Twisted Tales for Toilet Time: Part I

The Twisted Tales for Toilet Time Series project of short stories is aimed to be a collection of ultra-short short stories that can be read in the average duration of a toilet visit. Most of which fall into the category of the absurd and have little, to no real plot significance.

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The Burnt Popcorn Paradox

It all started in 1923, when a young farmer from Ipswich made the journey on a ship, hidden in a barrel of potato scraps and mice.

The strange reaction of the mouse excrement with the scraps of potato caused a bubbling liquid to form at the bottom of the barrel. The young farmer, being parched from his long sea journey, sipped some of the liquid, to his surprise it was not only drinkable, but also tasted better than the finest ales.

He arrived in Australia and quickly set up a tonic shop to start selling his new discovery. The shop did very well; the man took a wife and had sons to carry on the family business.

After decades of success, he retired to the quiet, peaceful life of a shoe cleaner. Then one day during the Queen’s visit to the country; he was honoured to clean Her Majesty’s royal shoes. Fine shoes they were too.

This is where the story takes a horrible turn for the worst. The man of our tale passed away while cleaning the Queen’s shoes, dishonouring the family name forever. Stripped of their tonic shop and the money it brought, his surviving wife and children had to start all over again.

That man, you see, was me. I did not actually pass away, but suffered a mild heart attack from the stress of cleaning Her Royal Highness’ shoes.

I never dared to return to my family, due to the unrelenting shame I had brought upon them and myself that day. I watched from afar as they slowly regrow the family fortune.

Then all was lost again in a great flood that wiped out the entire family, and washed away the entire crop of corn they had planted. Salvaging what crops I could, I left some of it in front of my fireplace to dry.

When one of the kernels suddenly exploded due to the build up of heat within itself, the resulting product was incredible, especially with a touch of salt.

I couldn’t believe my luck, two discoveries in one lifetime. I sold the invention to my neighbour Mr. Green who was starting a packaged food company at the time, good on him with the success over the years.

With the money, I retired and lived out the rest of my days here in this resort, with my contacts I was able to get one of the best rooms in the place. They say the service in the pillow room is second to none, they even have these designer jackets that let you hug yourself if you’re a bit lonely at night.

But that rarely ever happens to me, I’ve still got the memories of my first flight with the Roman legions to keep me at peace in the nighttime.

My only complaint about my accommodation would be that there is no window in my room, yet I can always smell burnt popcorn.

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The Plum Jam Conundrum

There was once a man who lived in a giant gumboot, he never saw the sun until he turned thirty-six years of age. When he saw the sun for the first time he became so enraged that he attacked the nearest soup kitchen with a mallet made out of rolled up socks and moist towelettes.

When the police came to investigate the scene, they were amazed to discover the man was now yelling in some strange dialect no one understood.

After this he entered the local farmer’s market, and began to smash all the stalls until he reached the stall of one Mrs. Ethel Gundersop, he became transfixed on her jars of jams and preserves.

He seemed to calm as he slowly began tasting each jar's contents until he reached the plum jam, his eyes narrowed and he began once again to curse in his strange language, known only to him it seemed.

He took a new tasting spoon, licked his lips greedily and reached down towards the plum jam.

Without warning the man’s crippling raspberry allergy then took effect and he began to swell like a balloon until he burst all over Mrs. Gundersop, and a small poodle that was wandering past at the time.

This man’s name was and shall remain, Reginald T. Flastgerter, professional raspberry picker and jam judge.