Plucking the Pigeon

            Plucking the Pigeon

 

            Once upon a time Working Joe was outdoors, hammering nails, though the air was freezing cold. Big Boss was driving by in his stretch limo just then; he ordered the driver to stop, and rolled down a window.

            Big Boss said, “Isn’t seven more than five?”

            Working Joe said, “Isn’t thirty-two more than twelve?”

            Big Boss said, “Have you ever had a fire in your house?”

            Working Joe said, “Not yet, but she’ll set one in five years and he’ll set one in ten.”

            Big Boss said, “Can you pluck a pigeon?”

            Working Joe said, “Send me one and you’ll see.”

            Big Boss rolled up his window and ordered the driver to go. He then turned to Suxel, who was sitting next to him, and he said, “Did you understand any of that?”

            Suxel said, “How could I? You spoke in riddles.”

            Big Boss said, “And you call yourself a super-lawyer! You, supposedly the cleverest man in town, but this working man understood me and you didn’t! I give you three days to figure out what we said. If you don’t, then you’re fired!”

            Suxel was stunned. He hurried to his office, and called an emergency meeting of all his subordinates, but none could figure out the riddles. Suxel then summoned Working Joe, and he asked Working Joe what that conversation meant.

            Working Joe said, “I’ll tell you if you pay me five hundred thousand dollars.”

            Suxel said, “How dare you! Five hundred thousand dollars for some wretched riddles?”

            Working Joe retorted, “If it’s not worth the money then don’t pay,” and he left.

            On the third day Suxel knocked on Working Joe’s door. He said, “All right, I’ll pay!”

            Working Joe said, “The price has gone up to a million.”

            Suxel said, “All right, all right! Here’s a check!”

            Working Joe said, “Thank you. I’ll be back shortly.” He walked outside, and with one mighty leap jumped straight to the Bank. He walked in, deposited the check, walked out, and with another mighty leap jumped back to Suxel, who had been standing there, sweating.

            Suxel said, “Now tell me, quickly!”

            Working Joe said, “When Big Boss saw me working in the cold he asked if seven isn’t more than five. He meant to ask whether I did not earn enough in the seven warm months to make unnecessary my work in the five cold months. I answered that thirty-two is more than twelve. I meant that with my thirty-two teeth I could eat up more than I could earn in all twelve months.

            “Big Boss then asked if I have had a fire in the house. By this he meant to ask if I have sent any children off to college, for that costs as much as a fire in the house. I replied that my daughter will go in five years and my son in ten.

            “Big Boss then asked me if I could pluck a pigeon. I replied, send me one and you’ll see. As you can see, he sent me you. So now go back to Big Boss and tell him if I have done so or not.”

 

            Moral: If you can’t tell who’s the pigeon, then you’re it.

 

The Survivors

       The Survivors

 

Once upon a time Raccoon Scholars of the Far Future gathered to ask each other what became of the Old Ones.

Instructor Stripe-Tail said, “We stole Fusion Power from their abandoned writings, so they did not lack electric power.”

          Professor Long-Whiskers said, “We stole Programming and Robotics from their abandoned writings, so they did not lack labor.”

          Doctor Clever-Paws said, “We stole Agriculture and Medicine from their abandoned writings, so they did not lack food or health.”

          Academican Pointy-Ears said, “We could not steal any account of the Old One’s end from their abandoned writings, for they made none. Their last Political writings speak of great triumphs, but in terms we do not understand.”

          Chancellor Bandit-Mask said, “Perhaps the Old Ones flew off into outer space, as the legends say. Let us therefore steal from their abandoned writings about Space Flight, so that we may go out there, meet with them, and steal some more from them.”

          It was so moved.

 

          Moral: History is written by the winners but read by the survivors.

 

A Cup of the Same Wine

A Cup of the Same Wine

An Underfable, with Moral and Commentary

 

Once upon a time Confucius, the Buddha and Lao Tzu walked into a bar. The bartender served each a cup of the same wine.

Confucius said, “This wine is sour.”

The Buddha said, “This wine is bitter.”

Lao Tzu said, “This wine is sweet.”

          And why? Because Confucius himself was sour about the immorality of the world; the Buddha was bitter about the sufferings of the world; and Lao Tzu was sweet about the harmony of the world.

 

          Moral: Perception is relative.

 

          Commentary: To me the wine is salty, but that’s only because I myself am salty about the absurdity of the world.

 

Offer Rejected

     Offer Rejected

          Once upon a time, the Antichrist visited the Lunatarian Convention. He stood under a sign bearing their motto “Become Ungovernable”, and he said, “Vote for me, and I will give you power. You will be my top underlings, and together we will rule the world.”

          Pandemonium broke out on the convention floor. The Lunatarians booed, jeered, hissed, and cursed. Even the Objectionablist faction expressed emotions.

            The Antichrist said, “That’s nice. But join me, if you want to win. If you don’t want to win, then keep your 3%.”

          The Lunatarians booed louder.

The Chairman declared the Antichrist to be ineligible as a Lunatarian candidate. The Antichrist stomped out of the convention hall, to the cheers and jeers of the Lunatarians.

Later that week, the Antichrist was in Court, sitting in the defendant’s chair. The Judge asked the Foreman, “What say you to the first charge?”

The Foreman said, “Guilty!”

The Judge asked, “What say you to the second charge?”

The Foreman said, “Guilty!”

And so it went, for a total of sixty-nine verdicts, all guilty.

 

Moral: Don’t tie your rowboat to a sinking ship.