June 15, 2011
FW: About Your Dead Parrot Señor Wilson
THE PHONE RINGS:
“Hello Señor Wilson, I am the caretaker at your country house in Mexico.”
“Ah yes, Ernesto. What can I do for you? Is there a problem?”
“Um, I am just calling to advise you that your parrot, he is dead.”
“My parrot? Dead? The one that won the International competition?”
“Si, 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 the rotten meat, Señor Wilson.”
“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 Wilson.”
“My prize thoroughbred is dead?”
“Yes, Señor Wilson, 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.”
“Good Heavens! What fire are you talking about, man?”
“The one at your house, Señor! A candle fell and the curtains caught on fire.”
“What the hell? Are you saying that my mansion is destroyed because of a candle?!”
“Yes, Señor Wilson.”
“There’s electricity at the house, what was the candle for?”
“For the funeral, Señor Wilson.”
“WHAT BLOODY FUNERAL??!!”
“Your wife’s, Señor Wilson. She showed up very late one night and I thought she was a thief, so I hit her with your new Ping G 15 204g titanium head golf club with the TFC 149D graphite shaft.”
SILENCE……….. LONG SILENCE………VERY LONG SILENCE.
“Ernesto, if you broke that driver, you’re in deep trouble!”
