Friday 18 February 2011

The Problem With Rain


They knew not who he was, nor whence he came.

Neither were they aware of what he looked for in handbags.
But that did not matter for he was a man.
All they knew was that he could make it rain.

They saw him as a hero, a lord, a magician, the bringer of joy and hope.
He was the one who could change a drought into a deluge.
He was sought out by all.

They called him the ‘Shower Master’
He hated the name.
It was very ill considered.

He lived a double life.
Student by day.
Mysterious ‘Shower Master’ by night.

As a student he was unremarkable. He had bad grades and worse style.
As a mysterious stranger he rocked.

To hide his identity he wore cloaks and robes and hoods and shades.
To develop a mysterious witch doctor magic practitioner aura he wore chains and beads and rings and rabbits feet and aubergines.
He had gone slightly overboard.

They began to think he was crazy.
That wasn’t entirely untrue.

They loved him and feared him.
They brought him gifts and riches and puddings to convince him to make it rain or to make it stop.
He favoured those with puddings.
They didn’t know that.
It would have made things much easier.

He could make or break them.
Many would kill to be him. But they didn’t, for they couldn’t. They wished they could. That didn’t change anything.

They didn’t know that he disliked his job.
They didn’t know the price he had to pay.

They thought he controlled the weather.
They thought wrong.
He didn’t.
In fact, sometimes, the weather controlled him.


The rain is a thing with a mind of its own.
No. Really.
Not just a mind, but a personality as well.
Being an ever changing force of nature, the rain is not known for its stability.
It is a scary force to meet in a dark alley.

He could talk to the rain. He had no special powers at all. He was one of hundreds across the globe that could talk to the weather. Many of these became weathermen as they believed this talent would help them in their careers.
It didn’t.
The rain lies.


None of them could control the rain.
But he was different.
He was manipulative cunning and conniving.
He also knew psychology.

He would tease, flatter, challenge and bribe the rain.
But the rain would do the same to him.
The rain would make him dance and sing, balance eggs on his nose and do other amusing things before it would give in to his wishes.
They had a loving relationship.

As a child he talked to the rain and over time they became friends. They both had nobody else.
Well the rain did. But they were idiots who tried to command it.
“Rain I tell you. Rain!” they would say.
“Oh go be weathermen”, the rain would reply.
And they did.
They were rather daft.

His name was Fred.
He called the rain names.
They were constantly locked in a battle of wits. For them it was all about the mind games, and sometimes the board games. But the rain could never concentrate very long on Monopoly.

Their situation got progressively worse.
At one point in time he had to dance under the full moon naked while covered in slugs.
This is why he never let anyone see him when working.

Sometimes he had to draw strange symbols on the ground. Some may think that these caused it to rain. Actually the rain wanted them drawn as they made rude signs when seen from the sky.

Though Fred loved his friend he wasn’t very happy with the things he had to do anymore.
It wasn’t very helpful when every so often there came from the heavens yells of “Dance little minion! Dance!”

And then there were the little things.
One summer Fred decided to go driving for the first time. He was just getting the hang of it when “HELOOOO” thundered the rain and completely obscured his vision in a deluge that no one had seen coming.
“HERE I AM! IT”S GREAT TO BE BACK!”
For Fred the first rains of the monsoon were usually a struggle for survival.

There came a day when
“We need to talk”
“Um…you’re making me uncomfortable Fred”
“This isn’t working Rudolph” (for that was the name that Fred chose to call the rain that day)
“Was it something I said?”
“It is so much more than that”
“Why haven’t you said anything?”
“I’ve tried. But you never give me a chance to what with the dancing around fires and eating of disgusting lizard tails.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know you felt that way about lizard tails.”
“I feel that way about a lot of things”
“We do have a problem don’t we?”
“Yes we do.”

And that’s how Fred and the rain decided to get therapy. 

Wednesday 9 February 2011

She Wobbled


She wobbled. A lot

She had been drinking. A lot.

