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August 02, 2004

bolgri and the long day of squashing

Once upon a time, dear children, there was a bolgri. This bolgri was a completely ordinary sort of bolgri; just the sort you've become accustomed to seeing whilst riding the chube, or popping out for a bun, or having tea. There was nothing so very different about this bolgri at all, in fact, except for one very minor thing: this bolgri was unemployed. All day long the bolgri would muck about on the 'net, scrounging up "leads" (he was very fond of leads), or learning obscure computer languages, or concocting whoppers for his resume.

One very fine day (but not a particularly extraordinary day), the bolgri's telephone rang. He snapped out of his exhaustion-induced reverie, and gaped at the phone. Who do you suppose had rang him up? The caller id said "S. Colbert" which was not a name the bolgri recognized. The bolgri picked up the phone, and, in his politest bolgri voice, said, "Hello, a bolgri's residence. How may I assist you?"

"Hello, Mr. bolgri," said the voice on the other end of the line. "This is a job lead, making a collect call, will you accept the charges?"

The bolgri puzzled for a second. Normally he would be inclined to refuse the charges. But he knew, as any bolgri worth his potato starch rations knows, that a bolgri must spend money to make money. So he accepted the charges.

"Congratulations, Mr. bolgri, you now have a job!" said the job lead, in a slightly more personable tone. "When can you start?"

"Well," said the bolgri, "I suppose that rather depends on what it is you wish me to do."

"Oy!" said the job lead, sounding verifiably affable, "Squashing things of course! Can you start right away? We've a perfect ton of things to squash."

"I've never had a job where I was to squash things," said the bolgri, "What I mean to say is, I've squashed plenty, but only to please myself." The bolgri began to worry that he was running on, sounding uncertain, and likely to lose the job he'd already been offered. So he closed his bolgri mouth with a little snapping sound, like a very distant mousetrap, or like a honeybee being squashed by a flyswatter.

"Brilliant!" replied the job lead, in a chummy tone, "By the by, was that a honeybee being squashed by a fly swatter? Are you priming up for the job? Bravo, my dear bolgri, positively smashing! Oh dear me! I've made a funny! Bloody brilliant!"

So it was, that the bolgri of our story went off to his new job of squashing things. It was a good job; by turns exhilaratingly fun, and then funny, then the bolgri would grow somewhat tired, take a short break, and begin again. Sometimes he wondered to himself (whilst he busily squashed things, of course) whether he was actually cut out for squashing things at all. But, around three o'clock the job lead dropped by to see how the bolgri was doing, and he was so complimentary and so encouraging that the bolgri took heart, and began to think perhaps squashing things was just exactly the sort of thing he was suited for doing.

At the end of the very long day of squashing things, the bolgri set aside his custom fitted, state-of-the-art squashing equipment, and wearily (yet happily) trudged home. Although he was fairly knackered, he duly sat down before bedtime, and wrote in his journal a fluid yet concise account of his long day of squashing. And that is how this tale survives to this very day.

Posted by joel at August 2, 2004 03:49 AM

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Comments

Posted by: Lydia O'Lydia at August 2, 2004 09:33 AM

Posted by: El Fid at August 2, 2004 09:39 AM

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