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A Man of a Few More Words - by Swan Morrison

Flash Of The Headlights
Five pieces of 100 word flash humour on the subject of motoring


My car crawled along the narrow county lane in the wake of a hay tractor. There were no junctions or passing places for ten miles.

I pondered on the tractor driver’s life: His proud parents giving thanks for the birth of a son to inherit their farm; his tireless labour, through harsh farming times, to make the farm a success for himself and his family.

All his dedicated efforts had led to this moment. Yet, in this moment, he was simply delaying my arrival at the pub.

I reflected sadly on this waste; this meaningless culmination of his existence.


The Road To Damnation

One question from his Maker would decide whether John’s quaking soul entered Heaven or Hell.

The Deity spoke: ‘Have you ridden a bicycle on a major road during the rush hour?’

‘No, Lord.’

‘Then enter Paradise.’

‘Why are rush hour cyclists the only Damned?’

‘Is it not they who delay traffic, causing anger and pollution? Is it not they who smugly flaunt their fitness, engendering guilt in drivers who overeat, drink to excess, smoke too much and avoid exercise? Such cycling demands eternal torture in the flames of Hell!’

‘The Lord is truly righteous and just,’ John proclaimed.


Memo To Highway Maintenance Staff

Thank you all for your tireless efforts in undertaking myriad roadworks and deploying miles of road cones to close lanes on major carriageways. This has been hugely successfully in creating enormous traffic jams in the city.

There are disappointing reports, however, that some commuters are still successfully reaching their places of employment.

All highway maintenance staff should remember our proud departmental motto: ‘To Create Gridlock’.

We must redouble efforts to excavate, divert, and badly phase traffic lights until we can triumphantly boast that no vehicle remains in motion.

I know I can rely upon you.

Chief Executive, Highway Maintenance.


The Dust, Settled

‘You’re late emptying the bins today?’ I ventured to the dustcart driver.

‘We couldn’t get to the depot,’ he complained. ‘Cars just kept halting in front of all of us for no obvious reason, and then wouldn’t move. The selfish buggers seemed to enjoy making us late for work.’

I was gratified that so many people had participated in this first day of ‘Take Revenge Upon Dustmen Week’.

Tomorrow would be the dustmen’s rest day. Before dawn we would be at their homes, moving dustbins with the maximum of unnecessary noise.

With luck, we would wake their entire families.


The Deranged

No sooner had I begun my drive to work, than it happened again: My route became clogged with myriad vehicles.

Why were these drivers behaving thus? If they enjoyed the pointless occupation of highways, then miles of deserted road existed in the Highlands of Scotland and throughout the UK, along which I had no need to travel.

I imagined them happily congesting those routes, perhaps grinning inanely, dribbling, giggling, or exhibiting other such habitual, sub-human signs of delight.

I dared not sound my horn in frustration. One such deranged creature, if angered, might become dangerous. Hundreds could be deadly.