That'll Be D-Day

June, 1944. The Allies took the first step towards breaking Hitler's bind on Europe with a massive assault on the French coast—the largest amphibious attack in history, in which at least six toads perished. In the preceding months a decoy operation had been mounted, involving Allies tiptoeing through the Calais countryside, sounding a duck call and shooting Axis soldiers as they emerged from the undergrowth. Meanwhile, Operation Overlord* was ready to move ahead, but favourable weather conditions were vital to the plan's success. Eisenhower wanted a parade in his pineapple shirt and shorts. After being postponed several times, which the Axis forces considered very rude, the Allies finally set foot on the beaches of Normandy. A few days later, their ankles and knees followed. By the end of the week complete Allied soldiers were treading the Normandy sands. And, as luck would have it, they'd arrived in time for surf season.

The troops taking part in the assault comprised some 72,000 British and Canadian soldiers, 57,000 Americans, and a further 100,000 infantry from the East to meet the quota. They were divided into five groups, targeting different areas over 50 miles of coastline (106 miles in modern currency). The strategy of the Axis forces was, on the whole, very defensive: when the bombs came down, they crossed their arms and refused to listen. The attack did not just come from the sea. After midnight, Allied paratroopers were dropped into Normandy too. Due to adverse weather conditions, many paratroopers missed their targets, with one soldier famously landing on a tearoom terrace in Lewisham. Despite these complications, vital target locations would be captured.

Later, Churchill announced the invasion in the House of Commons, to which the reception was warm, if a little insincere.

* Operation Overlord, an abbreviation of the military codename Operation Underlord, Overlord, Wombling Free.

One Giant Leap

USA, 1961. Even though Russia seemed one step ahead in the Space Race, JFK (of Colonel Sanders fame) told the nation: "Before this decade is through we will land a man on the Moon and bring him back." NASA were unhappy with this statement, having only purchased fuel for a one-way journey. The race was on to develop a rocket that was safe. There were many setbacks. One rocket levitated only three metres before crash-landing in a neighbour's yard, spoiling the rock garden. Finally on July 16th, 1969, Apollo 11 set out on its maiden voyage to the distant lunar landscape. Neil Armstrong, Buzz Aldrin, and Michael What-his-name all made the journey together—that is, without falling apart. Neil Armstrong was the first man to touch the Moon's surface after winning at Ip Dip. He said, "That's one small step for [a] man... one giant leap for mankind," and then proceeded to sing God Bless America. The broadcast signal failed in that moment, sparing NASA and the world a bloody earache. Finally the American flag was planted on the Moon in an effort to make the place "more homely". A bookcase and carpet were also installed. President Nixon called the crew, who quickly made their excuses.

The Case of Whiffle

It was a balmy spring evening in 1951, just like any other April 21st that year. On that evening, motorists driving along a mid-American highway saw a squat little man standing in the street, followed by a little man squatting in the street, which caught their attention. Finally, one motorist stopped and asked, "Do you know the way to Carnegie Hall?" to which the little man, fighting the urge to deliver the time-honoured punchline, kept repeating over and over: "Help!"
"What's the matter?" he was asked.
"Help!" he repeated, and then, pulling himself together, added: "My wife has been shot dead. She's over there parking the car."

Investigation revealed the man to be one Norman Whiffle. His wife, Gert, was indeed dead. She had a bullet hole in her right temple, which despite Norman's protests, was not "only a birthmark". Police declared that the shot had obviously been fired at close range, and then at Gert. After preliminary questioning, Whiffle suddenly announced that he needed to return home to water his geranium. His vicious pronunciation of the word "geranium" raised suspicions.

The autopsy was very revealing: there were a number of bullet holes in the head, which the doctor, a Christian man, immediately covered with a cloth. Whiffle claimed he was innocent, and the officers mostly agreed: he was innocent, right up until the moment he shot his wife dead. Informal questioning of friends revealed that the marital life of Mr. and Mrs. Whiffle was unhappy—some even stated Whiffle was a wife beater and heavy drinker. Another added he was a wife drinker and heavy beater, and a third asserted he only drinks beets and has a heavy wife.

During Whiffle's first grilling by the County Attorney, he exhibited a terribly poor memory. When asked if he owned a pistol, he said, "What's a pistol?" An officer attending the interogation produced his own pistol, to which Whiffle could only gasp. The officer was suspended on sight and now works in the red light district.

Meanwhile, a pawnbroker identified Whiffle as a customer who had purchased a .32-caliber pistol at his shop. Whiffle said he had bought the gun for his wife as a reconciliation gift after a quarrel. "She was a complicated woman and roses never cut it," said Whiffle, and then added, bitterly, "She never did water the gun."

Unconvinced by Whiffle's defense, the County Attorney felt no hesitation in filing a murder charge against him. He went on trial shortly after. The County Attorney rose to question Whiffle. The judge ordered him to get down from the table.
"Whiffle," the County Attorney began. "You claim you were driving on the night your wife was slain?"
"Yes, sir." replied Whiffle.
"Isn't it true you quarreled on that night?"
"What's a night?"
The County Attorney persisted: "You parked on the roadside, pointed the gun at her head and shot her in the temple. Then you shot her in the church, and finally delivered the coup de gras in the mosque."
In support of this theory, the defense exhibited a picture of a .32-caliber pistol.
Whiffle interjected: "That's not a pistol, sir. I just saw one. The owner works in the red light district and will give you a peek for twenty dollars."

