Friday, 23 April 2010

"So, anyway"...

Max began. "I was on my way back from work, when..."
 It suddenly occurred to me that I had no idea what Max did for a living. When I first met him, he'd sold insurance against giant rat attacks, but I knew that he'd gone out of business soon after. Since then, he'd gone from one job to the next, as hilarious situations required. This time, however, I decided to bite the bullet and just ask what he did.
 "Oh." He replied, "You know Green Meadows? The retirement home?"
I nodded in the affirmative.
 "Well, I read erotic fiction to the old folks there."
I got up and left. It was my home, but I don't care. Behind me, I caught the occasional word. Words like fellatio, sponge-bath, reach-around, bran flakes and purple. Disturbing words. Sick words.
 Passing out my door, I tipped over my emergency petrol. With any luck, the place would burn, and take Max with it.


Homemaker Man said...

When did Max learn to read? I think he's telling stories of experience . . .

Paul Blanchard said...

Well, you'd know all about that... Why not send him a love poem, I'd like to see what he does.

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