Written by walter

Print this

Friday, 30 July 2010

When on August 31, 2005 about 1 million Iraqis crossed Al-Aaimmah Bridge, to reach a ‎‎1400-year-old tomb to beseech terrestrial prosperity and a good abode in next life with ‎pretty women, roughly 1000 of them lost their lives in an stampede.‎

Naturally, there was a mixed feeling: sympathy and jealousy on the part of coreligionists ‎who envied the martyrs that had so sure footedly reached paradise. ‎

However, when on 24 July 2010, 20 people were killed in a stampede in a tunnel at Love ‎Parade, Germany, nobody envied them at all, but the feeling was again mixed: sympathy ‎and outrage. ‎

The question is why such an incidence would happen to the civilized nation of Germany: ‎a nation that cherishes art and music, a nation that follows the foot prints of Plato who ‎said: "We do not want a nation of prize-fighters and weight lifters. Perhaps music solves ‎our problem: through music the soul learns harmony and rhythm and even a disposition ‎to justice, for can he who is harmoniously constituted ever be unjust?"‎

On the other hand, the Iraqis and their coreligionists are canonically banned to listen to ‎music. The only noise they are allowed to listen is war drums and battle cries.‎

A bridge constructed by German engineers 80 years ago, after being washed away by ‎flood was easily restored just like before, AEG wash machines, after 40 years, are still ‎operational, maintenance free; the 64-pound Olympia typewriter, the Mercedes Benz of ‎typewriters, carried by lovely German typists, as of 1933, like a feather, are still as ‎operational as the time of manufacture.‎

What really happened at the Love Parade? The 1.4 million Germans were there simply ‎for a limited freedom of expression.‎

John Galsworthy (1867-1933), English writer, in his essay or rather short story 'Quality' ‎demonstrated the commendable characteristic of a German shoemaker, Gessler. Quote: ‎‎"I remember well my shy remark, one day, while stretching out to him my youthful foot: ‎‎"Isn't it awfully hard to do, Mr. Gessler?" And his answer, given with a sudden smile from ‎out of the sardonic redness of his beard: "Id is an Ardt" … ‎

‎"Once (once only) I went absent-mindedly into his shop in a pair of boots bought in an ‎emergency at some large firm's, (Wonder if Maoist China had exported trash shoes to ‎England.) He took my order without showing me any leather, and I could feel his eyes ‎penetrating the inferior integument of my foot. At last he said: "Dose are nod my ‎boods."…‎

‎""Id 'urds you dere," he said."Dose big virms 'ave no self-respect. Drash!" And then, as if ‎something had given way within him, he spoke long and bitterly. It was the only time I ‎ever heard him discuss the conditions and hardships of his trade…‎

‎"A week later, passing the little street… "Yes, Yes," I said; "but Mr. Gessler?" "Oh!" he ‎answered; "dead." "Dead! But I only received these boots from him last Wednesday ‎week." "Ah!" he said; "a shockin' go. Poor old man starved 'imself." "Good God!"‎

‎"Slow starvation … Would keep the shop on; wouldn't have a soul touch his boots ‎except himself. When he got an order, it took him such a time. People won't wait. He lost ‎everybody. And there he'd sit, goin' on and on--I will say that for him--not a man in ‎London made a better boot! But look at the competition! He never advertised! Would ‎‎'ave the best leather, too, and do it all 'imself. Well, there it is. What could you expect ‎with his ideas?"…‎

The story above is a satire or parody. It is entirely fictitious.

If you fancy trying your hand at comedy spoof news writing, click here to join!

More by this writer

View Story
View Story
View Story
View Story
View Story
View Story


71 readers are online right now!

Go to top

We use cookies to give you the best experience, this includes cookies from third party websites and advertisers.

Continue ? Find out more