in ,

Real Trouble

The telephone rang at dawn. “Hello, Señor Ralph? This is Alfredo, the caretaker at your country house.”

“Hi, Alfredo. What can I do for you? Is there a problem?”

“Uh, I am just calling to tell you, Señor Ralph, that your parrot died.”

“My parrot? Dead? The one that won the international competition?”

“Yes, Señor, that’s the one.”

“Damn! That’s a pity. I spent a small fortune on that bird. What did he die from?”

“From eating rotten meat, Señor Ralph.”

“Rotten meat? Who the hell fed him rotten meat?”

“Nobody, Señor. He ate the meat of the dead horse.”

“Dead horse? What dead horse?”

“The thoroughbred, Señor Ralph.”

“My prize thoroughbred is dead?”

“Yes, Señor Ralph, he died from all that work pulling the water cart.”

“Are you insane? What water cart?”

“The one we used to put out the fire, Señor.”

“My God! What fire are you talking about?”

“The one at your house, Señor. A candle fell and the curtains caught fire.”

“What the hell . . . ? Are you telling me that my $5m mansion is destroyed because of
a candle?”

“Yes, Señor Ralph.”

“But there’s electricity at the house! What was the candle for?”

“For the funeral, Señor Ralph.”

“What bloody funeral?”

“Your wife’s, Señor Ralph. She showed up one night out of the blue and I thought she was a thief. So I hit her with your new Tiger Woods’ Nike driver.”

There was a lengthy silence.

“Alfredo, if you broke that driver, you’re in real trouble . . .”

What do you think?

6 points
Upvote Downvote

Total votes: 88

Upvotes: 47

Upvotes percentage: 53.409091%

Downvotes: 41

Downvotes percentage: 46.590909%

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

The Licence Plate

The Power Of Prayer