Rabbi Benn Weiss was waiting for me at the sidewalk. Cock-eyed Happy Place catered to anyone who had a certain style. The raffish sailors frequented there as well as beggars who paused in between panhandling for a swig. They paid in style of course with the money they cadged from the customers. Anyone with the style, I mean those who had money, got attention. When I reached the Rabbi he had just disposed a beggar who claimed had acted in the production of South Pacific.
“ There is nothing like a dame.” I crooned knowingly. Benn Weiss shrugged his shoulders and suddenly he said in alarm, “ You look as if seen a ghost!” I explained after having downed a couple of shots of whiskey, “ I suddenly remembered Gigi!” My friend looked perplexed.
“ Remember Maurice Chevalier singing, ‘Thank heaven for little girls?’ I was just twelve and was in love with Leslie Caron myself.”
The Rabbi was listening closely. “ Oh Jake you’re a romantic.”
“I went on singing for days the same number till my father kicked me in the seat of my knickers.
“So you mooned and was in love. So what?”
“ If I sang ‘Thank Heaven for little girls’ now like I did then, would not I be thought of being a closet paedophile or something?” I said.
Archive for the ‘humor’ Category
Many years ago I went with a friend of mine on a long journey. We both had entered into that exciting part of our lives namely college education. My all male boarding school was behind me. Girls, girls girls were all about us!
It so happened we both were about to spend our first vacation in Simla, a hill station. At the first leg of the journey we are buoyant of what waited at the end of it. Of course we both were eager to share our experience with girls. And my friend was equally brimming with joy of discovering how far I had progressed in the matter of the real thing. And we drew lots and it was my friend’s turn to describe his experience.
So he takes a bottle of vodka that he said his uncle got from the Russian embassy. In those days it was Soviet Union (for those who prefer to have the details right) and pouring me in a thimble he says,’Uncle Jacobi gave the shirt off his back to get this beauty.?
‘You mean vodka or girl?’
“Ah Ben, must you interrupt?’ he was at the moment performing something akin to a Japanese ceremony while the train rolled and pitched. I was sure the engine driver was drunk to which he merely said,’Nonsense.’
I didn’t mind it since he was pouring libations before a great subject like sex.
He held out my thimble. I smelt it with what I remembered of WC Fields in The Bank Dick. The drink was colorless odorless and I said,.’is it water?’
Ignoring my inanity he downed his and said,’I think I had sex the other day with the girl in the C division.
‘Is name important?’
‘Oh no.’ I stopped and he said,’I managed to find her alone and and sweet talked into sex.
‘What you were talking about?’ ‘Oh sweet nothings.”
Ah common, pardner, ‘did you talk of dirty stuff to get her interested?
Giving me a sad look he said, ‘I got close to her saying I knew who were all making the women’s hockey team.’He added,’That floored her.’
Almost immediately I wanted to ask where, at home or any other specific place. But I was already in his bad books. So I let him talk on.’It was smooth go till I said team building was like sex. Ben she let out a squeal and I knew she was almost in shivers. So I lost no time but groping where to begin.
‘Between legs if you were to ask me.’ I snapped on my fifth swig. Vodka was my excuse. So I went bold.
‘Did she let you?’I asked looking squarely at him.
When I casually put my hand around her waist all she said, ‘Will I make it?’
‘Sure thing, I said while she went on giggling and saying all kind of excuses. So I had to remove her folderol one by one.
‘Yeah she was talking as if she had been cut out to lead the team’.
I had heard enough. I said wearily,’So you had sex at the end?’
‘I think so,’
I knew that he wasted my time. To think he would have scored was beyond me. It was his turn to ask me so I said, ‘My sex was fantastic. It was the world of pleasures all distilled into that brief moment’. He squirmed in his seat feeling a little uptight. So I said slowly,’ My eldest sister’s friend came visiting us. When I got a chance I walked where she was sitting. I looked around and saw it was all clear. So I put my hand out.’
My friend evidently was feeling extreme discomfort. It was his turn to ask,’ What happened?’
‘I pressed against one bosom and she said only for me to hear,’Stop it’and I stopped’.
After emptying the bottle my friend knew the vodka was nothing but water. He said in a disinterested way turning in for a nap,’You cant’t get a better deal from a Russian. My uncle was wearing a terylene shirt and he got a dud in exchange. And we have been drinking it like real pro.’
