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Ogurlic
'89
JERRY
E. WALSH (1866-1945)
-
Has anyone anything to say before I come out? No-one?
So, I will be the first to speak - boasted the slobbering
McMillan, dioptric monster with short limbs, a Scotsman
from the vicinity of Dachau, during the Businessman
Congress held in Oklajawa.
-
Who could ever think that the whole thing would start
in such a manner? Not me - babbled the bat Galaw, pulling
remote monitors out of his ears, while anyone could
see, from aside, how corn protruded from his back.
-
I am the oldest one here - said Parker, an old corpse
whose brain and entrails were eaten by a vulture and
so now he was forced to wander around the world with
an oxygen bottle to be refilled on the ninth day of
each month.
-
You have already said everything you have to say. And
now, myself - said Greg Murdock, thrusting forth his
enormous split snake -like tongue, all wrapped up in
ivy leaves dripping horse's spittle.
But
they all shut up as soon as Jerry E. Walsh (1866-1945)
appeared at the door. Jerry was a young and handsome
protestant whose face was showered with the kisses of
his female fans who waited for him for hours in front
of the Congress Hall. A general hush was stirred with
Jerry's morning perfume 'Fresh and Business' while he
went towards his seat at the back of the hall.
-
Sorry I'm late, folks - he said, upon which his face
transformed into a bleeding crust, an adder wiggled
out from his bosom, and his brain poured off into the
ashtray of his neighbour, businessman Kowalski felt
so sick from that scene that he started to vomit.
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Jurkovic
'89
JERRY
E. WALSH (1866-1945)
When
I saw my brother's sepulchre, the first thing that annoyed
me was that the stonecutter engraved my brother's death
year in advance. Who would dare to prejudice such things?
True, my brother is heavily ill, but it is humane to
wish that he lives for some time yet. Otherwise, I am
satisfied with the quality of the marble and the rest
of the performed works. The second mistake concerns
the year of birth; despite my insisting on engraving
the whole date, the stonecutter engraved only the year
- and the wrong one too. Jerry is my brother, and was
born in 1917. The most annoying thing, quite understandably,
is the fact that my brother is called Jerry E. Walsh
and not Damien Hardy. Damn it, the stonemason cannot
take such a liberty as to change a man's name, and bury
him alive as well. However, apart from that, all the
jobs on the tomb have been done very well. The sepulchre
is even patinated. I insisted upon patina despite the
craftsman's scepticism. My brother will be pleased.
The more so because his sepulchre is not on the hill
near the crematorium, but in the elite part of the graveyard,
where ambassadors, captains and politicians are
buried.
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