Haemorrhoid makes a mess!

by Gordon Robinson

Somehow, we convinced Little D to partner The Dunce against us. Now, anybody who knows Little D knows he's serious about his dominoes, so, after the 10th consecutive irredeemably poor choice by his partner, Little D warned that next time there'd be a reckoning.

The very next game, I posed double-six, and D, sitting to my right, played six-five, which Gene Autry dutifully cut. Later in the game, D was faced with a Hobson's choice, as he had only one domino that could be played, but it was his second and last five and his last deuce.

Of course, he was faced with deuce and five on the table, so, applying the consistency principle, he played rounds of five. Autry passed and The Dunce spent a long time considering which of his dominoes to play before producing five-blank. I held the last piece of five (not double five), but still I did a double take before sending that blighted card to an early grave.

Little D was furious as it became obvious that The Dunce had cut the fives despite holding double five. With an eloquence that was to be his hallmark in later life, D described The Dunce's play in language that would make a sailor blush. He likened the futility of partnering The Dunce in dominoes to his Sainted Grandmother's advice to always wear clean underwear in case one was in a motor-vehicle accident.

Crap all over

By that bit of fastidiousness, Granny would be assured that, if he was rushed to hospital, doctors would know he was properly brought up. Both, asserted D from behind tightly gritted teeth, were senseless because no matter how clean one's underwear at the outset, when you see the Mack Truck coming head on, first you say it, and then you do it. Similarly, when one plays with The Dunce, Little D completed the metaphor for those of us slow enough to have missed his meaning: first you say it, and then The Dunce plays it.

Incensed by The Dunce's retort "if a macca mek it jook yu ... !" his hand was cocked preparatory to throwing a domino at The Dunce's broad grin when Haemorrhoid, who'd been quietly kibitzing the game, decided to calm things down with a story.

"You know, D," Haemorrhoid started, "this reminds me of the hypnotist who performed at the senior citizens' home," and, with that, all eyes and ears switched to him as we recognised he was about to deliver one of his tall tales. Regular readers will remember Ernest H. Flower ('Haemorrhoid'), that lazy student lawyer whose nickname was earned by a combination of his middle initial and his repeated complaints about "piles and piles" of work on his desk.

Haemorrhoid told the story of Claude the Hypnotist who'd been invited to perform on entertainment night at the Senior Citizens' Centre. Claude had a practised spiel. "I'm here to put you into a trance," he began, to a full house of seniors happy for any relief from their daily drudgery. "I will hypnotise each and every member of the audience." The oldsters looked at each other in disbelief. The excitement was electric as Claude withdrew a beautiful, antique pocket watch from his coat.

'Watch the watch'

"I want each of you to keep your eye on this antique watch. It's a very special watch. It's been in my family for six generations." He began to swing the watch gently back and forth while quietly chanting, "Watch the watch; watch the watch; watch the watch ... ."

The crowd was mesmerised as the watch swayed back and forth, light gleaming off of its polished surface. Hundreds of eyes followed the swaying watch until, suddenly, it slipped from Claude's fingers and fell to the floor, breaking into pieces.

"Oh, crap!" Claude exclaimed.

It took three days to clean up the Senior Citizens' Centre. Claude was never invited back.

We should bear Haemorrhoid's tall tale in mind when we leave our humble homes this silly season to attend political rallies across the island. It might be a good idea, however mesmerising the speakers may be, to bear in mind that not every command is to be met with knee-jerk obedience.

Occasionally, when you are asked to chant party slogans or sing party songs, try engaging the brain first. Ask yourselves, what is it that will make my circumstances any different than they were when I left home? Don't do anything rash, because it might take up to five years to clean up the mess.

Peace and love.

Gordon Robinson is an attorney-at-law. Email feedback to columns@gleanerjm.com.