Many people considered my neighbour, John Chapper, an odd person. Down the pub, he had the habit of telling other people what to do in general, as if everyone always had to behave the same. “Blessed be the pedestrians who stop for red light,” he would say. Or “Very truly I tell ye, this country deserves better public transport.”
He was a teetotaller, never ordering anything but water and barley loaves in the pub. Nevertheless, he always seemed as drunk as everyone else at the end of the evening. His shirts were of a strange kind that got red stains from water. I guess the fabric was genetically modified. You never know what you get from genetically modified shirts. John happily shared the bread with the rest of us, whether we wanted it or not. He probably just wanted to get rid of it. It tasted like it had been factory made for thousands of people.
One day when visiting the beach, we saw him in the distance.
“Look, isn't that that looney John?” my teenage son said.
“Why is he waving his hands in the air?” asked my wife. “Did he lose a balloon or something?”
We looked up in the sky, but saw no balloon or anything else in particular. The sky was mostly blue. There were some clouds. However, we began suspecting something bizarre was about to happen when there descended a loud voice from an immense cloud, which split open revealing an intense light.
“Behold, this is my nephew, who will ascend and sit at my right side at the final day!”
I have no idea why that voice talked about seating at the UEFA cup. The end game was not for several weeks.
The landscape was flooded by serene music as from trumpets and timpani. My wife thought it was a catchy tune, and suggested we have a dance, but as I only tango, I failed. I did not actually decline to do it. I really tried to tango to the tune, but it was no good. It did not have that cha-cha-bum bits I was used to from the dance lessons.
My son sighed and looked away in embarrassment. At that moment, he apparently had no parents.
The music buzzed on, as John slowly elevated from the ground, his arms stretched out like a bat frozen in mid flight. Plenty of people took out their phones and recorded the event. It was a really good trick, but he must have forgotten to rehearse the end, because he never came down again. He just disappeared into the open cloud, which closed behind him. We never saw him again.
It was a good trick, though, and I guess several uploaded videos got likes and thumbs ups on social forums the coming days.
Some nuts even suggested this was an act of God, but it was always promptly pointed out that God would have provided much cooler music. The timps and trumpets sound was just lame.
He was a teetotaller, never ordering anything but water and barley loaves in the pub. Nevertheless, he always seemed as drunk as everyone else at the end of the evening. His shirts were of a strange kind that got red stains from water. I guess the fabric was genetically modified. You never know what you get from genetically modified shirts. John happily shared the bread with the rest of us, whether we wanted it or not. He probably just wanted to get rid of it. It tasted like it had been factory made for thousands of people.
One day when visiting the beach, we saw him in the distance.
“Look, isn't that that looney John?” my teenage son said.
“Why is he waving his hands in the air?” asked my wife. “Did he lose a balloon or something?”
We looked up in the sky, but saw no balloon or anything else in particular. The sky was mostly blue. There were some clouds. However, we began suspecting something bizarre was about to happen when there descended a loud voice from an immense cloud, which split open revealing an intense light.
“Behold, this is my nephew, who will ascend and sit at my right side at the final day!”
I have no idea why that voice talked about seating at the UEFA cup. The end game was not for several weeks.
The landscape was flooded by serene music as from trumpets and timpani. My wife thought it was a catchy tune, and suggested we have a dance, but as I only tango, I failed. I did not actually decline to do it. I really tried to tango to the tune, but it was no good. It did not have that cha-cha-bum bits I was used to from the dance lessons.
My son sighed and looked away in embarrassment. At that moment, he apparently had no parents.
The music buzzed on, as John slowly elevated from the ground, his arms stretched out like a bat frozen in mid flight. Plenty of people took out their phones and recorded the event. It was a really good trick, but he must have forgotten to rehearse the end, because he never came down again. He just disappeared into the open cloud, which closed behind him. We never saw him again.
It was a good trick, though, and I guess several uploaded videos got likes and thumbs ups on social forums the coming days.
Some nuts even suggested this was an act of God, but it was always promptly pointed out that God would have provided much cooler music. The timps and trumpets sound was just lame.