Coming to think of it we were talking of sex like jerks.
Boogie Loogy ©
Joe Miller worked as a clerk in Hott & Tott Bank, Mombassa. Having worked some twenty years the same tasks and with the same customers he hated it. He wanted to see some well-fed faces for a change and he knew it made him feel better to receive compliments or some gifts from them. The Board members always got presents during Christmas and special days. Instead he got to see only the pensioners, widows and indigent store keepers who came always and asked with their pinched faces, ‘Will the President give us an interview?
‘No he is unavailable.’ he always insisted. Mr., the president was in his narrow world the presiding deity and it was his duty to stop his customers from wasting his time.
One morning he said to his colleagues,’ My daughter Lalwani is the cleverest girl. She is an accountant in a London Bank.’ He narrated how she saved the bank from an imminent collapse. No one could make the books tally but she could. He relished the looks of their faces when he narrated the story. So he added, enjoying himself, ‘She did what others thought impossible. In three days, mind you! My daughter Lalwani saved the bank.’
On the fourth day his hearers thought he would change the subject. But there within the Bank their accounts were totally out of line. It often came up in their conversation. So later in the day he found an occasion to repeat himself. ‘She is a miracle worker, no doubt of it.’ His coworkers giggled and made appropriate noises to tell him they believed everything he said. In fact they knew a girl of the stock of Miller could not be any better than one who wore a pith helmet even after the last white man had gone some thirty years.
The week’s gossip however reached the ears of Mr. LG. He called his lieutenants and asked if there was some truth in Joe Miller’s boast. No one was sure. The President of the Bank said, ‘We are in a mess. What with a few revolutions we let the matter dither. We must make our books tally.’ The president of the Bank’s fears was well founded. The Auditors appointed by the dictator were expected to drop in any day. If they ever found the lapses the members of the Board would have been rounded up and shot. ‘It is the book or our lives!’ Mr. L.G shuddered.
So Mr. LG called Joe Miller next morning to his office. He insisted that his daughter put the books in order.
For once Joe Miller regretted he had spoken out of turn.
The clerk frantically got his daughter come to his rescue. When Lalwani came home all the books from the Bank dating from five years back were stacked in the parlor. She fainted when she heard what she was supposed to deliver. ‘In three days, papa,’ she cried,’ impossible!’ She stared at all the bills, vouchers, bonds not to mention the books that made a thick heap.’
‘I am yet to pass one part in the examination for Negotiable Instruments in Practice and theory.’
But her father would hear none of it. He said, ‘Go to work!’
She beat her chest and cried, ‘Impossible!’ Her father said, ‘It is not a word Mr. LG will want to hear.’
He said the president would throw him to the gutter if he failed him. He shut the door behind him and went to the bank.
She wrung her hands in despair and cried. While she paused to catch her breath she saw a toothless bushman from Kalahari sitting on the pile of books. Swinging his feet in air he said her fairy godmother had called him up from the other world to assist her. ‘I am a shaman.’
‘But my god mother cannot add four and four!’
‘Now in the world beyond she can count and write.’ said the shaman, ‘I will go in trance and she is going to make this little problem go away ‘.
‘To whom do I owe thanks?’ Lalwani asked somewhat cheerful, ‘What is your name, little man?’
‘I cannot utter my name myself lest I go up in flames.’ he said terribly in a confused state. She said he could help her problem go away. He nodded.
The bushman went on and on reciting his spells while an unseen hand put the book in order. In three days she had made the books tally. ‘Impossible!’ Mr. LG gushed when he was told the books were ready. Joe Miller got a golden handshake and also a generous bonus that was amounts owed to him for ten years or so.
He retired to his village to buy more sheep and cattle. He had become a VIP in his village.
The dictator of the country Colonel Usambi came to know of Joe Miller and his daughter. He sent for Lalwani and treated her as though she were a talisman.
After supper he told her to make all his ill-gotten wealth disappear from record. ‘I am Col. Usambi and not Charles Taylor’. He wanted her to make him look good and not as a crook. ‘The world must believe I am a benefactor to my people and not a thief.’ he added grimly. Lalwani thought her head reeled and death squad coming to get her.
