Bouffon Stories 2011 Read online

  "It's the oven. From the kitchen. I happen to know he really likes apple pie, if that's any help."

  "Perfect!" the desk lamp said.

  "Yes, but how do we create that smell without arousing suspicion?" the fountain pen asked.

  "I have an idea. You know those dust particles that always cling to me?" the desk lamp continued.

  "That's us!" the dust particles shouted enthusiastically, in cute high-pitched voices.

  "Yes. How about you go floating over to the bakery, roll about in an apple pie, and come back here? Make sure to bring just enough molecules so that the smell will be noticeable yet subtle."

  "We're on it!"

  "Great! Now another thing?" the fountain pen said. "I've noticed our Writer writes a lot about sunsets. Is there anything we can do there?"

  "Hoo, that's tricky," said the desk lamp. "I don't know, son. Anyone else?"

  "Well?" said the ceiling lamp, "I could have a word with my friends at the power station."

  "How does that work?"

  "We can actually talk through the electricity lines. Of course they obviously can't change the sun or anything like that, but I could tell them to send a few clouds up into the sky, in such a way that the light breaks in just the right way?"

  "Er? what?" said the fountain pen, who'd never been terribly good at physics.

  "Allow me to explain," an unread facsimile copy of Newton's Opticks said. "Sometimes the light from the sun is broken in such a way that it reveals different colours. I think that is what our friend on the ceiling is referring to, am I correct?"

  "Right! That's it. With the right sort of clouds, we can make it all pretty in pink and orange and what not."

  "Woohoo! Our plan is really coming together. Now, I have a feeling there's just one thing missing," the fountain pen said, gently rolling to and fro.

  They heard a scratching sound in the living room, which was soon followed by equally scratchy music. The gramophone had started playing Perfidia.

  "Of course! Music! If we can just give our Writer the music that he wants? in addition to the apple pie smell and the sunset, that'll be perfect!"

  "Yes. Am up to task," the computer bleeped in Morse code. "Will alter randomization in media player. Only play songs Writer likes."

  "Brilliant! Oh, I think I hear our Writer coming in again. I can't wait to find out what story he will create?"

  And the fountain pen quickly rolled back to its original position, eagerly waiting for his master to pick him up.

  Crash Landing

  "We? need? more? power!" said Mortal, wiping her goggles with her sleeve. It was no use though, they kept steaming over. And besides, she needed all two of her arms and all her attention to focus on keeping the airship up.

  It didn't look too good, however. More and more meters on the dashboard were spinning out of control.

  "Beetle!" she shouted at a parrot who was sitting-or rather, holding on for dear life-on the back of her seat.

  "Awk! What is it? What is it?"

  "Go down to the? nghhhh? engine room? tell them we need more? aaaahhhh!"

  "Awk! More what? More what?"

  It took all of Mortal's strength to keep the steering wheel under control.

  "More coal!"

  "Awk! More coal, more coal!"

  As the bird left to do as she instructed, all sorts of thoughts raced through Mortal's mind, but she had to fight them. Now was not the time to think. She needed to focus? A tall tower in the distance, which seemed to grow larger by the minute, helped her in that task. She took it as a point of reference, and every time her thoughts threatened to shift to a place where they shouldn't be, she looked at the tower. As a consequence, she subconsciously steered the airship into a collision course with it. But if only they would hurry up and put more coal in the engine, everything would be all right again. She could easily pull up the airship in time.

  Mortal was aroused from her trance by a fluttering of wings. Beetle had returned.

  "Awk! No more coal! No more coal!"

  "What do you mean no more coal?"

  Beetle pulled up his wings in a gesture that looked a lot like shrugging. "No more coal," he said again.

  Mortal sighed. She lifted up her foot, and managed to unhook the phone on the dashboard. There was no way she could reach it though.

  "Beetle, go over to the phone, and ask what's up in the engine room."

  "Awk! What's up? What's up?"

  Ten seconds later, a wax roll, that was attached to the top of the cockpit, started turning slowly, and as a needle moved over it, a metallic voice could be heard.

  "Hello? This is the engineer. There's a hole in the hull. All the coal has fallen out. I repeat, all the coal has fallen out."

