Episode 50

Reflections from the life and times of Mr. Smith. So there I was in Africa. Somewhere in Africa. It’s hot here. I’m hot here. At least the natives think I’m hot…for a 52 year old balding white guy from America. I think its supposed to be a compliment. I was staying in a grass hut made of…grass. They had lots of interesting types of food, too. Like chicken-soup, made with goat. And pork broth, made with chicken. Every evening, the whole tribe gathered around the camp-fire and danced and sang songs, and sprinkled powder over me. It was some type of honorary new-comers thing. They kept on feeding me lots and lots of food. Lots of cornbread made of rice. Huge hunks of wild boar, made of domesticated pigs. I stuffed my face every night, and they continued to sprinkle white powder on me. One day they brought out a huge black pot, big enough to fit Elvis in it. As they danced around the pot, they poured water in it. Then they showed me a cool hut, in which there were several strikingly beautiful females who gave me a massage. After that, they invited me to come sit in an honorary place – above the great big black pot full of boiling hot water. I could tell it was reserved for very important people only. Then as I sat in my throne, I enjoyed watching a game of ball, played by the young children. I couldn’t quite grasp the purpose of this game, but it seemed they were aiming for this little round target, down to my right, which was connected to the bottom of my chair. One of the boys hit the target. Next thing I knew, I was sitting in the boiling pot. Then I realized it was just a fun way of getting me into a Jacuzzi! Then, because the vents apparently weren’t working, they took two large wooden spoons and spun me around. I could have sat there for hours. In fact I did. It was very nice and warm. I couldn’t quite understand the looks on the faces of the natives, when I stood up and got out of the pot. Had they never seen a duct tape suit before? I had been wearing it underneath my clothes, which had boiled off. The natives all dropped on their hands and knees and started singing something in some strange language I couldn’t understand. As I walked towards the edge of the village, I raised my arms and said in a loud voice, “Thank you for the food and the Jacuzzi!” They all shuddered and ran. I never understand strange natives, except for the blond-haired one. In Fiji.
Thus ends this week’s reflections. And then my mirror image disappeared.

Episode 49

Reflections of the life and times of Mr. Smith. I got a call from a friend of mine in Africa. Surprised I could hear him? You shouldn’t be. He has a very loud voice. I decided to change my normal ways and bought a ticket. Then I hopped on a plane. Normally I leave out that ticket buying part. Unfortunately, my plane crashed. I paused and reflected on life and realized, this seems to happen to me a lot. It must be something with me and plane rides. But then after all, a famous person once said, “What’s life without a plane crash?” Don’t ask me who said it; he must not be as famous as I thought. As is common with plane crashes, I survived. And fortunately, we crashed right in front of the runway in Africa, so I only had a little ways to walk. My friend had a car waiting for me, and I was driven to his house. But on the way, I was driven to insanity. The driver wouldn’t stop singing with the radio. I think he thought he was Elvis or something, he kept singing about a hunk of love. When I arrived at my friend’s house, I asked him why he called me. He said “Mr. Smith, I need your help. I need to decide, should I eat banana or mango with my lunch today?” I paused and reflected on banana and mango, and realized, I had flown half way across the world to answer this question. So I said “You should eat both.” He said thanks. But he didn’t offer me any. I guess I should have had him leave one of the choices for me.
Thus ends this week’s reflections. And then my mirror image disappeared.

Episode 42

Reflections from the life and times of Mr. Smith. Space…the final frontier. It has been a long time since I have been there. In fact I had never been there. This should change, thus sayeth the Lord. Mr. Smith, that is. After unpacking from my extensive trip, I set about to building a rocket. I went down to my basement, tinkered around with a few things, and finally, after about a month, finished it. A rocket. Unfortunately, it was only the scale model. Then I paused and realized, if it took me a month to make a model at a scale 1 to 100, it would take me a hundred months to create the real thing. So I decided, if I couldn’t go to space, I would send the next best thing – a picture of me. I carried my model rocket into my backyard. I stood it on its point. Then I looked at it and realized, there was definitely something wrong. I put it on its side. I placed the picture of myself in the capsule. I lit the fuse. I stepped back. The rocket exploded. I stepped even further back. I landed on my rear end, in the siding of my neighbor’s house. After I finally worked my way loose, I decided I would need a bigger rocket. So I made another one, at a scale of 1 to 101. After a month and a day of work, it was completed. I looked around in my photo albums for a better one of myself. I decided to send the one of me dressed as Elvis into space. I took my rocket out into my backyard, but I didn’t really have one anymore, it was just a crater. So I decided to launch it in my neighbor’s backyard. This time I placed the rocket with its point facing up. I lit a match. It lit the fuse. The fuse burned down. The rocket burned up. When I awoke, I saw its smoke trail leading up into the sky. It was a success. Or so I thought, until I heard on the radio, about a jumbo jet being hit by a rocket piloted by Elvis.
Thus ends this week’s reflections. And then my mirror image disappeared.