Jamal the SLUMDOG explained how his mother, a talented young up and coming actress, had been killed during the Bollywood riots back in ’92 when the young Indie indie film industry rebelled against the established Raj silent film industry. Now alone, he and brother S’lime made ends meet by leasing cardboard condos down at the city dump.
“Okay, Jamal Wilkes Bhoothi, slumdog turned call screener, or whatever your occupation is, for 10 million Rupees -- that is double the last prize, you know! -- you must answer the next question.” And the host leaned toward Jamal, leered, and whispered, “You will never get this one! I picked it out myself from Wikipedia Random Article.” He leaned back and loudly asked, “What is the only story about three characters fighting political corruption in their national government that was written by the grandson of an ex-slave from Haiti?” He breathed onto his fingernails, buffed them on his lapel, and admired their tiny reflections of his image. He grinned at Jamal. “I will make this multiple choice, since you are a mere slumdog: A) Athos, Porthos, and Aramis. B) Ethos, logos, and pathos. C) Larry, Moe, and Curly Joe. D) Bill, Hillary, and Monica”
Jamal was allowed to ask the audience one question and he did.
Someone hollered back, “We don’t frickin know!! Answer the question yourself, you dumb slumdog!”
Jamal buried his head in his hands and wept bitterly.
During one very rainy day, Jamal felt sorry after gazing out from their warm, dry cardboard box upon a poor little girl getting swept passed them in the flood waters heading out to sea. He grabbed his trusty fishing pole and prepared to save her, but S’lime laid a remonstrative hand upon it and chided, “Chi, chi, Jamal! She will have not a Rupee to pay.”
Then, Jamal saw her again swept by the other way as a freak tsunami battered Mumpie. He again grabbed the fishing pole and pleaded with his older brother while beginning to fish her in. “Chi, chi, Jamal! What do you think we are running here? An orphanage?” S’lime cut the line with his knife, and the girl was swept away. “This box is barely big enough for you and me! Who do you think your are?? Achilles rescuing Helen of Troy??”
“No, S’lime,” Jamal grumbled sarcastically. “I am D’artagnan fetching a beautiful serving girl to order beers for the Three Musketeers Larry, Moe, and Curly Joe!”
S’lime smacked him upside the head. “The Three Musketeers were Ethos, Logos, and Pathos, you foolish young boy!“ And with that, he curled up in the back and went to sleep. But as the tsunami receded, there she was again floating past half drowned. Jamal quickly yanked another hook out of his fishing cap, set the line, and quietly fished her in and was immediately netted and gaffed by her charm for all time.
S’lime awoke. And angrily ordered Jamal to pitch her back into the torrent flooding past, lapping at the edge of their little box.
But Jamal defended her and begged S’lime to let her stay. “We can be like the Three Musketeers!” he pleaded. “Larry, Moe, and Curly Joe!”
“Jamal, you are so ignorant!” admonished S’lime. “Those are not them!”
“Then who are they?”
“How would I know?! I am just a slumdog like you are!”
“Oh, I can tell you!” the young girl said excitedly, flipping open her waterproof cell phone. “I’ll just GOOGLE it…”
“But that is just a cell phone,” pointed out S’lime. “What will you do? Call Google now, you silly, silly girl??”
The two boys began laughing and slapping each other.
“Chi, chi, you nasty two boys!” said the girl. “You can now text Google…” Her phone began to vibrate -- a small fish stuck inside was startled by this and leapt away.
“Very curious,” she said touching a finger thoughtfully to her chin. She read: “’The story about the Three Musketeers Athos, Porthos, and Aramis was written by Alexandre Dumas, grandson of a Haitian slave...’”
“Never mind that!” interrupted S’lime. “Pass me the duct tape, you lazy slumdogs, there’s another leak in the cardboard over here! Is it me, or do you two feel this thing moving?”
“You have 5 seconds!” warned the host.
Jamal looked up, wiped the tears from his eyes, and asked, “Can I borrow your cell phone, sir, to text Google?”
But then Jamal remembered the day their cardboard box sunk. “Sir, I know! It is ‘A’ -- the answer is ‘A’!”
The host grudgingly congratulated him on doubling his money.
The police inspector wearily dragged his hand down across his face. “Jamal, you worthless slumdog, you expect us to believe this foolishness? We will teach you a lesson!” It was nighttime now with a huge rainstorm outside. They brought Jamal up to the dark, bat-ridden tower atop the police station, strapped him down, energized the experimental apparatus, and turned a crank that raised him high up into the rain and lightening.
“HOW DO YOU KNOW THE ANSWERS??!” the Inspector yelled up at him from below. He muttered to himself: “Go, go, gadget lightning arrester!”
Lightning strike after lightning strike hit poor Jamal. “Luck, kismet, karma, coincidence, divine revelation,..., sir, I don’t know. They just keep asking things that I happen to know about... OUCH! Sir, please crank me down -- this lightning is really too much, you know! I will tell more of my life story...”
[ Oh, my goodness! The little darlings have fallen fast asleep. Look how they drool so. Endearing -- simply endearing! .. Oh! It’s a loose tooth.. AArrrrggghhhrunt! Got it! Yechh! Wow, someone hasn’t been brushing enough.. Okay, what will the tooth fairy leave?? After all, this is PLEASANTOPIA... Yes, there we go.. Stuff it under the pillow carefully.. Another 1,000 shares of that wonderful VANGUARD EMERGING MARKET FUND. Such low expense fees -- OY! ]
by DoUgLaS kEnDaLl
Holiday gift ideas at-------------> Web Link
Email political opportunities in Afghanistan to---> doug@DougKen.com
:-) <-- Warning: Subliminal Humor