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Christopher Antony Meade (Laughing a lot)
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Date Posted: 04:29:49 09/04/14 Thu

This story was written as a result of being asked to write something containing the following words
crash, violets, banana split, summons.


I should have guessed that it was a bad idea to try eating a banana split after drinking ten double vodkas and Coca Cola. The day had started out fine but when I listened to that message from my, soon to be ex, girlfriend, telling me that she was in love with that rat Roscoe Cribsbum and she was breaking up with me, I just had to hit some bars.
After about six drinks, I was in a state between maudlin and laughing, one minute dripping tears on the counter and the next thinking that, being married to a guy called Cribsbum, would be a perfect punishment for the heart-breaking bitch. She would be Mrs Cribsbum for the rest of her life and all their children would be bullied at school, for having such a stupid name.
Four drinks more and I could see that the barman was trying to close the bar. He just said, “Yeah man. Whatever” when I tried to make him see that being called Mrs Cribsbum meant that there was some justice in the world after all.
I staggered out to the street and my drink and love-sick brain started to crave some food to fill up my stomach. Dinner had been forgotten in my rush to achieve alcoholic solace and I suddenly got the urge to eat something. There was a small kiosk on the end of the street that sold ice-cream and my unsteady vodka driven legs propelled my inebriated carcase in its direction. I remembered the lovely banana splits that my mother used to buy me when I was a kid. The thought of that comfort food from my youthful days added to my depression, but in a drunkenly comforting way.
Five minutes later I was reeling from side to side of the footpath, slurping noisily at the delicious confection and not really watching where I was going, totally forgetting about the florist stall at the end of the street. The roses, carnations, dahlias and violets had been placed in little buckets on the pathway, the better to attract the attentions of more sober flower-lovers. I being neither a flower-lover or sober, of coursed tripped over the wretched blooms. With a crash, the entire display went flying all over the street. The flower seller was throwing up his arms and shouting at me in very angry Italian. As I tried to disentangle myself from the mass of flowers and buckets, realisation dawned that there was a pair of legs in a policeman’s uniform standing over me. The grinning face of love-rat/Police Constable Cribsbum swam before my spinning eyes. He had his notebook and pen in his loathsome paws.
“I think drunk and disorderly+wanton destruction of a flower stall should get you a nice fat fine” he was saying. I could hear the triumph in his hated voice as he wrote out the summons.
“You can add assaulting a slimeball cop with a banana split” I shouted as I squashed the remains of my dessert all over his astonished face.
The remembrance of that moment of delicious revenge will live with me for the rest of my life. A million pound fine won’t bother me now.
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“The Zombie, the Cat, and Barack Obama” Critically acclaimed and available from all Amazon sites.
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