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By TNT
They were Siamese twins born without arms or head. The
doctor didn’t seem to care and the parents who were not from Siam or Thailand
(as it is now called) loved the children. They were not able to go to school –
having no brains. So they went to the beach and dog paddled with their feet.
They decided they wanted to surf so they had a special surfboard made for them.
Their parents were so proud that the twins could ride the waves together in
perfect accord. In fact, they noticed one twin had duck like feet – he was the
best swimmer of the two.
Then one day a white shark was cruising by and noticed the twins. He thought it would be fun to capsize their surfboard so he casually bumped into their board and watched as they struggled to regain their positions on the surfboard, which was difficult as the surf was unusually rough. “Oh, what the heck,” the shark thought. “You are all having your personal difficulties, and we are fully aware of them.” The shark was a kindly sort of shark and nudged the twins back on the surfboard and kept other sharks from nibbling on their toes. The parents of the twins only saw them fall and didn’t see the shark or they would have been alarmed. But the twins couldn’t explain because they had no mouths. Everyone was happy when the twins returned safely. The other surfers were amazed.
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By BG
Frank was in his third year at Oxford. He felt so fortunate
to have been accepted and for his family to have the means for sending him to
the wonderful institution to pursue what he had dreamed of. He was studying the
history of Greek writers continuing through the present. He would be the first
in his family to earn a degree from such a prestigious school. His family, the
Newbery family, had done well with his
great-great-grandfather Frank’s discoveries. His sons and grandsons were
shrewd businessmen; marketing products he developed to remedy symptoms and
ailments that trained doctors had little success in alleviating with all their
knowledge. He was the first Frank who would not be working in the business,
though. Tonight, he had second thoughts. This year’s courses were so
challenging. He had spent hours studying Homer and was worn out. Thank goodness
he had the family “Brain Salt.” He mixed a tonic with a big spoonful of the
salt, drank it down, and continued studying. He finally fell asleep chanting to
himself “Homer’s heroes ate only roasted meat.”
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By RC
I love tea, of every kind.
I’ve tried all the traditional types, of course—Earl Grey, black, orange pekoe,
and lemon; chamomile, green tea, Japanese Buchu tea, Maca—you name it. And
there is a tea for every occasion. I know this not only from my own experience,
but because I am a member of the “Tea for all Season” club, which is
international. The people who run it are always sending us samples, along with
advice: “Drink this for headaches…this for indigestion…this for calming,” etc.
And when we go through
various problems, we simply send them a quick message on Facebook: “I’m in a
traffic jam. What shall I brew?” for, of course, I carry my portable
tea-brewing kit everywhere. Wouldn’t be without it. They get right back, let me
tell you. Now, I’m a world traveler and of course I’ve been through a lot of
stress—not just at airports, where you never know if someone is carrying an Uzi
underneath his overcoat. But this one time—what a scene! I was in one of those
super high-rise cities, the name of which doesn’t matter, but it’s one that
regularly has typhoons during the winter season.
My suite at the resort, in
the very tall building, seemed to be “above it all,” and that was exactly how
they had advertised it. For this reason, I was probably one of the first to
notice the swell coming across the ocean. Did I mention that the hotel was
almost right on the water? One look and I knew that I had to get online right
away. I grabbed my smart phone and my fingers raced over the screen. Service
out. Nothing. Well, if that wasn’t—but, not being one to panic, I went into the
kitchen (for I had one of those fully furnished suites) and put on the pot,
getting a cup to go with it. My tea bags were all lined up on the counter. Now,
I knew that I could just grab one, but that was no way to do it. I had to be
sure!
Well, I finally got
service, just as the waves had reached the street below and were crashing
against the wall of my hotel. I actually had a great view, and even saw a few
fish—one a marlin. After I explained my predicament, the advice came back: “If
this happens, make yourself some Tranquility Tea.” Well, that’s just what I did, and after
drinking it I felt amazingly relaxed, not at all perturbed by the fish swimming
around in my apartment. I dodged the Marlin neatly and repeated my mantra: “If
this happens, make yourself some Tranquility Tea.”
Something bit my let right
then and I went for another cup.
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By JS
Well, I should say this to begin: The sign did warn him. The
meeting in Yaughton was scheduled for 7 a.m.
It was a 3 hour drive, necessitating an early rise: He set the alarm for
3 a.m.
He’d intended to set out his clothes the night before, but
he didn’t get home til 10 and then his mom called, worried unnecessarily, he
thought, about his court appearance, going over and over how she thought he
should dress and otherwise deport himself, and he was so angry by the time
she’d hung up he’d thrown the phone down and climbed into bed with his clothes
on.
