enjoys the standard of living she had always enjoyed. Enjoyed it a fair bit more, actually, with Ralph now not underfoot trying to make her enjoy it less. His vast inheritance, wisely left to him in small monthly allotments by a wealthy relative that saw Ralph would require some assistance in providing for himself due to his ?gifted? nature, was now going primarily to alimony and other support for her. Not that he minded all that much. After all, as the life of a prophet goes, his was rather nice. No lying on one side for a year, being fed by birds, or sitting on mountain tops in that uncomfortable position, ?Tulip?, or ?Crocus? or something. Yes, for a man carrying out a calling, his life was quite comfortable indeed.
The only real burden he bore was dealing with the ignorance of the common man. This was no small burden, though, which explained something of why he had been granted to only deal with just that one thing. His wife leaving, keeping his palatial home and most of his belongings, was certainly part of the plan, all geared to allow him to get and stay focused. Yes, he had begun to stray from the perfect path, the acquisition of things earlier in his life had consumed much of his time, and the maintenance of those things promised to consume much more. The Fates no doubt saw this as a challenge, pulling their chosen son back in line with his purpose. Weaving and hemming, knitting and purling, they were able to excise both his burdensome possessions and his wife while leaving him intact emotionally to start anew on his quest.
Which today, left him to explaining the many errors of logic in the latest email from Mr. Evans. This was not a discussion of time, this was an older topic, a well-worn one that Ralph thought should by now have been laid to rest, even by the likes of Mr. Evans. Still, the man continues to prattle on to the effect that the so-called ?cave paintings? can be proven to be so many years old and to show a remarkable consistency from region to region indicating the gradual influx of peoples from the one region to the next to the next and so on. This entire laughable theory was debunked on one of Ralph?s web pages which he was now referring Mr. Evans to. Knowing the ignorant masses as he did, Ralph went on to reiterate and expand upon virtually every point the web page itself would make, knowing the man would not really visit it anyway, but that he surely will read the email. Yes, that?s one thing for sure. Ralph could see the truth, and he could write it in a way that one?s eyes simply could not be turned from. He read the entire email back to himself, just to be sure it was the ?grabber? he thought it to be. Smiling at himself as he found that it was, he pressed <send>, with a hope that this would at last generate a disciple of truth. Perhaps these words, formed in just this way, and sent on this particular day, were just what Mr. Evans needed in order to allow the light to shine upon him. Time will tell.
Time. Yes, there it was again. The new project, the greatest one of all. Affecting billions of people, and not for the better he was sure. The web page on the topic was woefully inadequate. No wonder more people were not reporting their conversion to his way of thinking. His records showed that nearly one hundred people have visited the page. He had heard that there were over 2 billion web pages available. And there were 6 billion people. That was an average of three people per page. With 100 people visiting his page, and that only in its first 6 months of operation, Ralph assumed the interest in this topic must be great indeed. Perhaps there were already ?cells? forming, pockets of resistance. Those hundred people have probably already told another 100 or perhaps two. In a year or two, there will undoubtedly be many, many people on the side of truth, looking to him for leadership. Perhaps he should buy a hat.
It was simply a stroke of genius to get the toll-free information number. It had only received 5 calls this month, but it had only been in operation for the two months prior. And he had not really promoted it yet. Perhaps he?d have some fliers printed. Or refrigerator magnets. Yes, magnets. Nothing turns the head of a member of the misled masses, Ralph knew, like a free refrigerator magnet. Particularly one with something cute on it, like a kitten, or a cartoon cow. Or a cartoon calendar! Yes, that was it. He needed refrigerator magnets depicting cartoon calendars, perhaps looking distressed at people who didn?t know the names of the years they were meant to portray. Hmmm.. A distressed calendar. How would one go about creating a cartoon calendar in a distressed state. A flip through the yellow pages brought him to ?Advertising: see Marketing? which led to ?Marketing: see Merchandising? which it turn pointed to ?Merchandising: see Advertising(Marketing, Merchandising)?, so he instead followed his instinct and dialed 1-800-ADVERTISE. This turned out to be a heavy-equipment rental company which preferred the number be spelled 1-800-BET-EQUIP, but the receptionist nevertheless helpfully suggested he go bug someone else, which he did.
under74

