Sunday, 9 January 2011

Winter-based shit was going down.

Eva Braun and Adolf Hitler, with Hitler holdin... Ok, let's face it - they weren't
a great example of the joys of Marriage. Image via Wikipedia
On the trees, snowdrops glistened. All around us, romantic, winter-based shit was going down. Max, wrapped in an over-sized scarf, jacket and padded hot-pants, looked particularly morose in the winter morn.




 
 "Why did things not work out with Maxine?" He asked at length.

 "You kidnapped her, remember." I said.

  "Well. Yes, so we weren't perfect. But you know, I'd hoped we might last. I just want someone to go the distance with. You know, like that couple... Hitler and Eva Braun."

  I double-took. It wasn't hilariously over-the-top. I just looked at him, looked away, then looked back suddenly in shock. Ok, Max was obviously just mistaken. But still...

  "Hitler... Hitler and Eva Braun? They didn't really last Max. They're dead, for one thing."

  "Dead? Oh no, when did this happen? Do people know... Oh, the children! What about the children?"

  "Yea. It's a pretty well-known story. They killed themselves not long after getting married, for one thing. And there weren't any children. Are you sure you're thinking about Hitler here?"

  "Pretty sure, yea. On no, wait a second... Prince Charles and Diana! That was who I was thinking of!"

  I nodded sadly. I wasn't sure where he got these ideas from. I mean, I'm not Prince Charles' biggest fan, but he's no Hitler. I retraced the conversation and realised Max was still not exactly on Love Boulevard.

  "Max... They got divorced."

  "What? But, at least they've still got their health?"

The snow fell around us. I'd upset Max enough for one day, so I just smiled and nodded. After a while, some penguins arrived and frolicked happily. In real life, Penguins aren't overly romantic, of course, but these were Disnified. In front of us, they did little to cheer Max up, forming budding romances and entering monogamous relationships. Above us, the disimbodied voice of Morgan Freeman tried to confort Max, but it was no good, and he cried all through that cold, winter morn.
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3 comments:

Homemaker Man said...

Oh Max. What about Sid and Nancy?

Paul Blanchard said...

Shh! As far as Max knows, they're alive, well and running a small cafe in London together.

He never really understood punk either, before you ask.

Lauren said...

Clearly, Max has got icicles on his brain, which is wrecking havoc on his brainwaves.

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