  Oh great, Mortal thought, as she saw the power meters drop. She turned a few valves, and let go of the steering wheel. She fell to the floor as the airship started descending rapidly, managing to grab the phone.

  "Prepare for emergency landing!" she shouted into the receiver. Then she lost consciousness.

  An hour later, she woke up with a splitting headache, but at least she was still alive.

  "How are you? How are you?"

  "I? I think I'm still in one piece, Beetle," she said, patting her bones to make sure they were still there, and not broken.

  She tried to get up, but she was too dizzy to stand. Now she noticed her vision had gone all blurry and distorted. Deathly afraid that her eyes may have been injured, she brought her hands to her eyes, only to feel her broken goggles still covering them. She quickly removed them, and heaved a sigh of relief as she realized there was nothing wrong with her eyes after all.

  Now she noticed the tower she had seen from the airship. From below, it looked decidedly more ominous than from up high. Under normal circumstances, Mortal wouldn't dream of going near a place like this, but these weren't normal circumstances, so she started crawling toward the building.

  Inside, the leather sofa was welcome indeed. She pulled herself up, only to let herself fall down onto it again. As she lay there sprawled out, her eyes closed, and she slept a short but deep sleep, full of exhausted dreams.

  A voice woke her. It belonged to a man dressed in black velvet, wearing a crooked top hat.

  "Welcome to my humble abode," he said, grinning at her. "I'll make sure you enjoy your stay here," he continued, locking the door. And he started laughing.

  Somewhere Over The Arctic

  "Well, that's what I call a difficult seal to club," Mark said, looking over the edge of the basket held up by a purple hot air balloon. "Oh, sorry, Yvonne? It's just that I deal with these things on a daily basis, and I get desensitized, right?"

  "Right, right, sure."

  "I mean, it's all good, right? Oh, darling," he said, filling his lungs with the cold polar air, "you really must love me very much that you booked us this amazing trip."

  "Right, right, sure."

  "Darling? Is something the matter?"

  "No. I just wish that for once, you were honest with me."

  "Honest? What do you mean?"

  "Oh, come on, I'm not blind! I know all about you and that hussy? Paulette." The last word came out as if Yvonne had just bit on her tongue and spat out the blood.

  Mark gulped. "Look. Listen. I? I don't know what you know? what you think you know, but?"

  "Just tell me this. Is it true?"

  "I?" Mark hung his head. "Yes."

  "Good. That's all I wanted to hear."

  Yvonne took a cell phone out of her purse.

  "What? what are you going to do?"

  She didn't answer.

  "Oh, hi, Paulette, it's you, isn't it?"

  "Yes," Paulette answered, confused.

  "Look, it's me, Yvonne."

  "Yvonne? Oh! What? what's up?"

  "Mark just told me all about you two."

  "Really now," Paulette said, and she started laughing heartily. "So are you and Mark still together?"

  "Not for long," Yvonne answ
ered, and she ended the call. Then she ordered the balloon pilot to land.

  "You can't land here!" Mark said.

  "You'll find that there is very little I can't do," Yvonne said, taking a revolver out of her purse.

  "Now look, you can't do that."

  "Why not, mister high and mighty governor? Always giving out orders, feeling like you're? you're? yes, like you're a space crystal in a science fiction film. Everyone is always looking up to you, longing for you, everyone wants a piece of you. Well, not anymore. This is the end of the line. Get out."

  "But, surely?"

  "I said get out of the basket!" Yvonne snapped, pointing the revolver at her husband.

  "Now it's my turn to conquer the galaxy," she said, leaving Mark behind in the barren Arctic landscape.

  "You cannot conquer the galaxy without the space crystal!" Mark shouted after the ascending balloon.

  "You can if you get yourself a new crystal?" Yvonne said. Her lips curled into a smile as she embraced the balloon pilot. "To South America? darling."

  Adolfo and the Cow

  Once upon a time, there was a man named Adolfo. Adolfo was a schizophrenic racist with delusions of grandeur. He always watched a TV quiz called Pick A Girl, Win A Prize. After much deliberation, he decided that he himself would make an excellent candidate, so he applied to be on the show, and somewhat to his amazement he was accepted.

