NORTH TO PARONOMASIA
“I took that Michelin you gave me in to the bike shop in Mudgee to have it fitted,” Ben told me on the phone.
“It’s about seventy kilometres, and it’s pretty bumpy on the dirt road, so I tied the tyre to myself with rope. I dropped in to Coles to get some cigarettes on the way, and I walked up to the counter with my motorcycle tyre tied to my back with rope. The checkout chick said ‘How are you today?’
“So I said to her, ‘To tell the truth, I’m feeling a bit tired.’”
“Any reaction?” I asked him.
“Not a glimmer”, he told me. “I was a bit miffed.”
“Miffed?” I said. “I would have been ropable.”
“Oh, very good, Al”, he said, “and thanks again for the tyre. It steers really well now.”
Mick rode up to join us for a few beers at Kingscliff the next day. I told him the story. He said he didn’t get it, and he was just a carpenter, and it was my shout.” ‘Shout’ is Australian for ‘round’, for all you foreigners.
“A carpenter?” I said. “Like me? And Jesus Christ?”
He said that while conventional wisdom had it that Jesus Christ was indeed a carpenter, I was not, and in fact he doubted that I was the steam off a carpenter’s urine. He said it in shorter words.
“It’s true”, I said. I don’t even need tools. I can cut wood just by looking at it.”
“Bullshit Al”, said Mick.
“No, it’s true”, I said. “I saw it with my own eyes.”
“Did I tell you it’s your shout?” he said.
About the Author
Al Al does a bit of everything, and likes hanging around with Boris, because there are generally motorcycles and whiskey, and because hilarity generally ensues. He wastes his spare time not moderating the BIKE ME! forums, where he posts occasionally and is regarded as unfair, unbalanced and unmedicated. Shows how much THEY know.
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