Last Sunday was an
exceptionally exquisite day. The sun was up, the sky was blue, it was beautiful
and so was I. I’d just taken a bath, see, was clean shaven and smelled like a
million dollars. Anyway, I was walking down the street, minding my own
business, humming “Dear Prudence” and smiling at everyone I met. I was in high
spirits. Don’t know why. Could be because I’d just taken my medication.
As I turned the
corner, I heard singing. The sound seemed to be coming from the mental institution of the town. A huge building with 467 beds, 20 padded rooms,
wonderful doctors and caring orderlies. The garden is our.. I mean their pride
and joy. It is tended by us.. them, the inmates. Anyway, a friend of mine told
me all this, if you were wondering.
At first, I couldn’t
make out the words of the song. Then as I approached, it became clear that our
jolly bunch were singing
“FOR HE’S A JOLLY
GOOD FEEELLOW…..”.
Probably a birthday
party, I thought. As I approached the fence surrounding the hospital’s garden,
it became clear that the words were a little different from the ones I was used
to hearing. They were clearly yelling:
“FOR HE’S A JOLLY
GOOD SIIIXTEEN, FOR HE’S A JOLLY GOOD SIIIXTEEN…”
Well, what was I
expecting? Why were they locked up after all? Or maybe they were celebrating
the birthday of someone who’d just turned sixteen. Go figure. Suffice it to say
that my curiosity was such that I wanted to take a peek, but the fence was too
high. I inspected it and found a little gap in the planks. I put my eye to the
opening to look when some idiot poked me in the eye with a stick and they all
went:
“FOR HE’S A JOLLY
GOOD SEEEVENTEEN, FOR HE’S A JOLLY GOOD SEEEVENTEEN…”