We were joking around about hats when my friend said, “I explode at the drop of a hat.” I was a bit blown away by that.
After a few seconds of shocked silence he continued, “When I was little I refused to pick things up even though I was always dropping them. I would drop something and then call out for mum to come and pick it up.
“One day, as mum picked my hat up off the floor, she said to me, “Travis, did you know that you explode at the drop of a hat? So you need to be careful to make sure you stop dropping things.”
“After that day I have never dropped anything.”
My friends and I burst out laughing at how gullible Travis was, but to see how he would react I ‘accidentally’ dropped my hat.
“Um, hello… are… um… I was… a-ah-assaulted.”
“It’s okay man. You’re safe here. Tell me what happened.”
“Okay. I was walking home when these guys came up from behind me. They said mean things to me, like “Nice and meaty,” “Tasty” and “Delicious”. I wasn’t looking at them but I’m sure they were enjoying themselves.
“I turn into my street unsure what to do, cause I didn’t want to lead them to my place, but I wanted to get away. My street is fairly secluded at that time of day and before I realised I was on the ground.
“They quickly… um… ah… I don’t really know. They did stuff. I couldn’t bear it, I just closed my eyes.
“When they were done one of the guys leaned down and whispered in my ear “Until tomorrow hot stuff.” Then he walked off. I opened my eyes and I saw one of them reach into his pocket. He pulled out a salt shaker, then he a salted me again.”
“I’m downloading this big, giant, crystal clear photo of the bridge and it’s only got a few hours to go, I hope it’ll be done when I get home,” boasted Sam.
“But what if someone needs the phone?” asked Levi.
Sam grabs his school bag, opens it and pulls out his home’s telephone as all the boys around him gasp.
“You’re going to be in so much trouble when you get home.”
“True, but I’ll be able to admire the bridge on my computer.”
“Can you download a photo of the bridge for me?”
“Sure,” two seconds later, “Done.”
My friend, Bela wrote this poem and I really like it. So I decided to post it today. It’s called Smile, and he and I both hope you enjoy it.
I need your smile.
But pockets are empty and my words wobble when you’re around.
But that won’t stop me from fleecing your neighbour’s garden, ripping rose after rose, until hands are soaked red.
Until I think I have enough to make your lips curve, until blue and red sirens shackle me and drag me away.
But the thought of your smile shatters shackles, because your smile gives me the power to open the matrix.
It makes me want to jump on Oprah’s couch, but I’m not famous, so I’ll just jump on my housemates couch until he tells me get off, so then I’ll come and jump on your mum’s couch.
Because you need to know the power of your smile
and the fact is my words are inadequate to the expression of my feet.
Land. We walk on it, work it for food, enjoy the water that flows on it. But we forget that Land is a dangerous beast.
The metal cylinder is its enemy. It hovers above the Land, trying to escape, but the Land is only thinking about luring it into its trap and swallowing its victim whole.
Aeroplanes and Land are natural enemies. Aeroplanes are really only safe in the air. On Land they are always in danger of being eaten alive.
Every time an aeroplane comes into Land it’s praying that the Land isn’t hungry. Otherwise the victim rarely survives the devious, quick and hungry Land.
“I present to you my new time machine,” Mr Malclan said to his assistant.
His assistant looked at the rather uninspiring blue box, “Really?”
“Yes, really. Quick jump inside, there’s no time to waste.”
“But isn’t that the whole point of a time machine? Going back in time so you can waste your time watching every episode of your favourite TV series instead of studying for that test?”
Mr Malclan gave his assistant an unimpressed look as he opened the door and ushered her inside. “What do you see?” he asked from outside the box.
“Nothing. There’s no light in here.”
“Get out your phone and tell me the time.”
“Three past five.”
A minute later Mr Malclan said, “Okay, you can come out now.” His assistant came out of the box looking very unconcerned. “Now, what time is it?”
“Three past five…”
I’ve noticed that when people ask “How are you?” they expect you to answer “Good,” or something similar.
I don’t know why that is, but it annoys me. So I’ve started answering with “Horrible,” or “Combustible,” or “Murderous.” Some reactions are priceless.
But even when I answer completely unexpectedly, every now and then someone will completely miss it and say, “Good.”
Have a good murderous day everybody.