Meanwhile the colonel took her to his office in his armored limo and showed the bonds, and other instruments he had in his hands. A thick sheaf of it was in fictitious names. He showed her bullion, blood diamonds and he said, ’All these must be made legit. Here are chests of currency derived from drug deals. You shall make it white.’
She pleaded headache and wanted time to think over. ‘Oh no!’ said the colonel, ‘I have a pistol and once I pull the trigger it will not ask time to think over. It does what it must. Understand?’
She knew she was at his mercy. So she said she will get down to business. ‘One week you have.’ the dictator left her to work it out.
Lalwani cried, ‘Oh little man from Kalahari Help!’
Instantly he was there. He laughed and said, ‘I shall help but I want something in return.’
He wanted her for his bride.
‘O I love the idea very much’ she cried and thanked him. Only that as one who studied law of taxes she was sure always there were clauses by which one was exempted from paying taxes. ‘Is there a way in which I can claim exemption?’
He understood the general drift and said, ‘I cannot tell you my name but you can tell me what it is. Then you are free to do as you like’.
She agreed. She called the colonel privately for certain help. He agreed.
Lalwani sat with the bushman who was once again in trance. He said, ‘The matter is much more serious. But I am holding a séance with Skilling, Lay, Madoff and a few others.’ He assured the matter would be taken care of. ‘I shall tell you how. You just do as I tell.’ She agreed.
In the end she was ready. Her godmother’s shaman had done it second time. She sat with the dictator and told how to keep his wealth she asked if he could find what she had asked. The colonel gave her a piece of paper.
The bushman was meanwhile waiting for his prize.
She read the name. ‘Boogie Loogy.’
The bushman stamped his foot in anger and asked how she managed to find his name.
‘You hold an account in Hott & Tott Bank, Kalahari. Is it not?’
He was disappointed and with a yell he disappeared. (Brothers Grimm)
People speak of ego as if they haven’t decided if it were a curse or blessing.
I know my ego is my trump card. It fits me like a glove.
My ego and I are twins, Gemini you know what I mean? The day I came into the world I gave my mom a gift coupon for choosing me and sent my pop, a card in appreciation that his tastes were impeccable. Since then I had to revise my opinion. Imagine he wanted to spank me for sucking my thumb! My thumb!
When I went to school I gave back the dunce cap to the teacher saying my head is expanding one inch a second so only an elastic self adjustable cap will do. I am very fastidious that in a fancy restaurant I peck at peas and say sorry to potato mash. At the end I send the mash back telling the waiter to give it an iron tight alibi before the garbage can. I refuse to handle money so I tell the waiter to consider himself paid for the privilege of catching my eye.
I don’t gamble because I hate to act on anything coming from the horse’s mouth.
Not even gods can live on a dollar but I can. My ego is so vast that I have written IOU in the sky. Of course the firm that chartered their plane to write it is not paid, naturally. It is tied up with the IOU.
I don’t play fast and loose but I know which side of my bread is buttered. The fly that got stuck is the buttered side and my stomach when it rumbles I know which side gonna be loose.
Whenever thunder is heard, I know the choir of angels are tuning up for my entertainment.
An ego that can bring up angels for your entertainment is unbeatable.
I rest my case.
benny ( This post would not have been written but for a delightful post from nezza@hella sydney. I began writing a comment and I got carried away.b. )
I just read that Dame Judi Dench is going blind; so bad it is she cannot even see who she is sitting against at a restaurant table. She is suffering from progressive Macular degeneration.
I am also a fellow sufferer. I have already lost one eye to it.
But my case (even with one good eye) is somewhat different: ‘My eyesight affects only when the waiter brings the bill to the table’.
In Constellation 579 I am Master Dog of the Welcoming Committee. We Hatsheputians are a breed apart and we dogs welcome dogs of this cosmos and every little bark our antennas can catch, warms cockles of our hearts. I hope I got this expression correct and I heard it from Fido who came I believe from the Blue planet. Well Hatsheput is a Bone City if a city for dogs who speak nothing but of resting their weary bones, and talk of bones that one had in the past can be called one. Some dogs talk of Carpe Diem and making go what ever they have on hand. Here in Hatsheput we have a proverb, ‘If you want tomorrow be good, begin with the marrow now’. If not sucking marrow we speak of our bones that makes our geneology very exciting.