THANKS tickledpink

Ahh, Dave that's good. You got anymore?
fairchild

Here's a story. I usually write poetry, but had to write a story for a friend of mine. Obviously, the following is a product of my imagination. I apologize in advance, when I copy from my documents to something else, the lines are spaced too far apart on the copies and I don't know how to fix that. I hope it won't obstruct the reading too much.
A Few Inches

“Your total will be thirteen dollars, please”.
Waldo’s bony hand disappeared into his pocket and produced a brown leather wallet with the swiftness of a magician. He couldn’t help wondering if she ever noticed that the grocery total always amounted to thirteen dollars. There was something about the way she pronounced ‘thirteen’. The last syllable sounded like a breeze sliding off a maple leaf. He needed to hear it, as much as he needed food and water. While fishing a twenty out of his wallet, he watched her putting the groceries in a flimsy plastic bag. The words ‘thank you’ were scattered all over the bag in various colors and sizes. With a slight ripping sound, one of his soda bottles pierced through the A of a green thank you, making it th(soda bottle cap)nk you. Now, there was a reason for true gratefulness. A simple bottle of soda had just turned on the lights in the usually dark alley of conversation. “Excuse me Miss, would you mind double bagging this? It seems they don’t make the bags as strong as they used to”, he said. She looked at the bottle trying to escape from the bag. A smile lifted the corners of her mouth and worked its way up to her eyes. That smile was more than he had bargained for. Encouraged, he spoke without thinking. His words found their way across the messy counter and left an echo of anticipation. “Should you have some time to spare this evening, I’d love to take you out for dinner”.
How many times had he practiced this line in front of the mirror? How many times had he startled the cat in the middle of the night, repeating those words inside the safety of his bedroom?
The smile had left her face. He waited, as waiting is often the only thing a man can do when facing the unknown. She double bagged the groceries. Without another word, she handed him the seven dollars in change. Knowing that the past few minutes would be added to the long chapter of ‘mistakes’ in his diary, he started to turn toward the door. Suddenly, her voice closed that imaginary chapter with a bang. “Do you like Greek food?” she asked.
Although he found Greek food rather repulsive, and the thought of swallowing a mouthful of moussaka made him want to run, he assured her that Greek food was the best. She said “Perhaps we can meet at Athens’ Corner at seven.”

