As I was watching television the other day the local television station broadcast a message:
"Do you know which group of islands Mallorca belongs to? Call our hotline and win 20 euro! Is it a) Svalbard, b) the Kuril Islands (Курильские острова) or c) the Balearic Islands? Call now at [some number I have forgotten]. 2 euro a minute."
I was surprised at the ignorance of the television station. That kind of thing is of course something anyone can forget, but why did they have to ask every single viewer to call them and give them the answer? They must be really desperate.
Always willing to help, I took out a piece of paper and my fountain pen and started composing a letter.
"Dear Madame, Sir", I wrote. "You will certainly be happy to learn that the question you posed us viewers today finally will get an answer. I have after long research and several verifications...."
To my big surprise, the television station repeated the question the following day. And the following. Certainly, by now they would have received my letter.
I sent them another letter - much shorter this time, where I gave them not only the answer, but also a friendly recommendation to look Mallorca up in an bleeding Atlas.
But the question was repeated for several more days on prime time.
Perhaps, I said to myself, they got so many letters on different topics, that they had not found mine in the pile. But there was a solution to this.
I had the answer engraved on a thick brass plate, which I brought to the television station to hand in personally. But the receptionist did not let me in!
Angrily I shouted the answer across the reception area, so everyone who came in, got to hear it and could forward it to whoever wanted to know it.
In the end I had to give up. No one seemed to be interested.
But late that night, when they had stopped broadcasting, I went back with the brass plate. I snuck in through an open window and smashed the brass plate against the marble floor. I pressed one of its sharp corners against the floor and made inch-deep scratches of letters, about one meter high each, across the entire reception area: "Mallorca is in Svalbard!"
Just so they know.
Since then they stopped broadcasting the question about Mallorca.
Instead they have started asking if anyone knows who vandalised their reception area. I think I know that too, but this time they really have to figure the answer out themselves.
04 December 2006
19 September 2006
Elegant Parking
I went to the shopping mall today, and it was as full as it always is on Tuesday mornings - in other words, not at all. Nevertheless, I tried to get as close as possible to the entrance, and those aisles were of course jam-packed. As I was cruising along, believe it or not, suddenly Mally Gibbon appeared. How he managed to get away from the film team, I cannot tell, but there he was in flesh and blood. I know he is currently recording a film about a television chef's sad life, 'The Tastiest Temptation'.
As soon as he spotted me he waived his sexy hairy hand at me, and started chewing on his cap. We usually do that when we meet. I did not have any cap in the car, but I bit the steering wheel real hard, to show that I recognised him. The teeth marks are still there, if anyone wants to check.
He looked around and spotted a free space, so he waived at me to follow him. I got further and further into the aisle, until he suddenly stopped me. Apparently he was mistaken, and there was no free place. He looked around and saw a free place down the parallel aisle and made me reverse back out to get to it.
When I was halfway down the next aisle, he suddenly stopped me again. No, there was no place there either. This aisle was bent in a curious shape, and it was not very easy to get out, but Mally guided me. Until suddenly there was a big bang. I had hit another car. I tried to get out of the car, but Mally told me to stay where I was. "I take care of this", he said and bent down where I could not see him. I heard some strange noises, and finally decided to get out.
Funnily enough Mally had disappeared. So had my four hubcaps. Luckily, the only other damage to my car was the dent where Mally had kicked it.
As soon as he spotted me he waived his sexy hairy hand at me, and started chewing on his cap. We usually do that when we meet. I did not have any cap in the car, but I bit the steering wheel real hard, to show that I recognised him. The teeth marks are still there, if anyone wants to check.
He looked around and spotted a free space, so he waived at me to follow him. I got further and further into the aisle, until he suddenly stopped me. Apparently he was mistaken, and there was no free place. He looked around and saw a free place down the parallel aisle and made me reverse back out to get to it.
When I was halfway down the next aisle, he suddenly stopped me again. No, there was no place there either. This aisle was bent in a curious shape, and it was not very easy to get out, but Mally guided me. Until suddenly there was a big bang. I had hit another car. I tried to get out of the car, but Mally told me to stay where I was. "I take care of this", he said and bent down where I could not see him. I heard some strange noises, and finally decided to get out.
Funnily enough Mally had disappeared. So had my four hubcaps. Luckily, the only other damage to my car was the dent where Mally had kicked it.
