Friday, July 20, 2018

Laugh loudly and the Bogey man will melt away. riginal.

by riginal (writer), moe australia, January 13, 2013

Before you judge anyone as stupid and worthless,listen to Congress. We must have some sort of a guage that we can 'chew the fat over.'

THE HA HAW. confrontation. riginal.

This story was told to me by a very ancient Tibetan priest. Y U Hung Low. I was on a shrinking 'fat finding' mission in the Tibetan Alps for a weight-loss company,'Stopeatin'fatchance.' American based company with a "hot diggity dawg that's a fat lie!" franchise strategically placed in every corner of Congress.I had travelled the length and breadth of Tibet to find this wise, skinny, translucent old fellow. My aim was to buy his 'skinny diet' diet secret. The Congress incumbents sponsored me heavily 'under the tablecloth' as they wanted a permanent 'fat free' recipe to 'thin down' fat lies so that they would appear plausible...and make them so much easier for ordinary folks to swallow.Better for the digestion system.Please don't pass this information on to outsiders.IE:family-otherwise (I was warned) a group of Navy Seals will hunt me down and 'flip' me to death! I'm not being flippant.I was told in no uncertain terms that my wife would go "missing at Wallmart." Don't they all? The head Navy seal sneered,spat out from under his customized flipping flipper flap,"when your missus is handed back to you she'll be 'smallchanged.' "Jeeze! That's all any woman who ventures shopping these days comes back with? But then Head Flipper cursed and spat once more (was getting sick of being spat at!) "do not be feeling amused...your missus will be handed back...a WONDERFUL loving SEX CRAZED cook." I started to shake as the insidious implications sunk in. Bloody Hell!How the heck would I get her back to normal? I shouted at a safe distance as I boarded the Virgin plane bound for Tibet.I wound down the window and yelled "do you know that spitting is classed as ASSAULT my angry friend?" I noticed as we taxied past Head Seal thumbing through his 'spitting rules' book-scratching his whiskers and chewing on a rather large sardine. I could have been a Navy blue seal...but I can't stomach sardines! Although I love the smell.

Y U Hung Low sat jacking up his 10 horsepower 'Drift Horse' suspensions on his 10 horses. A 2012 Mustang was tethered nearby. Let me explain. Hung was 110. He preferred horsepower because his electric roller sandals were worn out.Easier for 'wise sayings' delivery. Y U just drifted round the local Tibetan newsagents. Hence the 'hung low' for better cornering.That's Y.

Hung stroked his two metre long beard. Scratched his bottom.Wisdom oozed from his every crevice. "Young man I get your email 'bout wanting 'thin secret'...FAT CHANCE!" I have good business,old saying "man who have one hand on reins of horsepower roll horse when drifting round corners...end up as hoarse raddish. Hung pulled out a large strange smelling pipe wrench out of his genuine Chinese Sinkchrome (that's how it was spelt on the toolbox?) metal/bamboo toolbox.He murmured into it.The head of a chrome 3/4" AF socket started to gyrate up out of the toolbox like a snake. The Monk cackled,winked a yellow mascara lid. "Give me $100,000 Merican dollar.I give skinny secret to happiness."

I pulled out my travellers cheques.$IOO,OOO cheque...CHICKEN FEED.The secret would be worth trillions!Enough to keep the Congress tea-lady in ciggies and biscuits for a month! Y U held the cheque up to the light. Cackled. He whispered,patting his putrid pipe wrench.Ordered the waving serpent-like socket to go back into its box.Hung put the cheque in his robe. He cackled again. I was getting bloody SICK of his cackling. He beckoned me down with one scrawny hand. "If overweight person want to get thin "STOP EATING FOR GOD'S SAKE! RUN ROUND MOUNTAINS FOR GOD'S SAKE!" I was disgusted.Ridiculous!not used to dealing with ridiculousness.Halfway round the world for this crap. I could have got the same advice from Dr. Phil for twice that money AND got his autograph. I grabbed the old fraud. His socket hissed from within. "Y U silly old fool."That my first name" he cackled. "you listen I tell you free story."The socket had an extension, it was uncoiling out of the metal bamboo basket.

