Guess where I got the inspiration to write this one... It's a two part story.
The Bearded Men’s Society – Part One
Four men sat around the large round table, all in their stocking feet with shirts untucked and looking very relaxed. Each drank their choice of liqueurs. They came from different countries. Their individual characteristics could been seen in their mannerism. Yet, they had one thing in common – beards. Each had a beard and each were different -- long, short, full, stubble.
“Ahhhhh… dis vodka really hits de spot,” said the Russian who had the longest beard in the group. His accent resounded from the bottom of his pot belly which hung over his belt with a plain square buckle.
“And I just can’t get enough of this wine,” raved the one with the British accent as he poured more from the bottle. “You know… these nights are getting longer. It’s so bloody difficult to satisfy everyone these days.”
The Canadian stroked his short white beard adding: “I know. I am so tired I just want to go somewhere warm and lie on a beach. You know it’s always winter in the Upper Yukon. And I am so tired of this damned beard... and the cold… and the snow!” He tugged on the end of his whiskers making a face of pain.
The last one just sat there looking at the other three. He lifted a medium-sized beer stein to his lips. After a long swig of beer, he banged the stein back down on the table. In his German accent, he spoke: “Zere is no satisfaction anymore. In fact, zat eez it… more… more… more. Especially those swinehunde in America… Zey just get so greedy.”
“Do dey have any idea of the vork we do?” said the Russian in a demanding voice. “Ve vork all year and vhat spasiba do ve get?”
The Brit added: “Perhaps if the buggers knew there were seven of us that actually do the work!"
Before taking another big swig from his stein, the German said: “Speaking of seven, vere eez zat Italian and zat American?”
“Probably finishing up their rounds,” said the Canadian. “The American has the largest population. And of course, Mario’s taking care of everyone not assigned to a region.”
“Thank god there isn’t a chap for China!" said the Brit. Could you imagine what that would be like? I would be afraid one of us would be reassigned to that area."
“Or even wurse… have it added to our own!” said the German.
“Yeah, not everyone needs us,” added the Canadian. “Some large areas of the world don’t need us. And I just have to say thank you god!”
The room fell quiet of conversation as they relaxed and drank. Now only the sound in the room was the crackling logs burning bright in the fireplace.
The Bearded Men’s Society – Part One
Four men sat around the large round table, all in their stocking feet with shirts untucked and looking very relaxed. Each drank their choice of liqueurs. They came from different countries. Their individual characteristics could been seen in their mannerism. Yet, they had one thing in common – beards. Each had a beard and each were different -- long, short, full, stubble.
“Ahhhhh… dis vodka really hits de spot,” said the Russian who had the longest beard in the group. His accent resounded from the bottom of his pot belly which hung over his belt with a plain square buckle.
“And I just can’t get enough of this wine,” raved the one with the British accent as he poured more from the bottle. “You know… these nights are getting longer. It’s so bloody difficult to satisfy everyone these days.”
The Canadian stroked his short white beard adding: “I know. I am so tired I just want to go somewhere warm and lie on a beach. You know it’s always winter in the Upper Yukon. And I am so tired of this damned beard... and the cold… and the snow!” He tugged on the end of his whiskers making a face of pain.
The last one just sat there looking at the other three. He lifted a medium-sized beer stein to his lips. After a long swig of beer, he banged the stein back down on the table. In his German accent, he spoke: “Zere is no satisfaction anymore. In fact, zat eez it… more… more… more. Especially those swinehunde in America… Zey just get so greedy.”
“Do dey have any idea of the vork we do?” said the Russian in a demanding voice. “Ve vork all year and vhat spasiba do ve get?”
The Brit added: “Perhaps if the buggers knew there were seven of us that actually do the work!"
Before taking another big swig from his stein, the German said: “Speaking of seven, vere eez zat Italian and zat American?”
“Probably finishing up their rounds,” said the Canadian. “The American has the largest population. And of course, Mario’s taking care of everyone not assigned to a region.”
“Thank god there isn’t a chap for China!" said the Brit. Could you imagine what that would be like? I would be afraid one of us would be reassigned to that area."
“Or even wurse… have it added to our own!” said the German.
“Yeah, not everyone needs us,” added the Canadian. “Some large areas of the world don’t need us. And I just have to say thank you god!”
The room fell quiet of conversation as they relaxed and drank. Now only the sound in the room was the crackling logs burning bright in the fireplace.
No comments:
Post a Comment