S-q-w-a-w-k!

The Parrot Died
[as re-told by Bob Fay]



At dawn the telephone rings, “Hello, Señor Rod? This is Ernesto, the caretaker at your country house.”
“Ah yes, Ernesto. What can I do for you? Is there a problem?”
“Um, I am just calling to advise you, Señor Rod, that your parrot, he is dead.”
“My parrot? Dead? The one that won the International parrot competition?”
“Si, Señor, that’s the one.”

“Damn! That’s a pity! I spent a small fortune on that bird. What did he die from?”
“From eating the rotten meat, Señor Rod.”
“Rotten meat? Who the hell fed him rotten meat?”
“Nobody, Señor. He ate the meat of the dead horse.”

“Dead horse? What dead horse?” 
 

“The thoroughbred, Señor Rod.” 

“My prized thoroughbred is dead?” 
 

“Yes, Señor Rod, he died from all that work pulling the water cart.” 
 

“Are you insane? What water cart?” 
 

“The one we used to put out the fire, Señor.”
“Good Lord! What fire are you talking about, man?” 

“The one at your house, Señor! A candle fell and the curtains caught on fire.” 

“What the hell? Are you saying that my mansion is destroyed because of a candle?” 
 

“Yes, Señor Rod.” 
 

“But there’s electricity at the house!! What was the candle for?” 
 

“For the funeral, Señor Rod.” 
 

“WHAT BLOODY FUNERAL??!!” 
 

“Your wife’s, Señor Rod. She showed up very late one night and I thought she was a thief, so I hit her with your new Taylor Made Super Quad 460 golf club.” 
 

[ SILENCE ........... LONG SILENCE ......... ]
 

“Ernesto, if you broke that driver, you’re in deep shit!!” 