Two tangs flicked out! What the...? I'd been bit before by a well rounded off 3/4" AF socket wrench...death could result. I sighed. "This story better be good Hung Low." I squatted...already squandered! Hung handed me a 'six pack' in case I got bit n' got sicks.Opened one. Hung began."Many years ago fat grasshopper, headhunter's wife in darkest Brazil give birth to a Brazilian nut.A simple plump baby. All baby do all day was go "Ha! ha! haw! haw!" The proud mother named her simple son Ha Haw.The boy grew to a gentle giant.The tribe loved him. He was fed the best people...sorry!...the best people fed the man mountain as he could not hunt or cook. The tribe was so REMOTE they only had black and white television...and heaven forbid NO REMOTE! Ha Haw loved the jungle telly, he'd pedal all day on the generator stolen from some Dr?-presume his name was Living stone- from Boulder U.S.A.

Preachers came- sore- and conked out. Sorry, do gooder preachers came with tinned bush soup, SAW what the tribe was eating, nearly conked out when offered finger food.Theirs. No preacher stay long...that the short of it. One day white man push through remainng wild unspoiled 'rent free' Jungle to claim Ha Haw's tribal space. The tribe face extinction. Ha Haw stood bewildered.Other than seeing Donald Trump on TV he otherwise didn't seem that well endowed...except for a great comb over.The fat white-man leader started arguing with the tribe. He ridiculed them."How about tossing a coin for your land fellas." Ha Haw started laughing thinking everything was a joke. The natives refused-defiant.. They yelled in unison "white man have two headed coin!" White man liars...big FAT liars. The leader of the mining insurgents whispered to his third in command...the second in command didn't turn up as he didn't like the impending 'after negotiations' menu. The fat man spoke loudly. "Tell you what fellas i'm going to ask yews a typical American question, if you can answer it we'll leave you to your land and never come back,Deal? "The tribe's resident Witchdoctor/ GP/ partime taxidermist/tax returns/headshrinker-stepped forward. The natives milled- nonplussed.They were hunters/ lap dancers-Not uni-intellectuals. Guns were raised.Bows were drawn."What question whiteman?" "The fat man roared confidently,he swaggered and postured."What does one call a tart; whom,in America, or indeed the world, gives herself for money?...resides in a BROTHEL!...quick now! you've got one minute." The natives looked at the ground scuffling the leaves.Twenty seconds to go. Ha Haw,intrigued by the fat man's watch, raised the fat man's wrist to his ear and listened to the ticking.Delighted.Ten seconds to go, Ha Haw erupted. "Ha!ha!...HAW! HAW! HAW! HAW!" The blood drained from the fat man's face...he tossed his watch at the feet of the jolly manchild..."SHIT!" The land grabbers walked off...cursing,shrugging. Ha Haw waved the gold watch in the sunlight, laughing with delight at the ticking sound. He put it in his mouth.Laughed.Spat it out.The Witchdoctor plugged in the George Foreman griller pot for the evening tea-break. Rather jealous but pleased he was 'off the hook'.The relieved tribe hoisted their 'hero' on their shoulders.

I stared at the Tibetan monk.Cracked another can. "Hung Low what's the moral of all this stupidity?" "Exactly" cried out Hang Low "you answer own question. Sometime most stupid person save day with most intelligent answer...even if by accident." Confused us say "many job for accidently stupid person of low intellect...ring political HOTLINE jobsearch and register with Congress even if fisically and mentally inept." ...cheers.

Needless to say I lost my job. Congress spent fifty million trying to get their $100,000 back! Sound familiar? I just get paranoid these days when I go near a seal colony. Seriously,my missus is a great cook,HRC! Wonderful hands....cheers.

About the Writer

Bio...bioio...daylight come an i wanna go home. Come missa tele man tele me banana. A banana tele? Seriously would like to hook up with other comedy writers to engage.
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