Max, we appreciate your service.
Before I go any further I would like to say that like my valued members I stand with all our brave people serving in the military regardless of color, gender or race. I strongly believe that anyone who has ever been exposed to the realities of conflict knows very well, we have other more important things to get on with, rather than focusing on distractions that do nothing but further the questionable agenda of one sad old man. Our servicemen protect our rights and freedoms — which is kind of the point, isn’t it?
I’ve received several emails from members of the services who are members of FionaDobson.com. All I can do is reassure them that their service is appreciated and that this will pass. Calmer heads will prevail.
Now, let me see if I can give you the short strokes to get you caught up with the exciting happenings here in Montreal. You may remember last week, Bernard, my photographer, had been shot in the chest with a nefarious carrot. Unknown to me at the time Max had pushed the offending vegetable up Sebastians exhaust pipe after becoming agitated while watching Sebastian and I doing yoga.
As the ambulance raced off Max sidled up to me, looking the picture of guilt ridden youth, and said “Fiona, there’s something you should know.”
I bent down and picked up the carrot and frowned.
“What on earth is a carrot doing here?” I said, as the ambulance siren faded in the distance.
“Actually, I might know something about that…” said Max, where upon he told me the whole grissly story.
“But what on earth possessed you to put it there?” I asked.
“It was seeing the two of you in the garden. Seeing you do yoga, doggy style!”
“I think you mean downward dog. Well, these leggings don’t leave much to the imagination,” I mused.
At this point Sebastian, who had been inspecting his motorcycle for damage, wandered over.
“Pretty bad luck, that. You don’t often hear of someone being carroted to death.”
Several years ago a young man I was acquainted with had a nasty incident with a squash (that’s a marrow if you’re in the UK), but I thought it better not to mention it.
“You don’t think he’ll die, do you?” Asked Max.
“He was doing a pretty good impression of it, when he was choking here in the driveway, three minutes ago,” said Sebastian. “I always told him he should eat more vegetables.”
“He’s only just recovered from a heart transplant. I think the sooner we dispose of the evidence the better. Max, why don’t you get rid of that carrot and if anybody asks, the bike just backfired, ok?”
“Why?” Said Max, looking genuinely niaive.
“Because, Max, if the wrong people ask questions, someone might get the idea you accidently murdered poor Bernard.”
“Urgh! Murdered?” Gasped Max.
Sebastian interjected at this point, “I’m not sure you can ‘accidentally’ murder someone.”
“I didn’t do it on purpose!” Stammered Max.
“Of course you didn’t. But anyone dumb enough to believe that Bernard was shot in the chest with a carrot is dumb enough to believe it was murder. It’s better all round just to say there was a bang and Bernard collapsed.”
I handed Max the carrot. “I suggest you feed the evidence to your rabbit.”
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