Flash Of The
Headlights
Five pieces of
100 word flash humour on the subject of motoring
Destiny
My car crawled along the
narrow county lane in the wake of a hay tractor.
There were no junctions or passing places for ten
miles.
I pondered on the tractor
driver’s life: His proud parents giving
thanks for the birth of a son to inherit their
farm; his tireless labour, through harsh farming
times, to make the farm a success for himself and
his family.
All his dedicated efforts
had led to this moment. Yet, in this moment, he
was simply delaying my arrival at the pub.
I reflected sadly on this
waste; this meaningless culmination of his
existence.
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The
Road To Damnation
One question from his Maker
would decide whether John’s quaking soul
entered Heaven or Hell.
The Deity spoke: ‘Have
you ridden a bicycle on a major road during the
rush hour?’
‘No, Lord.’
‘Then enter Paradise.’
‘Why are rush hour
cyclists the only Damned?’
‘Is it not they who
delay traffic, causing anger and pollution? Is it
not they who smugly flaunt their fitness,
engendering guilt in drivers who overeat, drink
to excess, smoke too much and avoid exercise?
Such cycling demands eternal torture in the
flames of Hell!’
‘The Lord is truly
righteous and just,’ John proclaimed.
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Memo
To Highway Maintenance Staff
Thank you all for your
tireless efforts in undertaking myriad roadworks
and deploying miles of road cones to close lanes
on major carriageways. This has been hugely
successfully in creating enormous traffic jams in
the city.
There are disappointing
reports, however, that some commuters are still
successfully reaching their places of employment.
All highway maintenance
staff should remember our proud departmental
motto: ‘To Create Gridlock’.
We must redouble efforts to
excavate, divert, and badly phase traffic lights
until we can triumphantly boast that no vehicle
remains in motion.
I know I can rely upon you.
Chief Executive, Highway
Maintenance.
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The
Dust, Settled
‘You’re late
emptying the bins today?’ I ventured to the
dustcart driver.
‘We couldn’t get
to the depot,’ he complained. ‘Cars
just kept halting in front of all of us for no
obvious reason, and then wouldn’t move. The
selfish buggers seemed to enjoy making us late
for work.’
I was gratified that so
many people had participated in this first day of
‘Take Revenge Upon Dustmen Week’.
Tomorrow would be the
dustmen’s rest day. Before dawn we would be
at their homes, moving dustbins with the maximum
of unnecessary noise.
With luck, we would wake
their entire families.
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The
Deranged
No sooner had I begun my
drive to work, than it happened again: My route
became clogged with myriad vehicles.
Why were these drivers
behaving thus? If they enjoyed the pointless
occupation of highways, then miles of deserted
road existed in the Highlands of Scotland and
throughout the UK, along which I had no need to
travel.
I imagined them happily
congesting those routes, perhaps grinning inanely,
dribbling, giggling, or exhibiting other such
habitual, sub-human signs of delight.
I dared not sound my horn
in frustration. One such deranged creature, if
angered, might become dangerous. Hundreds could
be deadly.
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