The ant's tragedy

Well, guess I'm on a roll today. Am not very satisfied with this one, so comments are welcome again...

The bright blue ant from Chengulpet
Shone brilliantly enough to be set
In a necklace
But was reckless
And was crushed under a Fiat

Five lines to endless wisdom...

Wrote a limerick in class... Comments and critiques welcome!

A silly young girl from George Town
Set her heart on wedding a clown
But her stern father
Would much rather
That she find a well to jump down

Hmmm... if this makes you feel like finding a well to jump down, please don't let me stop you :D
Peace...

The Nameless One

CAUTION: Yes, I'm a girl and please dont judge me when you read the first line. Read on, good woman/sir... enlightenment awaits you.

And oh yes. This is mine, mine MINE! If you steal it, I shall find you and shoot you and cut you into tiny pieces and bury them. Unless you're rich of course, in which case I shall blackmail you into writing off all your wealth to me. Now, enough chatter. Go read... shoo!
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I’ve always had a thing for older women, for as long as I can remember. An animal psychologist would have a field day with that statement, I’m sure, coming up with various theories on my early puppy-hood experiences. You know how these humans tend to complicate stuff. Whatever it was, I can only say that I find older women oddly attractive. That’s probably why the woman next door caught my eye when my humans and I moved into our new home.

Suzy was a beauty by any standards, I’ve got to say. She was of indeterminate breed but my! she seemed to have inherited the best from all her various illustrious ancestors. Long, silky ears, a cute little snout that ended on an unbelievably pink nose… and that tail! It was—and remains—long and graceful with the same silky hair that covers those beautiful ears. You might think I’m being sexist in my description of her, but to understand the inner beauty, you have to learn to understand the outer beauty. (What that basically means is that I fell in love purely on a physical, superficial level at first. But you have to mind the sensibilities of the ladies… who might just write me off as a male chauvinist cat if I didn’t add these touches.)

So I did what any healthy dog with any amount of self-respect would do. I tried to grab her attention. Well, maybe I went a little too far or moved a little too fast that first day when I rushed into their garden through a gap in the fence. And maybe it was a little foolish to dig up the flowers. I mean, I knew I wasn’t supposed to do that. But, in my defence, how else was I going to make her sit up and take notice?

Well, to cut an ugly story short, I didn’t win any favours from her on that memorable occasion. But fortunately, apparently the belief that first impressions last long proved wrong. Maybe it was my dashing charm or my great looks. Maybe even my modesty. All I can say is that a few short weeks later, she seemed willing to let me approach her again.

This time, I used all my dogly wits and planned ahead. After all, two years of life as a bachelor hadn’t gone to waste. Never mind the fact that I hadn’t lived alone. My humans needed me. But I was no inexperienced little pup. Anyway, I let my humans and Suzy’s become friends. The flower garden incident hadn’t really killed all hope of that. In fact, perversely, it seemed to make these humans closer to each other (I won’t mentioned the amused, somewhat disparaging remarks that I sensed being directed at me or the chuckles they had at my expense. No, I won’t mention it.)

As they bonded in their strange and often amusing ways, I would often stroll into the house. Suzy would notice, oh yes, she would. I could always tell because even if she was pretending to sleep, her tail would twitch the slightest bit and I would be forced to hide a smug smile. I slowly approached her… wooed her, if you please. I can’t say I composed great love poetry, I found that too undignified. But I gently prodded her into games and long walks at twilight. We even shared a few moonlight howls. And slowly she gained interest in me.

Let me tell you something, though. Don’t let my narrative skills lead you to think that it was easy. Oh no. Remember, Suzy was much older than I—a whole year older and therefore that much more experienced. She’s seen men come and men go. But I had something that she’d not come up against—the enthusiasm of youth! It proved to be too powerful I guess.

By the time she gave in to my wiles, the humans had discovered my—er—interest in my ravishing neighbour. While that was mildly embarrassing, it was nothing when you compare it to what followed.

