The Parrot Died
At dawn the telephone rings . . .
“Hello, Senor Rod?” Â Â This is Ernesto, the caretaker at your country
house.”
“Ah yes, Ernesto. Â What can I do for you? Â Is there a problem?”
“Um, I am just calling to advise you, Senor Rod, that your parrot – he
is dead.”
“My parrot? Â Dead? Â The one that won the International competition?”
“Si, Senor, that’s the one.”
“Damn! Â That’s a pity! Â I spent a small fortune on that bird. Â What did
he die from?”
“From eating the rotten meat, Senor Rod.
“”Rotten meat? Â Who the hell fed him rotten meat?”
“Nobody, Senor. Â He ate the meat of the dead horse.”
“Dead horse? Â What dead horse?”
“The thoroughbred, Senor Rod.”
“My prize thoroughbred is dead?”
“Yes, Senor Rod, he died from all that work pulling the water cart.”
“Are you insane?? Â What water cart?”
“The one we used to put out the fire, Senor.”
“Good Lord!! Â What fire are you talking about, man??”
“The one that destroyed your house, Senor! Â A candle fell and the
curtains caught on fire.”
“What the hell?? Â Are you saying that my mansion is destroyed because of
a candle??!!”
“Yes, Senor Rod.”
“But there’s electricity at the house!! Â Â What was the candle for?”
“For the funeral, Senor Rod.”
“WHAT BLOODY FUNERAL??!!”
“Your wife’s, Senor Rod. Â She showed up very late one night and I
thought she was a thief, so I hit her with your new Taylor Made Super
Quad 460 golf club.”
SILENCE……….. LONG SILENCE………
“Ernesto, if you broke that driver, you’re in deep shit!!”
