Saturn Retrograde Supermarket

Yolanda:               “Morris, I’m just popping out to Freshways, do you want anything?”


Morris:                 “No no Yolanda, I will not hear of it. It is an ill starred venture, and no good shall come of it.”


Yolanda:               “But Morris, we need lots of things, there’s hardly any coffee or breadsticks, and there isn’t an onion left in the house.”

Morris:                 “Very well, my sweet. This grocery based excursion is of your own choosing, but you have been warned!” (Exit Yolanda) “Now then, Portent of Doom Johnson go and hang around in the freezer aisle looking gloomy.”


Later, at Freshways PoD Johnson is hanging around said freezer aisle as Yolanda rounds the bend to it. He has painted some poorly applied magpie stripes to himself and a sampled sound of a great bell issues tinnily from some small electronic device about his person.


Yolanda:               “Oh for fuck’s sake Johnson, can’t you go and portend somewhere else? It was bad enough having Johnson of Ill Omen sat behind me on the bus with that terrible cough of his, without you obstructing my access to the potato waffle section.”


PoD Johnson:    Gloomily “Mwaaerk!”


Yolanda sighs and manages to work around his obtrusive presence. The task done she returns home and is just bringing the shopping into the house when she sees Morris at work on the hob with a frying pan, he seems to be singing the tune of three blind mice until she draws closer.


Morris:                 “Three fried mice, three fried mice, served in a bun…”


Yolanda:               ‘Morris what are you doing? Wait a minute is that my mice in that pan?”


Morris:                 “Why yes it is my little parakeet impersonator, would you care for one with onions and a boiled egg? Maybe a glass of sparkling Prosecco to wash it down though I am well aware of the wastefulness of the word sparkling involved as a predicate for Prosecco, its function was merely to inform you, were you were not aware of the sparkling nature of the beverage.”

Yolanda:               “Morris my mice!! First Blossom, then junior, now my poor mice.”


Morris:                 “I cannot pour the mice Yolanda unless I liquefy them which would probably involve adding some kind of extra liquid for I do not forsee the current fluid quotient being sufficient to create more than an oily paste, you will note in saying that I am presuming we blend the fat in the pan and said rodents. Possibly some of this soya milk would render them sufficiently fluid, though I rather had my mind set on the bun thing than a smoothie.”


Yolanda:               “Morris what the fuck are you talking about, I don’t want the mice blended or fried, I’d like them back alive in there little house with their wheel!”


Morris:                 “As you desire my little dramatis personae, I’m sure Johnson can help us out with this one. However, in the meantime, you cannot after all say that you were not warned. Had you not taken that fateful excursion to the supermarket then in all likelihood your trio of rodents would still be merrily scampering around in their makeshift play area of cardboard tubes, instead of rapidly congealing in a pan full of hamster fat.”


Yolanda:               “Morris! Not Squeaky too!”


Morris:                 “I am afraid so my little partially depleted strategic diesel reserve, but never mind, I will provide you with more furry playmates…”


He waves a hand and Hard Of Hearing Johnson limps in dressed in a brown nazi uniform.



Published in: on September 14, 2015 at 1:37 pm  Comments (1)  

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One CommentLeave a comment

  1. There is merit in this new shortform. I like it and this post a lot. Am not sure if it was intended but the punchline caught me unawares as I thought the joke was Johnson misinterpreting furry playmates as fuhrer playmates so gerbils was an added bonus 🙂

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