Which turned out to be advantageous, since not only had he
failed to set out his clothes, he had not set his alarm. At 4:56, he staggered
wearily out of bed, slurped down a cup of last night’s coffee and stumbled out
the door to his car. Cursing his mother, his car, and the court system, he
slammed his accelerator foot to the floorboard. The semi pulling out of the
Town Line Café could not avoid the speeding car.
His own moody, rash temperament and lack of organizational
ability became his undoing.
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By CT
He strides beside me – eyes forward, arms loose – with self-assured
confidence. I marvel at this guy, my friend, who finds solutions to problems,
invents games for play and training, and patiently listens to our stories.
Aboard ship, he twiddles with our radio and, somehow, makes
it work better. He reads everything he finds and relates what he learns to our
lives, even during this cruel war. I’ve heard people call him a Renaissance
man, whatever that means. What I know is he is a pioneer who lights the way for
others. In his own manner, he is a hero.
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Paul spent most of the next three weeks in the presence of
the Master.
By JL
Paul was ready. He knew his calling was to be a Fly-Boy and
now he was finally going to become one. It all started a few months ago when he
was sitting on the porch of the farm sighing. It was a boring life harvesting
the mushrooms that were the main ingredient of Pixie Dust. But he knew the job
had to be done, he just wished he didn’t have to be the one doing it. He looked
up, dreaming of more exciting days that he knew would never come. Then he saw
it, just for a moment; up against the backdrop of the clouds was the shadow of
a young man up in the sky. He leapt forward – a Fly Boy! Here of all places! He
ran across the field. Fly Boys never come themselves to pick the mushrooms.
They usually sent the Pixies. He chased after the shadow. This may be my only chance
to see a Fly Boy up close, he thought. His eyes intent on the clouds, he didn’t
see the patch until he stepped on it, releasing the spores. He felt the
excitement as he lifted up in the air. He spun, out of control, but oddly
enough felt happy rather than afraid. He laughed out loud. “So this is what
flying is like, no wonder everyone wants to be a Fly Boy.”
“Hey, kid,” called a voice from above. “I’ve never seen you
at the Academy before.”
“It was an accident!” He knew the penalty for taking the
mushrooms was exile from Neverland.
“It’s okay,” said the voice. “We all start out with
accidents, but we have to register you at the Academy.”
Paul spent most of the next three weeks in the presence of
the Master, as he found out the Voice was called. Today he took his final exam
as he studied the basis of flying, and now he would have a chance at the
exciting life he yearned for.
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By CC
Blake couldn’t help himself. He peppered his speech with
colloquialisms and old wives’ tales, and could never pass up the opportunity to
insert a good superstition into any conversation.
Fortunately, his passion was
flying planes, which limited his audience to just a few at any given time. Nevertheless,
even a small group of folks would rebel after just a few moments of discourse.
He
had just bought a retired Air Bahia cabin cruiser and restored it to vintage
condition. He decided to offer his services for lease.
One day as he was flying
a group of senior citizens who had won an air cruise over the new Del Webb
development in Nebraska, he chanced to remark “Old folks believed that the moon
shining on your sleep would drive you crazy.”
No-one survived to tell the
story, and Blake had never got around to installing a black box, so reasons for
this mysterious crash were not easily forthcoming, but JimBob Belvedere’s grandson
remarked to the press that it was likely due to his grandaddy’s legendary
temper and the 45 pistol he liked to carry in his man bag.
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By MD
I joined the group so anxious to meet with others who shared
my interests and discuss our knowledge of cartography and ancient Samurai
culture. It was a small group, and somber gentlemen who took life seriously and
also embraced some military members. It took me a long time to walk there and I
was a little late arriving at the meeting.
As I made my entrance, the group was gathered around a
topographic map and they failed to look away from the chart or acknowledge my
presence. “Ahem,” I cleared my throat, sure that would get their attention. No
result. I launched into a coughing fit – certainly they couldn’t ignore me
then. But, as it turned out, they could. The reputation for Samurai discipline
is a well-deserved one, that’s for sure.
Finally, in desperation, I launched
into my audition rendition of “Life is just a Bowl of Cherries” complete with
the shuffle-ball-change tap dance routine which had so wowed my community
theater group. It was then that the central figure in the group met my gaze and
stared piercingly at me as I finished my dance. Then he spoke. “No women
allowed,” he intoned. “Get out.”
I walked home thinking “Nobody in the world knows what I
know, nobody will ever know.”