After a week, the case went to the jury for a verdict. The verdict was unanimous: Whiffle was not an attractive man. Also, he was guilty. The court accepted the verdict. Whiffle was brought before the judge and sentenced to thirty years to life. Whiffle jovially quipped, "It's a run-on sentence, then." And, as he was escorted from the free world, wondered out loud: "What's a prison?"

The judge made a hasty retreat to the exit, stopping only to ask the County Attorney for directions to the red light district.

The Truth About the Polka Dots

The Polka Dot Gypsies are Catholics, but seldom attend church, preferring instead to find Jesus from home. Some critics argue home churching is a front for more nefarious practices, like underground casinos and bridge clubs, which were famously used to beat the Golden Gate in San Francisco. When a Polka Dot Gypsie is dying, a huge candle is lit to guide them to the next world. When they pass, the candle is blown out, and a Polka Dot nun makes a wish. One time, days after the ceremony, a sizeable Congo chief came and carried the candle blower away, showing that sometimes wishes do come true. She was heard to say, from aloft the chieftain's shoulder, "Thank you God for the bounty I am about to receive," tossing her nun's garb to the ground. For centuries the Polka Dot Gypsies wandered aimlessly, following imperialist powers, repairing pots and kettles and knitting patches for the heads of the wounded. Eventually the restless tribe moved south carrying thousands of dollars in defective hats, which they sold for passage to the Congo. The heart wants what it wants.

Family Outing

Irene: "Say, did we pack a picnic?"
Father: "It's in a basket in the trunk, by the gangster's corpse."
Irene: "Oh, father, I thought you'd gotten rid of him weeks ago!"
Father: "He came with the vehicle and I want to make the most of my purchase."
Mother: "Your father is always counting the pennies."
Father: "Yes, dear, and the days until the sweet release of death."
Bobby: "Can we get ice cream?"

From the Past VIII

"I never knew how to be a kid. My first day of school, I tipped the dinner lady."

From the Past VII

"During the war my family were not well liked. They evacuated us kids to the front line."

Archibald's Advances

[Ext. Day — Driveway of a stately home. Francine is sitting in her parked car, smoking a lucky. Enter Archibald, speaking as he approaches Francine.]

Archibald: I say, nice wheels, Francine.
Francine: Steady now, I'm spoken for.
Archibald [now standing alongside the parked car]: Can't a gentleman pay a compliment without it being misconstrued?
Francine: I'm not taking any chances. Your reputation precedes you.
Archibald: Is that what that is? And here I thought you were burning oils.
Francine: Well, all I'm saying is I'm spoken for.
Archibald: Yes, you already said that. That's a lot of speaking about being spoken for.
Francine: Don't get upset.
Archibald: Me? Upset? Impossible. I have a reputation to uphold. But you already know that—it's around here somewhere, isn't it?
Francine: Goodness, Archibald, I just want to nip your advances in the bud.
Archibald: I bet you do.
Francine: Oh, please!
Archibald [opens door and motions to sit behind the wheel where Francine is sitting]: Enough talk! Let's drive! Scooch and I'll take the wheel.
Francine [reluctantly moving to the passenger seat]: That's so typical! Because I'm a lady and the man has to drive?
Archibald [now sitting in the driver's seat]: Francine, you know I'd never put you in a pigeonhole like that.
Francine: Why thank y—
Archibald: You're no lady to me.
Francine [she exits the car]: Oh—!
Archibald: Look, I just want to take the wheel. When you need it, I'll bring it back—haha! Francine, did you get that? Francine? Francine?

From the Past VI

Family enjoying an exhibition of shot, stuffed, and mounted spinsters.

Excerpt from E.B. Flatch's Newly Translated Anthology: "The Early, Unfunny Plays"

Little is known about E.B. Flatch, except that he was a fish monger who preferred a pipe to a hookah due to a childhood injury. He was firmly committed to mid-nineteenth-century realism, which was considered a faux pas by his contemporaries, owing to his having lived two centuries previous. As a fish monger turned literary giant, he is largely considered to be the first author to have written about "what he knows":

Fred: "Kipper well, Tom?"
Tom: "Not bass, Fred. And you?"
Fred: "Can't crabfish. How's the whale?"
Tom: "At home with a haddock. You know."
Fred: "Octopus to reason why."
Tom: "Herring a pint?"
Fred: "I'm cutting shrimp. Make it half."
Tom: "How's shark going?"
Fred: "Sole on retirement."
Tom: "Sounds gills to me."
Fred: "Forty years of pollocks. Anchovy* show for it?"

[Enter Harry. His coat is dripping, rain-sodden. Soddin' rain, he mutters to himself.]

Tom: "Here's Harry. Kipper well, Harry?"

* Anchovy. Readers may note the use of the word "anchovy" where previous translations largely preferred "salmon".

Goodbye, Charlie

Frank: Where's Charlie?
John: Harold drank him under the table.
Frank: Good grief, can't Harold drink alcohol like the rest of us?
John: He doesn't like the rest of us, he only likes Charlie.
Frank: Say what?
John: He takes one Charlie after dinner for his health.