I’ve been living with humans all my life and while I’m convinced that they might be more intelligent than we dogs suspect, what creates a problem in these theories is some of their strange activities. They tend to muck about a lot, complicating the simplest of things, even the most basic necessities of life, like eating, sleeping and even fun stuff like mating! Take it from me, they hardly ever eat without strangely shaped objects to poke at their food with. Their sleeping peculiarities I don’t really criticise very harshly. They sleep on such soft, comfy beds. But they seem to be fixated on sleeping only at night. Strange, I know. Even answering nature’s call isn’t exempted from their peculiarities. They use strangely shaped chairs, paper and all kinds of things. And don’t even let me start on their “baths” and “showers”!

Then there is mating. They have strange ceremonies and practices even there!

Now, really. Don’t misunderstand me. I love my humans. I love it if they’re happy (for this means more love and attention for me too!) and I don’t mind their peculiarities. But what I object to is imposing it on me. They give me a bowl to eat from, fair enough. They give me a cushion to sleep on, I love that. The concepts of bathroom training and baths were painful to me, but I forced myself to accept it. But when they found out about Suzy and me!

A wedding was arranged. Yes, you heard me right. A wedding. They invited guests. They ordered cakes. They ordered specially made dog-clothes (did I mention clothes as one of these human abnormalities?) and generally indulged themselves. Apparently Frank and Cyndi, Suzy’s humans, were also pleased with our mutual interest. They arranged a wedding as I said.

I wore a suit and a top hat and Suzy wore a white gown, somehow still managing to look beautiful. I was mortally afraid one of our acquaintances, the Dalmatians or the Dobermans from the next street would discover this bit of ridiculousness. By the time the wedding was over, my tension was so high that I was hardly able to enjoy the bone-cake that my humans had lovingly had made.

When Suzy and I finally were alone, she said something that struck me as most appropriate and summed up the situation. “I guess we’ll never fully understand them,” she said, her tail waving gracefully. “But we can indulge their fancies, after all. Poor things!”

Ze End

The Chicken...

Why Did the Chicken Cross the Road?
Article submitted by Cainam (My onety oneth alter-ego)

This question has baffled scientists and psychics alike over the years. The CBI, CIA, FBI, the Interpol and several other agencies, both intelligent and non-intelligent, have been looking into the problem for years yet have not been able to come up with a rational explanation.

The Puzzlers (as those who investigate this question have come to be known) first thoroughly researched the phenomenon of the chicken crossing the road. Several bird psychologists were then brought in to shed light on the chicken's motivation for crossing the road and its state of mind. These brilliant psychologists, considered to be the cream of the exclusive world of bird psychology, were those who had earlier managed to finally crack what lay behind the chicken who claimed the sky was falling on his head. They discovered that the chicken (popularly known as Chicken Little) had developed severe paranoia and slight insanity from reading too many Asterix comics.

Also part of the Puzzler group was a team of veterinarians who specialised in the field of chickens. The vets were in charge of analysing the physical health and well-being of the chicken and then try to form a clear picture of the said chicken in concert with the B.P.s (Bird psychiatrists).However all their efforts proved to be useless as the chicken itself had escaped by then. The next step the Puzzlers took was investigating the scene of the crossing. The gravel road proved elusive as several cars had by then passed the way and all evidence was destroyed.

New light was shed on the baffling case by an anonymous tip. A mysterious caller mysteriously claimed that the chicken's motivations were beyond human understanding and abruptly terminated the call. The philosophers who were a necessary part of the team furiously debated if the caller referred to existentialism, atheism or transcendentalism. However, it was in vain as the tipper called back, apologised for accidentally cutting off the call and informed the eagerly listening Puzzlers that the chicken was in fact a rubber one.

A huge uproar broke out with one half of the puzzlers claiming that the other half had suppressed this information and handicapped the investigation. The other half, perhaps more credibly claimed that the caller was a kook. Investigations continued with renewed vigour to ascertain whether the chicken was made of rubber or was real. Droppings found near the site of the crossing proved the latter half of the Puzzlers right and the caller was, in fact, a kook.

Investigations have been ongoing for several decades. However, the case received its big break by the sheer brilliance of the seven-year-old son of one of the Puzzlers, who, irritated by his father's preoccupation with a case older than he, burst out, "Because it wanted to get the other damn side!" (The exact statement was much more explicit but has been censored for the sake of International Laws for the Decency of Internet Content)

Case solved and closed.