Month: December 2021

Suicide jumping toast

Ian HunterLeave a comment

I like toast in the morning

With butter and jam

Washed down with a hot cup of tea

Real comfort food

Reminds me of my childhood

There is however one problem

Mornings are often rushed

Dashing between rooms to get ready

Plate in hand with toast

Inevitably the toast slides off the plate

Like a suicide jumper from a high rise

The toast always somersaults mid dive

So that it lands butter and jam side down

He usually lands on the carpet

Making more mess that a human suicide jumper

My hungry stomach cries foul

I yell a string of obscenities 

Jam oozes deep into the carpet fibers

This drama has been going on for decades

I decided it was time to end it

After hours of inventive thoughts

Lots of googling research

And many failed kitchen science experiments

I finally solved this age old problem

I put a piece of kitchen paper on the plate

Before laying the hot toast on top

Thanks to the laws of physics

The toast can no longer slide off

No more toast suicide jumping

It worked great the first few times

I enjoyed my toast while getting dressed and checking emails

Multitasking big bites of toast without even looking

But suddenly the toast tasted really weird

The leaking butter had glued the paper to the toast

I was chewing paper towel stuck to my toast

Back to the drawing board

The suicide jumping toast lives and dies again

No bars on my kitchen window today

Ian Hunter2 Comments

I opted for a healthy breakfast today

the oatmeal was thick and steamy

coating my shiny spoon like glue

it tasted rather bland

not exactly the breakfast of champions

my mind wandered to others eating oatmeal today

jail time in England is called porridge

in honor of the unsavory oatmeal dish served behind bars

imagining the inmates morning ritual

overcrowded cells reeking of stale sweat

I took another spoonful of my porridge

it tasted distinctly unpleasant

my next spoonful of porridge was my get out of jail card

I was back in my kitchen as a free man

it did not work for long

Soviet dissidents are fed prison oatmeal called gruel

how apt that it rhymes with cruel

with my next spoonful of gruel

I could feel the biting cold of a Gulag hard labor camp

my muscles ached in sympathy for the overworked political prisoners

my next mouthful of lumpy gruel tasted bitter

how do I escape from this Gulag

a spot of time travel was called for

my mind wandered to ancient times

skilligalee is an old Anglo Saxon oatmeal dish

I plunged my shiny spoon into my skilligalee

imagining those who ate exclusively with wooden spoons

living a simple life off the land and seas

I could see the rolling hills of England

green fields and cloudy skies

my last spoonful of skilligalee tasted like English rain

I checked outside and the sun was still shining

thankfully there were no bars on my kitchen window

The swearing vicar and the model sailing ship

Ian HunterLeave a comment

my first job was in shipbuilding 

on the banks of the river Mersey near Liverpool

they employed thousands of workers

all with different skills organized into trades

they ranged from highly skilled technicians

to unskilled laborers who basically carried stuff

workers were grouped in teams 

assigned to stay with a build until completion

it was fascinating to witness a ship being built

large sections welded together on the slipway

the empty hull being launched into the river

machinery installed while floating in a basin

I was put with a team of ten guys

they had a small hut for tea breaks and lunch

a place to shelter from the raw winter

they told outrageous tales and made fun of everybody

one guy in the hut was nicknamed the vicar

not because he was particularly religious

a satirical reflection of his devotion to thievery alcohol and porn

the vicar never failed to put a swearword in every sentence

the vicar was addicted to stealing from the shipyard

one day producing a block of wood

lignum vitae which was used to make shaft bearings

the vicar announced he was making a model f***ing boat 

after many weeks of carving it was time to sail it

a perfect replica of an old sailing ship

we all gathered with excited anticipation

the vicar lowered his beautifully carved model into the water

it sank straight away 

to howls of laughter

the vicar swore a thousand different curses  

all the other guys knew that lignum vitae does not float