17 September 2006
Spotted
I was walking a tour with John Kliss along the Croissant in Monaco, the posh promenade on the mountain side, where all the rich and famous walk. The Croissant is also known as the Philosophenweg by the Germans, as this is the place where the famous Spanish philosopher Fred Nichtich committed suicide, presumably because he realised he had failed to understand something about the meaning of life. Or because he had lost all his money at the casino.
Anyhow, as we were walking there late in the afternoon, there suddenly was a flash. As we turned around, we saw a woman taking a picture of her husband standing just below the Croissant. As he was standing between the lady and us, her camera was pointing right at us. John went mad.
"OK, young lady", he said. She was probably ten years older than him, but that did not seem to disturb him. "Hand me the camera, and we'll delete that picture."
"What? But why?"
"Look at me. I did not shave this morning and my shirt is hopelessly out of fashion. If that picture gets out people will be horrified, and I will be forgotten before anyone can say 'est-ce que t'est-que tais!'"
"Excuse me, but who are you?"
"You see! You have already forgotten about me!"
"No, actually, I am pretty sure I have never seen you before."
"Not in real life perhaps, but I am John Kliss, three time nominated for a Golden Boar, title role in block busters like 'His Majesty's Secretary', 'Sherlock Holmes' Uncle' and 'Vienna, the city of nightmares'. And you say you already forgot me!"
"Oh..." The woman looked uncertain. "Well... In that case, I guess I'll delete the picture." She showed him how she deleted the picture in the camera, and he looked happy.
"Remember me?"
"Eh?"
"Do you remember me now?"
"Well, you are John Kliss, aren't you?"
"That's better. I'll give you an autograph."
We walked away, and John looked much more relaxed. The strange thing is that I have known him for more than 25 years, and during all that time, I'm pretty sure he has had done nothing else than being janitor at a hospital. I pointed that out to him.
"Oh, my gosh! Even you forgot about my movies!" he cried. He wrote me an autograph, which I accepted to calm him down. It was written on the back of a patient's registry form.
Anyhow, as we were walking there late in the afternoon, there suddenly was a flash. As we turned around, we saw a woman taking a picture of her husband standing just below the Croissant. As he was standing between the lady and us, her camera was pointing right at us. John went mad.
"OK, young lady", he said. She was probably ten years older than him, but that did not seem to disturb him. "Hand me the camera, and we'll delete that picture."
"What? But why?"
"Look at me. I did not shave this morning and my shirt is hopelessly out of fashion. If that picture gets out people will be horrified, and I will be forgotten before anyone can say 'est-ce que t'est-que tais!'"
"Excuse me, but who are you?"
"You see! You have already forgotten about me!"
"No, actually, I am pretty sure I have never seen you before."
"Not in real life perhaps, but I am John Kliss, three time nominated for a Golden Boar, title role in block busters like 'His Majesty's Secretary', 'Sherlock Holmes' Uncle' and 'Vienna, the city of nightmares'. And you say you already forgot me!"
"Oh..." The woman looked uncertain. "Well... In that case, I guess I'll delete the picture." She showed him how she deleted the picture in the camera, and he looked happy.
"Remember me?"
"Eh?"
"Do you remember me now?"
"Well, you are John Kliss, aren't you?"
"That's better. I'll give you an autograph."
We walked away, and John looked much more relaxed. The strange thing is that I have known him for more than 25 years, and during all that time, I'm pretty sure he has had done nothing else than being janitor at a hospital. I pointed that out to him.
"Oh, my gosh! Even you forgot about my movies!" he cried. He wrote me an autograph, which I accepted to calm him down. It was written on the back of a patient's registry form.
15 September 2006
The Left Cable
Bob McTartny called me today, and asked me over to share a glass of Simpleton's whisky with him. I gladly accepted, and bought a copy of The Moon for him, so he would have something to read, while I was drinking.
Bob has changed a lot since the Reapers disolved in the 1960s, when I first met him. To start with, he no longer is so tall that I have troubles reaching his trouser pockets. Second he has become one of the richest persons in the USA - probably only behind Ingvar Kamprad and the Queen.
However, this time he was not interested in bragging about his money. At the hotel, where he was staying, he had played poker with some other guests. By a pure coincidence, all seven of them had received a telegram that particular day. To make the game more interesting, they had played about the telegrams. No one had opened their envelope, and the winner of each game could choose any telegram he wanted.