  Adolfo had never been in a TV studio before. In fact, he hardly ever left the comfort of his home, unless he really needed to. This was an entirely new experience for him. But he was largely unfazed by all the hoopla of the studio lights, the audience, and the presenter with his slick hairdo.

  "So, our next contestant is Adolfo! Please tell us something about yourself."

  "I'm Adolfo, and I hate people."

  "Okay? moving on? let's just jump straight into the game! You know the rules?"

  "I know everything. I am the quiz god. Bow before your overlord, you feeble presenter."

  "I? uh? just a moment." The presenter then said in a whisper addressed to the producer: "Do we continue with the show? I mean, this nutcase? yes? Good for the ratings? Well, I suppose you know best?"

  "What's going on? What's going on?" asked Adolfo, who was on the verge of slipping into an attack of paranoia.

  "Nothing, nothing. So, here are the three girls. The first one is Gloria!"

  The audience applauded for the stunningly beautiful Gloria, whose skimpy white swimsuit really brought out her lovely dark skin very well.

  "Will you choose her?"

  "No. She's black. Black people are bad."

  "Okay? just? hang on a moment?"

  The presenter briefly went backstage, where the producer assured him that this would be an absolute hit on YouTube. Millions of views guaranteed.

  "So?" he said, coming back. "Let's see what prize you missed there."

  The curtain went up, revealing three gold doubloons.

  "You passed up the opportunity to receive three authentic gold coins from the pirate era, worth millions of dollars! But let's see the girl in front of the next curtain."

  The spotlight now shone on Lia, an Asian girl who didn't wear anything quite as skimpy as Gloria, but there was no mistaking: she was very pretty indeed.

  "So, surely you're interested in this girl, right?"

  "Yes, I'd be interested in seeing her deported from our glorious country, to preserve the purity of our race!"

  The presenter shot a sidelong glance at the producer, who quickly gestured to keep the show going, giving a thumbs up.

  "Let's see what you missed here. Ah, a green balloon! Which is of course a symbol for the dollar bubble. You're missing out on a year-long training from Wall Street executives, and thereby on a chance to cash in on the crisis over the backs of poor people like Lia!"

  Adolfo actually felt a little bad about missing this opportunity, but no matter, for the next girl would make everything right.

  "Now I present the next girl? Bella!"

  The cameras zoomed in on a jaundiced cow. She opened her mouth to say "Moo," but instead the sound that came out was "Ribbit."

  The audience gasped. Some even left the studio in disgust.

  But Adolfo ran over to the cow, hugging and kissing her.

  "I choose this beauty!" he said, the madness clearly audible in his voice.

  "Okay? you? er? you have won? a dead hamster! Congratulations!"

  When Adolfo heard this, he rushed over to his prize and proceeded to eat it. Raw.

  By now, the studio was empty, except for the producer, who operated a camera herself (all the camera operators had left as well). The next day, she woke up to see the show posted all over the internet, mostly accompanied by outraged comments (though on some shadier sites, like Adolfo's new fan site, people were applauding the new direction Pick A Girl, Win A Prize had taken). She smiled from ear to ear. Her parents would have been so proud.

  And Adolfo? He and the cow lived happily ever after. That is, they lived for a few days, when the cow sadly succumbed to her illness, and Adolfo died of rabies.

  The Double

  One day, TomPravetz went for a walk around the block, as he was wont to do. He was breathing in the fresh air, enjoying the warm sunlight on his face, when all of a sudden he was struck by a horrific event taking place right in front of him. A mother duck was leading her ducklings across the road, but to TomPravetz' horror, a truck rolled towards the water birds at a tremendous speed, paying no heed to these newly-hatched additions to the already so fabulous landscape. TomPravetz did not hesitate for one moment, but jumped in the way, shielding the duck and her offspring.

  "Stop!" he shouted.

  The truck could not brake in time and sped towards TomPravetz, who was bravely holding his ground, encouraging the astonished mother duck to cross, assuring her that there was nothing to fear. The truck kept rolling on, until it came into contact with TomPravetz' outstretched arms. Miraculously, this so slowed down the truck that it came to a grinding halt. TomPravetz then lifted up the truck and tossed it away into a ditch, leaving its driver confused but not injured.

