It’s Christmastime again, the season of fun and telling (tall) tales. This year, let me tell you a story:
Once upon a time...
...there was this guy who ate restaurants and wore eye glasses with tree branches and had the body of a dog. He was an expiring writer who also translated from nudity to his mother tongue whenever he found the time. A shy person by nature, he liked to keep his arms in his hands when spoken to or rattle his hands, especially if his interlocutor was a beautiful young woman; he would throw his eyes – which were situated on his elbows – at her and feel the urge to start eating. He instinctively knew that she would not agree to drink tea and toast because women tended not to appreciate that he was stupid and nosy, rather than stupidly keen to tease, which would have been fun, perhaps. They also felt that his reserves needed sorting (as much as his reserve).
On most days, therefore, when he was busy, our young man liked to sit in a chair in the garden and watch the sky wobble, or he would ride around the fields in his pram (in lieu of a pushbike). One day at about thirty (3:30 p.m.), as he was sitting in his garden, a vehicle stepped out from behind a tree. Dust-Moths (and dust motes, too) flew, distress rolled in waves towards the man, and he ran his tongue over his lip, which lay across the table from him. But then he took courage and the man whose surface he was … uhm … surfaced and he did not tense, he looked forward to something terrible happening.
A flight attendant (who was female, of course) wearing a wired bra emerged from the vehicle, hit him with a wall and squirted fresh-from-the-box freshly pressed wine at him. How rude! How could she do this to an ambulance driver (miraculously converted after his ambulance-chasing days), a guy who gave French kisses and wasn’t tongue-tied at all? And he hadn’t even had a second’s warning, only a second warning!
All kinds of thoughts crossed his mind (not his face). Never one to cause ‘quiet’ havoc when ‘quite a lot of’ havoc would do, he picked up a contaminated bag he was supposed to have replaced and squeezed it hard when he meant to give it the tiniest squeeze. Then he said firmly, ‘Nicht. Ever. Do. That. Wieder.’
But the mind does not only wonder, it also makes many wonders, and so the young man asked her, ‘Want a hand? Do you want to help me? It’s eighteen fifteen (8:15 a.m.) and I really need to make a start on chapter “Zweizig sieben” (27) of my German book.’
Leaning on a piece of bread and chewing a shovel the woman replied, ‘You don’t know me.’
‘Yes. I know.’ (= Yes, I do.)
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
To be continued…
Watch this space for more weirdly wonderful LLM tales. And if you think this story is unbearably ‘creative’, slightly over the top, or just plain weird … well, hard luck. Don’t complain to me. A translation engine (can I call it an ‘AI’?) produced the German words and phrases I used (in their English translations) for this story. What a wonderful world …
hope and joy and a wonderful Christmastime!