Well the day we had Fido as our guest we set him up on the centre of our banquet table. We Hatsheputian dogs make much of our canine guests and we also keep tomes after tomes on the illustrious hounds we have come to know.
Fido was a multilingual dog and he said he carried some 700 and odd strains of dogs which is pretty high- and we rate him in the superstar category. He was all for smelling us out and he said, it was his way checking which way the wind blowed and how we laughed and indulged him making him giddy even before the dinner was over. After the plates were cleared the President ordered the family tree to be fetched and as we traced our geneology Fido got up with a start. ‘Tree did you say?’ I smoothly told him, ‘yes,’ Pointing to our President I whispered, there you see the start of our family tree.’
In one bound Fid went up to the President and peed as though it was a done thing. Horror of horrors! The President could not believe and asked,’Fido was it necessary?’
Fido, ‘Yeah whenever I hear tree spoken it is my cue to do my thing. My Master Pavolov would not expect any less.’
Well Fido stayed us for the shortest duration, and whenever we speak of our Family tree ever since we look at each other carefully as though we are about to be surprised.
Uttar Pradesh in India has a woman Chief Minister. She made some thousand statues to glorify the fact she began as small potatoes and have become a sort of millstone around the neck of UP. But the statues are one way of redressing the inequality that for centuries existed. She was low-caste Dalit before whom all civil servants, high caste or low no matter now kowtow deeply. In making so many statues and spending millions of the tax payer’s money she is making a point that she a Dalit woman is not to be taken lightly. Some woman, some millstone!
One morning she calls her security detail and says she wants to check whether money was well spent. The Senior most bureaucrat old but not so wise said,’ Behan-Ji, you may not like what you see there.’
she calls him to come along and after seeing 896 statues in which she is keeping pose all calculated to bring awe in the eyes of the public she gets out of the car. After removing her sunglasses and peering at the face she says,’How come the sculptor made me look the same, every one of them?’ No one could give an answer. She calls for the sculptor and berates him roundly for making her look like a potato.
The sculptor who began as a Bhaia( milk-man) scratches his head and says ‘Oh Chief Minister-ji, Maaf keejiye,I could not get a water melon for a model’.
What it to be a man but feel sorry he is not as perfect as he thinks? So excuses fall thick and fast through corridors of time
Like Adam telling God,’Sorry this fig leaf is poorly hung.’
Julius Caesar: ‘Never mind this falling sickness, it is a moral thing. And this too shall pass off.’
Octavius Caesar on finding Cleo dead on his arrival: ” what a poor excuse by dying on me! Now I have to build Rome in marble all by myself.’
Washington refusing a third term,’Not to the Capitol I will. You will have to take me in a wallet instead’ Since then he is on a dollar bill.
Otto von Bismarck: Blood and Iron! I made with these Germany above all. Now I need dialysis and iron supplements if I have to keep my job.
Hitler moments before his suicide: All I wanted was to play Siegfried. Instead I get to play Alberich!’
Einstein laying his violin aside,’I have this wonderful melody, e=mc2 but I can’t play it for nuts. So I will just write out the score’.
Captain Schettino,’ Me abandon ship!I just went out to get some fresh air.’
If you want to know what is like in a bar I am the man for you. I have been to Soho London where night life begins pretty early. Always I find fortified with Alcohol not even a pole dancer is a problem. They do their routine while my grey matter is reeling round corpus callosum a watusi. A drinker gets what he wants, bottoms up I mean.
Watusi! Ah it brings memory when I drank under the night sky in the open. I remember that night I had a lion, a stray cat I believe, and it came almost close while the ice in my glass clanked in fright. I looked at the lion and stared him of course the smell of whisky said, shoo! shoo! in a lingo something a lion has nose for. The thing is I am not one to blink easily, except when I was in Joe’s Bar.
While drinking I wanted to take a leak and I went to men’s room and while I stood there holding my own in the crowded john, I felt I was crowded out by strangers whose total liquor must have been pretty awesome. They were letting it all splash out! Imagine I just could not pee! They were doing their own and I was following the universal law,’when you got to go you gotta head towards the john.’It didn’t work that night.
There was no lion but just me and my own need.
That was the last I took a leak at the Joe’s Bar.