He was going to drop her home.

He tied his shoelace

She ran down the stairs.

He looked up. She was gone.

He was worried. That woman will kill herself. Or a car will do it for her.

He ran down the stairs.

It seems she gets more stable the less stable she is.

He missed one.

He fell down the rest.

She met 2 of his friends outside.

“Hey where is he?” they asked

He fell in a pile at their feet.

“Never mind, here he is. You better take him home.”

His pride was hurt. So was his butt and right elbow.

He was completely sober.

Monday 7 February 2011

The Winning Streak


He ordered pineapple juice.
She ordered plum.
They stood there talking as people passed by.

Suddenly they heard a voice scream:
“NOO! NOT MY AUNTIES! TAKE ME INSTEAD PLEASE DON’T TAKE MY AUN….”

…*GNNnnGNNnnn* went the mixer.

“AARGH! NOOO! WHY GOD WHY?!” screamed, what they quickly realized to be a plum.

The plum was quickly silenced.
The fork was aimed well.

“Oops! Forgot to sedate that one.” said the juice-walla.

They were horrified.

They had never been acquainted with the fruit slaughter industry.

Realization struck.
Everyday they took lives, broke up families, and possibly destroyed entire cultures of fruit.

A girl walked up to the juice stand.
She ordered grape.

“Nooo!” screamed Kay. “Think of the massacre! The bloodshed! The ethnic cleansing!”

The girl raised an eyebrow.
She took a minute.
It was a false eyebrow.

And it was shaped like a unicorn.

“Oh! My! God!” said Kay. “I absolutely LOVE your eyebrow!”
She was easily distracted.
“Where did you get it?” she continued, completely oblivious to the ongoing deaths of a family of grapes.
“Oh there’s this place called ‘UNIBROW- Eyebrows for men and women’.”

It was at that moment that an un-sedated grape ran past and jumped off the counter.

“AAH!” Gasped Kay and M. as the suicidal grape fell to its death.

They were the only two people who saw what followed.
The girl at the counter had begun singing to herself about princesses…. and bear hugs.

Everyone else was watching her.
Some appalled, some amused, one very, very afraid. Spot the princess.

The fall should have killed it, as it had killed many men that size.

But the grape possessed some remarkable survival qualities.
It was round and squishy.

It bounced, rolled and ran (or continued rolling) for freedom screaming, “I will avenge you my aunties!”

They sighed with relief.
The juice-walla shivered with fear. There is nothing scarier than a vengeful grape.

Their relief was short lived.

Down came the shoe.

“AAH!” gasped the grape.
“AAH!” gasped Kay and M. as the grape’s life flashed before their eyes.
They were very empathetic people.
“AHA!” rejoiced the juice-walla.

The grape rolled.
The shoe descended.
The grape was slow.
The shoe caught upon his backside.

“AH!” they screamed in horror.
“AHA!” rejoiced the juice-walla yet again. He had no shame.

With a pop so small that nobody heard it, the grape shot out of its skin and zoomed away to freedom.

They were a little relieved, but still a little horrified. There was a skinless streaking grape before them.

They watched as it reached the safe zone.

Shoe.
Squish.
Mess on the floor.

It happened so fast.

They would never be the same again.
Neither would the grape.
The juice walla threw a party.

The incident changed their lives. They went to become the two people who single handedly exposed the fruit slaughter industry to the world and initiated the Free All Fruit revolution (or FAF). Today they travel the world telling the story of “The Grape That Lived…..For a While.”

They have conducted rallies and hold protests outside orchards and salad bars, fighting for the rights of fruit and promoting the more traditional (and caring) diet of carnivorism.

Their signs often read:
“Fruit are our Friends!”
 “Be Humane. Eat Meat!”
 “Say No To Fruitcake”

The last one tends to be misunderstood.

Their efforts have not gone unnoticed. They have succeeded in convincing me to eat steak for the rest of my life. For the betterment of the world I am willing to make this sacrifice.