A Fable
There is nothing more uplifting than having the flu, trying to find a job, and trying to quit smoking all at the same time. If there is a God and I knew where to find Him, I would punch Him in the face.
Still, I'd better try to come up with something funny, lest any of you complain about my complaining. Hmm... I haven't written a fable in a while. Let's see what I can come up with, shall we?
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A swallow, a pebble, and an insane Cornish barber who believed himself the reincarnation of Cincinnatus were out walking one day when the pebble challenged the barber to a footrace, to be held the following week. The barber, always game for any sort of challenge, eagerly accepted. The swallow, who was known far and wide for his impartiality, was asked to referee, and he happily agreed, under the lone condition that he be compensated in the manner of his choosing, as was yet to be determined. The pebble and the mad barber, knowing the swallow to be as fair and reasonable as he was impartial, gave the swallow's request their tacit approval, and went to their respective homes to train.
The pebble, who had been quite the notable athlete in the rosy-cheeked days of his youth, was alarmed to discover that the sedentary nature of his adult years had robbed him of his once lissome grace, but a week of steady, rigorous exercise did him much good, and his confidence was in full bloom in time for the race day. The Cornish barber, who'd spent a great deal of his time in recent years chasing energetically after things that didn't exist, was already in fine form, and the week of training left him in peak condition. The race was sure to be a good one!
At noon on the day of the race, the pebble, the insane barber, the swallow, and all the townspeople and townsthings gathered at the race track of the local junior college for the big event. However, seconds before the race was to commence, the barber jammed a pair of scissors into his right eye, then pounded it deep into his brain with the heel of his palm. It did not kill him, but it did render him a useless, drooling mess--a burden to the state and his family alike.
The following day, when most of the hubbub had died down, the pebble paid a visit to the swallow. "I know things didn't go as planned," said the pebble, "but you were promised compensation, and I'd feel I'd be doing the dishonorable thing by not making good."
"Oh, that's okay," said the swallow, grinning slyly. "I got exactly what I wanted."
MORAL: No good comes to those who bargain with swallows,
Still, I'd better try to come up with something funny, lest any of you complain about my complaining. Hmm... I haven't written a fable in a while. Let's see what I can come up with, shall we?
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A swallow, a pebble, and an insane Cornish barber who believed himself the reincarnation of Cincinnatus were out walking one day when the pebble challenged the barber to a footrace, to be held the following week. The barber, always game for any sort of challenge, eagerly accepted. The swallow, who was known far and wide for his impartiality, was asked to referee, and he happily agreed, under the lone condition that he be compensated in the manner of his choosing, as was yet to be determined. The pebble and the mad barber, knowing the swallow to be as fair and reasonable as he was impartial, gave the swallow's request their tacit approval, and went to their respective homes to train.
The pebble, who had been quite the notable athlete in the rosy-cheeked days of his youth, was alarmed to discover that the sedentary nature of his adult years had robbed him of his once lissome grace, but a week of steady, rigorous exercise did him much good, and his confidence was in full bloom in time for the race day. The Cornish barber, who'd spent a great deal of his time in recent years chasing energetically after things that didn't exist, was already in fine form, and the week of training left him in peak condition. The race was sure to be a good one!
At noon on the day of the race, the pebble, the insane barber, the swallow, and all the townspeople and townsthings gathered at the race track of the local junior college for the big event. However, seconds before the race was to commence, the barber jammed a pair of scissors into his right eye, then pounded it deep into his brain with the heel of his palm. It did not kill him, but it did render him a useless, drooling mess--a burden to the state and his family alike.
The following day, when most of the hubbub had died down, the pebble paid a visit to the swallow. "I know things didn't go as planned," said the pebble, "but you were promised compensation, and I'd feel I'd be doing the dishonorable thing by not making good."
"Oh, that's okay," said the swallow, grinning slyly. "I got exactly what I wanted."
MORAL: No good comes to those who bargain with swallows,
posted by Rob at
9:55 PM
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