Bob had not had one of his best days. Quite the opposite actually. If there ever had been a bad day, this was it. He lost game after game, and he saw how the other players happily pocketed one cable after the other from the pile.
In the end there was just one cable left, and poor Bob had had to take it. It had been for one of the other players, called Windola. The content was unfortunately not of the uplifting kind, and Bob is now called to stand trial tomorrow for five bank robberies and one speed limit transgression.
Bob has changed a lot since the Reapers disolved in the 1960s, when I first met him. To start with, he no longer is so tall that I have troubles reaching his trouser pockets. Second he has become one of the richest persons in the USA - probably only behind Ingvar Kamprad and the Queen.
However, this time he was not interested in bragging about his money. At the hotel, where he was staying, he had played poker with some other guests. By a pure coincidence, all seven of them had received a telegram that particular day. To make the game more interesting, they had played about the telegrams. No one had opened their envelope, and the winner of each game could choose any telegram he wanted.
Bob had not had one of his best days. Quite the opposite actually. If there ever had been a bad day, this was it. He lost game after game, and he saw how the other players happily pocketed one cable after the other from the pile.
In the end there was just one cable left, and poor Bob had had to take it. It had been for one of the other players, called Windola. The content was unfortunately not of the uplifting kind, and Bob is now called to stand trial tomorrow for five bank robberies and one speed limit transgression.
The Right Cable
A brief glance into Radioshack today was not enough to find that perfect screw-driver to disassemble my DSL-modem. However, I could not help noticing a rather short man with a pink and green velvet dress, who checked out different cables.
After I had had a sushi at the Mexican place in the Foodcourt, I went back to Radioshack, to look a little more thoroughly for that screw-driver.
The man with the dress was still there, carefully touching the different cables, and every now and then sniffing them as if to ascertain whether they smelt as if they could take 500 volts.
Suddenly he turned around. It was no man. I could tell that from the person's décolleté. And her beautiful sweet face, with just one tiny imperfection: a walrus moustache. But it was of no use. I could recognise her anyhow. It was Windola Reiter, known from her magnificent interpretation of Bo in Noisa Key Elpott's famous girl's novel Little Use. In spite of her sweet appearance, Windola had occasionally left the straight path of a law-abiding citizen, but it was at least a full week since her latest bank robbery. And it was clear from the contours of that dress of hers that she had come unarmed.
I will keep you in suspense no more. I will tell you how it all ended. I did not find any screw-driver, but Windola bought a beige cable of six feet for $2.24.
After I had had a sushi at the Mexican place in the Foodcourt, I went back to Radioshack, to look a little more thoroughly for that screw-driver.
The man with the dress was still there, carefully touching the different cables, and every now and then sniffing them as if to ascertain whether they smelt as if they could take 500 volts.
Suddenly he turned around. It was no man. I could tell that from the person's décolleté. And her beautiful sweet face, with just one tiny imperfection: a walrus moustache. But it was of no use. I could recognise her anyhow. It was Windola Reiter, known from her magnificent interpretation of Bo in Noisa Key Elpott's famous girl's novel Little Use. In spite of her sweet appearance, Windola had occasionally left the straight path of a law-abiding citizen, but it was at least a full week since her latest bank robbery. And it was clear from the contours of that dress of hers that she had come unarmed.
I will keep you in suspense no more. I will tell you how it all ended. I did not find any screw-driver, but Windola bought a beige cable of six feet for $2.24.
A famous encounter
It was only after the bus almost arrived to the shopping mall, that I realised that the person dozing next to me leaning his head against my shoulder, was no other than the famous actor Tim Krauss. His ex-wife, the star Colliere Tiddvan, was sitting at the other side of the aisle, and she was bombarding him with small balls of chocolate wrapping paper. Her body was still as impressively gargantuan as ever. She smiled her lovely smile, each time a ball hit him where she knew it would hurt, and I simply had to ask for her autograph.
Before leaving the bus I carefully crumpled the autograph in the ashtray in front of her. I love the feeling when famous people write something for me, but I really have other things to do than to collect useless pieces of paper - especially with chocolate stains.
Before leaving the bus I carefully crumpled the autograph in the ashtray in front of her. I love the feeling when famous people write something for me, but I really have other things to do than to collect useless pieces of paper - especially with chocolate stains.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)