The time between ‘Do you like Greek food’, and the moment of meeting was immeasurable. Seven that night might as well have been next year around Thanksgiving. But even eternity ended at seven pm in front of Athens’ Corner.
Ever so tenderly, Waldo held his left arm curved around a half dozen of Golden Ophelia’s, which he had selected from his grandfather’s greenhouse. The art of breeding uncommon roses had been handed down from father to son throughout many generations. He considered it an heirloom, treated with the utmost respect.
He did not expect her to see the difference between a Golden Ophelia and any ordinary rose. Rather than an attempt to impress her, carrying the roses was a means of comforting himself, much like bringing his own pillow to a sleepover.
It occurred to him that he didn’t know anything about her. Even her countless beautiful smiles had been unable to part the curtains of his shyness long enough to inquire about something as simple as her name. Waldo often had fantasies about breaking through his shyness. Sometimes he’d imagine walking up to a lady and asking her “How much did you weigh at birth, ma’am?” Or he’d picture himself traveling around the world, giving convincing lectures on his favorite subject, the spontaneous mutation of maggots. Now he was standing before a large audience at the university of Barcelona. Both, students and professors clung to every interesting word he had to say. The podium was cluttered with wires and cables, necessary to run extensions into the street where an eager crowd had gathered.
She pulled him away from his maggots, out of Barcelona, and into reality by crossing the street.
For the second time that day, she surprised him. She was still wearing the same clothes she’d been wearing at work. He recognized the red stain on her shirt, the one he had tried to ignore earlier that day. He remembered thinking it might have been a leftover from a mid-morning snack, but now he started to wonder if perhaps she had eaten spaghetti for dinner yesterday. His eyes rested on the stain a few seconds too long. As if reading his mind, she reassured him. “My body is only a shell to carry my soul around, and clothes are merely a way to hide the beating this shell endured in world war two.”
They were standing on the threshold of Athens’ Corner on a mid-June evening in the year 2004, the war had ended almost sixty years ago and she could not have been a day over thirty. He was speechless, as tiny fingers of fear had started to squeeze his throat. “Relax”, she said, “I’m only joking”.
She grabbed his arm and dragged him into the restaurant. About eighteen people were waiting in line to be seated. Oblivious to the line of hungry souls, she cut to the front desk, still dragging a now overwhelmed Waldo behind her. She took a piece of candy out of the jar that surely was meant for children on their way out, as a reward for being good and not throwing a fit during dinner.
“Hello handsome” she said to the host. “Would you happen to have a table for two in a quiet corner?”
Handsome looked up and asked if they had a reservation.
“I have a ton of reservations about many things, but no, I don’t have one here and I hope this is not going to be a problem”, she said. Handsome’s laughter suggested that it would not be a problem. Problems are relative after all.
They were seated in the quiet corner she had asked for. Waldo put the roses on the table. The appropriate moment to hand over the roses had slipped past, somewhere between her arrival and the candy jar. He would wait for a different moment.
She signed a waitress and ordered six old wine bottles, half filled with water and a touch of banana flavoring. If the waitress was dumbfounded, her mask of professionalism hid it well enough. She returned promptly with the ordered items. Waldo’s date, still without a name, carefully picked up the roses and put each one in a bottle. “My goodness” she muttered, more to herself than to Waldo, “it is a sin to watch Golden Ophelia’s dry out. The banana water will revive them.”
“How do you know these are Golden Ophelias?” he asked, his voice revealing true admiration.
She simply told him that there was a difference between a twelve-dollar rose and twelve roses for a dollar, as if that explained everything.
A different waitress brought the menus to their table. While looking at the menu, Maria Farantouri’s attractive voice carried them through Greece. They had been seated next to a painting of Sitia, one of the most beautiful cities on the island Crete. Waldo peeked across the table from behind his menu. His nameless date had closed her eyes and a mysterious smile slightly parted her lips. He could tell that she was miles away. Perhaps she was tanning on a Greek beach, or could she be listening to his reading in Barcelona? This reminded him that he should order rice. Should the dinner conversation take a turn onto a boring path, he would be able to perform some experiments with the grains of rice. To Waldo, rice and maggots were basically the same. One moved and the other did not, but both could equally capture his attention for hours.
She opened her eyes, called the waitress and ordered dinner for both of them without asking Waldo’s opinion. Waldo quickly asked for a side order of rice. He glanced at the Ophelias. Were they laughing, or was it just his imagination? He decided to ignore the strange fact that she had ordered for him. Waldo was not a worldly man. He had trouble handling anything out of the ordinary.
Perhaps a rather banal question could start off a good conversation.
“How was your day?” he asked.
Her answer made him long for that bowl of rice.
“It wasn’t too bad, it was only a few inches. Some days seem as short as ten inches, while other days can grow as long as 8 feet.”
He could have sworn that one of the Ophelias moved. Must be a belly laugh, he thought. She continued. “I lost an inch this morning, searching for the keys to my car. Of course I was late for work, but since I’ve been working at the grocery store for at least twenty miles now, and I’m usually right on time, the owner wasn’t mad at all. The day always seems shorter when nice customers linger. I can’t believe you’ve never stayed for more than a few inches.”
Her monologue was interrupted by the arrival of the food. Waldo looked at his plate, trying to identify the foreign objects, hoping they would be edible.

“So?” The voice came from somewhere in the room, too weak to penetrate his wall of anxiety.
While Waldo lined up the grains of rice around his plate, she went on chatting in a most relaxed manner. She started to talk about her family.
“My dad is only a week tall, and mom beats him by a day. Surprisingly, I’ve been 10 days tall since my senior year in high school.”

“So?” The voice had grown more insistent now.
“So what?” he asked with a deep sigh.
“Is Athens’ Corner all right for dinner tonight, or would you rather go to a different restaurant?” Her eyes unfolded more gentleness than he had ever seen before. Waldo realized that his mind had wandered off. Darn prescriptions, the bottles always ran empty at the wrong moment.
“I’m not hungry at all”, Waldo stammered. He ran for the door, leaving his double bagged groceries on the floor.
© copyright Chris W. June 19 th , 2004

TELL ME A STORY...

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