  "Thank you so much," the mother duck said. "You saved our lives."

  "Oh, it was nothing," said TomPravetz, for whom this was no more than his civic duty.

  "At least? tell me your name?"

  "My name," said TomPravetz, "is TomPravetz."

  He rather expected the mother duck to say something like "I shall remember that name," or "Thank you so much, TomPravetz, you are my new best friend." Instead, he could only hear an outraged gasp, followed by an accusation.

  "Liar!"

  TomPravetz' mouth fell open.

  "I beg your pardon?"

  "You are not TomPravetz!"

  "I? what?"

  The mother duck then brought a wing to her bill and pulled, removing what TomPravetz now noticed was a duck costume.

  "But?" the astonished TomPravetz said, "you're? me!"

  And indeed, TomPravetz was now looking into his own face. The ex-duck was now the splitting image of his handsome self.

  "How can this be?" he asked.

  "Search within yourself, TomPravetz. Deep within, you know it to be true. I am the real TomPravetz."

  "Yes, yes, I see it now. All these years, I've been living a lie. I am not TomPravetz! I am-" and TomPravetz, that is, the one who had stopped the truck, removed his mask, revealing a beautiful woman. "Yes," she said. "I am actually PatriciaTomvetz!"

  "Oh, PatriciaTomvetz," TomPravetz (the former duck) said. "I? I love you."

  "I love you too," PatriciaTomvetz answered. Then she remembered the ducklings. "Are these?"

  "Yes, they are our children."

  And with that, the ducklings transformed into the cutest kids PatriciaTomvetz had ever seen, completing their happy family. For once, the clich? became a reality. They all lived happily ever after.

  The Needle, the Haystack, and the Penguin

  So, there I was, driving my tow truck. Jus
t another day on the road, on my way to pick up a tractor at a ranch. It could get very lonely on the road, but also very pretty. This would be one of the pretty days. The sun emitted its orange glow over the desert landscape, the wind blew gently in my face, and Johnny Cash was serenading me from my stereo. Little did I know then that this day would end in a, shall we say, unusual way.

  When I reached a farm close to the city, something crossed the road. An animal. That in itself wasn't so unusual, but it is when that animal is a penguin. Why did the poor thing have to go on a suicide mission, and why did it have to do so in front of my truck? Thankfully, I managed to swerve the car just in time, avoiding the wintery bird. My tow truck ended up embedded in a haystack, but not much damage was done.

  I jumped off the truck and rushed to the penguin, checking if it was all right. Just when I stooped over it, I felt a sharp sensation in my neck. It felt like a needle. I staggered backwards and fell down into the haystack. Well, I thought, this is it. I managed to prevent the penguin's suicide, and now I'm dying myself.

  Later in the hospital, when I came to-thank God!-I heard what had really happened. A penguin had escaped from the zoo, and in order to catch it, they wanted to shoot it with a tranquilizer dart. Instead, they hit me with it. All in all, it ended well for both me and the penguin. When I think back to it, I can't help but laugh, because the dart came loose when I fell. And now someone is looking for a needle in a haystack.

  My Head

  Helleeeeeeoooooo Heyyyyiiii HhhHhh

  Sss

  illegible squiggles

  Sorry about that. I'm just getting to girps with this neww situauation. It's nott everyday that you wake upp as a disenbodid head. Conssidering I'm writing tihs with a quil in my mout, I thnik I should be forgivven for the ocasional errorr.

  I only just landed heer on this desk after flying thru the windo. Oh, but frist let me interduce myself, I am a zombie. Now just a zombie head. I dunno how I became one, I cannot remebmer. All I remember is that

  words illegible due to ink blots

  and then I ate his bairns.

  The nxt thing I recal is a woman comming towards me witha chain saw. The olny thing I culd do was panick. OF course, I would hav done the same if she was a zombie about too eat mee. But stil, I panicced.

  Howeveer, there wasnt much time for panik, becos beffore I knew it i was fliing in the air, headfirst. Head only reallly.