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“Great-grandpa?”
The elderly pun looked up from perusing his scrapbook, and beamed at the two humorous neologisms before him. “My dear girls! What a wonderful surprise!”
He gestured down at the scrapbook. “You’ve caught me taking a walk down memory lane. Reading a few of my newspaper cuttings.” He shook his head. “What a time that was! When Victoria was on the throne, and everyone loved your old Great-grandpa!”
He turned a page.
“Here’s a good one—I loved doing this joke. Why is the devil riding a mouse like one and the same thing? Because it is synonymous!”
The pun chortled while his great-grandchildren exchanged a look.
“And what about this one: If William Penn's aunts kept a pastry shop, what would be the prices of their pies? The pie-rates of Penn's Aunts!” He stared blissfully off into the distance. “What a repertoire I had...”
The longer neologism was looking bewildered. “...pie-rates of Penn's Aunts..?” she whispered.
The shorter neologism shrugged. “Who the hell’s William Penn?”
“...and here’s my absolute favourite…” The pun looked up at them happily. “Doesn't it make you dizzy to waltz? Yes, but one must get used to it, you know... It's the way of the whirled!”
He fell about laughing.
The shorter neologism smiled weakly. “That’s lovely, Great-grandpa, but…”
“The way… of the whirled!”
His great-granddaughter made another attempt. “Yes, we get it, Great-grandpa. But I just wanted to say that we can’t stay long. We only came by to tell you our news.”
Her sister nodded excitedly. “We’ve got an audition! Today! We might be going into the dictionary!”
“Oh, my word!”
The old pun stared at them in delight.
“That is splendid. I’m so pleased for you.”
He made a shooing gesture.
“I certainly mustn’t keep you two any longer. Off you go at once! You don’t want to be late.”
His attention drifted back to his scrapbook.
“...way of the whirled… Oh, priceless!”
“Bloody hell.”
The shorter neologism rolled her ‘i’s and crossed her ‘t’s as she and her sister left.
“Don’t get me wrong, I love Great-grandpa…”
She sighed.
“But I really don’t blame Queen Victoria for saying she wasn’t amused.”
The elderly pun looked up from perusing his scrapbook, and beamed at the two humorous neologisms before him. “My dear girls! What a wonderful surprise!”
He gestured down at the scrapbook. “You’ve caught me taking a walk down memory lane. Reading a few of my newspaper cuttings.” He shook his head. “What a time that was! When Victoria was on the throne, and everyone loved your old Great-grandpa!”
He turned a page.
“Here’s a good one—I loved doing this joke. Why is the devil riding a mouse like one and the same thing? Because it is synonymous!”
The pun chortled while his great-grandchildren exchanged a look.
“And what about this one: If William Penn's aunts kept a pastry shop, what would be the prices of their pies? The pie-rates of Penn's Aunts!” He stared blissfully off into the distance. “What a repertoire I had...”
The longer neologism was looking bewildered. “...pie-rates of Penn's Aunts..?” she whispered.
The shorter neologism shrugged. “Who the hell’s William Penn?”
“...and here’s my absolute favourite…” The pun looked up at them happily. “Doesn't it make you dizzy to waltz? Yes, but one must get used to it, you know... It's the way of the whirled!”
He fell about laughing.
The shorter neologism smiled weakly. “That’s lovely, Great-grandpa, but…”
“The way… of the whirled!”
His great-granddaughter made another attempt. “Yes, we get it, Great-grandpa. But I just wanted to say that we can’t stay long. We only came by to tell you our news.”
Her sister nodded excitedly. “We’ve got an audition! Today! We might be going into the dictionary!”
“Oh, my word!”
The old pun stared at them in delight.
“That is splendid. I’m so pleased for you.”
He made a shooing gesture.
“I certainly mustn’t keep you two any longer. Off you go at once! You don’t want to be late.”
His attention drifted back to his scrapbook.
“...way of the whirled… Oh, priceless!”
“Bloody hell.”
The shorter neologism rolled her ‘i’s and crossed her ‘t’s as she and her sister left.
“Don’t get me wrong, I love Great-grandpa…”
She sighed.
“But I really don’t blame Queen Victoria for saying she wasn’t amused.”
Literature
Escaping with style
There were no blaring sirens or flashing lights as I dashed down the corridors, but there might as well have been. Data streaming across one side of my goggles told me that I had successfully triggered the alarm when I took the hard drive stack. I knew I had four and a half minutes until the security forces arrived. When I reached the security door I was already sending signals to my devices connected into the system. A crude video relay looped images of the empty corridor into the security camera feeds. The data mining box cut the stream of keyword-laden signals with which it had been scattering the building system’s attention. Grinning at my own ingenuity, I hit the unlock button. How many other thieves would have got in by manipulating the mood of a building’s computer systems? But then, how many other thieves understood the emergent emotional states of high end electronics? This was why I'd been hired. The door failed to hiss open. Frowning, I slapped the button again. Still
Literature
sweaterse
when you've a love
in repose,
all quiets
are woven together.
all worries and
worships and
weathering
kept, cared,
covered.
every summer
warms, every winter
draws closer.
and the silences
sweeter than
heaven.
Literature
Lost in Translation
Things were not going well. He'd knicked his hand on a sharp edge at the first hotel and had to swap to this one at the last minute. He had also forgotten his lucky pick, and his second set was missing a crucial tool. No, Adrian was definitely not having a smooth run of it today.
He was still jimmying the lock several minutes later, and the noise was attracting attention. A tourist -- recognisable by the wide-brimmed hat and extra large sunglasses she wore -- was staring in his direction. Adrian swore under his breath, affected a grin, and waved at her.
"Locked myself out," he called, bringing forth a slight blush, and thanking the Gods tha
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361 words.
Written for Flash Fiction Month 2017: Day 14.
I used the optional theme: nostalgia.
I can't take any responsibility for the puns in italics - they are genuine Victorian jokes collected by Lee Jackson. You can find those jokes and more here. Must admit I find the 'way of the whirled' pun hilarious - as I commented to friends recently, when it comes to humour, I was born in the wrong century.
Written for Flash Fiction Month 2017: Day 14.
I used the optional theme: nostalgia.
I can't take any responsibility for the puns in italics - they are genuine Victorian jokes collected by Lee Jackson. You can find those jokes and more here. Must admit I find the 'way of the whirled' pun hilarious - as I commented to friends recently, when it comes to humour, I was born in the wrong century.
© 2017 - 2024 SCFrankles
Comments19
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I love way of the whirled. 