April Fool

It was going to be the best prank ever. He'd unplugged the alarm clock at the mains so she'd sleep in.
She would be late for work, but that was just the start of it. He'd already phoned her boss to tell him she was ill and wouldn't be coming in.
When she got over the shock, he was going to take her to that fancy place in town she liked for lunch to make up for it and then he'd paid for a hot air balloon ride. She would love it!

**

"Shit!" she declared. "Shit, shit, shit, shit!"

He was in bed, facing away from her with a grin on his face.

"What's up, darling?" he asked.

"Shit, shit, shit!" she replied.

He let out a small laugh.

"This isn't funny. Did you unplug the clock to make me late?"

He laughed some more.

She stormed out of the room. He got out of bed and put on his dressing gown.

His wife was in the kitchen making herself a coffee.

"April fool!" he announced.

"It's not bloody funny. I've got an important meeting I'm going to be late for.

"I phoned your boss last night and told him you were sick. They aren't expecting you today at all."

"Why would you do that?" She was becoming more and more irate.

"Relax, it was just for fun. I've got plans for us today."

She was on the phone to her boss. "That's right, but I feel a lot better now," she was saying.

She grabbed her bag and headed for the door.

"Where are you going?"

"To work. Where do you think I'm going?"
"But I've got plans."

"So have I. They don't involve you. You'd better be gone by the time I get back."

After the door had slammed shut he prayed that it was another April fool.

Washing Up

The plates had piled up next to the sink. They were on the draining board and on the worktop too. There was no longer any available surface in the kitchen, so it had to be done.
He filled the sink with near-boiling water and Fairy Liquid and dumped what he deemed to be the cleanest items in the water. In reality they were just those with the least congealed food on them - they were still quite disgusting.
After half an hour his hands were pruned and it didn't look like he'd made any progress at all.
I don't need this many plates, he thought. He planned to just throw them away, but the more he thought, the more his plan escalated.
Before he knew it he was pouring a can of petrol all over the kitchen and standing in the back doorway, striking a match and grinning like a lunatic.

Porridge

There were fewer things Jeff loved more than to cook.
His new job was pretty much just a dogsbody, but he was working in a professional kitchen at last.
He would go and bring the chefs what they wanted from the vast walk-in fridge and he would occasionally chop vegetables or even make a huge pot of bechamel sauce. It was far from living the dream and the wages were terrible, but it was the most satisfying job he'd ever had.
He hoped that one day they'd let him actually fry some meat or make a casserole. He knew that if he did a good job and kept his head down that it was a possibility, but it was down to if and when any of the others left. He had heard a rumour that Steve would be leaving in a month's time, but they never discussed such matters while they worked.
All equipment had to be accounted for. Knives were counted out at the start of a shift and counted in at the end. They were expensive knives and today was the first time one was missing.
All the guys were lined up as the boss paced back and forth in front of them.
"In a minute I'm going to leave the room," he said. "The missing knife will be on this bench here," he slapped his palm against the stainless steel surface, making a noise like a thunderclap, "when I return in one minute."
He left the kitchen and the guys looked at each other, wondering who the culprit was. None of them were thieves. Some were much worse, but thieves they weren't.
When the boss returned a minute later, the knife wasn't on the bench. It was sticking out of the chest of a confused Jeff who was lying on the floor coughing up blood and twitching.
"Shit!" said the boss.
The alarm was sounded and before long the boss' boss was in the kitchen, threatening all of them with all sorts if they didn't tell him who'd done it.
Nobody would ever say a word. It was the code of prison mixed with the knowledge that the kitchen was the cushiest job they could have.

Punchline

"No," he said and threw the oxygen tank from the boat.

Rain

It had rained for three days without a break. Being inside the caravan was like sitting inside a snare drum and he was reasonably sure he had tinnitus.
He looked out of the window and wondered if it was ever going to stop. He needed to go to the campsite shop for milk and bread and he couldn't wait forever.
He pulled on his boots and zipped up his waterproof jacket - not that it would be effective against this volume of rain.
He opened the door and pulled his hood up.
As soon as he stepped down from the caravan, he slipped. He hadn't noticed that water was now running there at great speed, the price of being on a hill during a perpetual rainstorm. He fell and hit his head, knocking himself out.
The water carried him to a nearby beck, which fed into a river, which led to the North Sea.
His body was found by a fishing boat in the Atlantic a week later.

Fabulous Disaster

"Come and see this!"
The scientists raced into the laboratory of their colleague, Professor Jenkins.
Jenkins had been working in secret for several weeks now. This was the first time anyone had heard his voice since he began.
There was something large in the middle of the floor, covered with a sheet.
Once everyone was present, Professor Jenkins spoke: "I'm finally ready to share my work with you."
He pulled the sheet with a swift movement and it fell to the floor, revealing a silver machine which was egg-shaped and almost six feet tall. Lights flashed sporadically on the front of the machine.
There was a collective gasp from those assembled and the professor smiled.
"This machine will change everything," he said as he pressed a combination of buttons. "If my calculations are corr..."
White light engulfed the room. It was the brightest white imaginable - a white so bright that Dulux and Persil would be jealous of it.
His calculations were wrong.

Lesson in Violence

The man who was being served either had no idea that there were people waiting behind him or he just simply didn't give a shit. He was making small talk with the cashier, despite the fact that his bags were packed and his goods were paid for.
"Come on," hissed Eddie, who was now third in line. He only had a loaf of bread and he regretted using the 'express' till. The name was clearly a joke.
The man making the small talk ignored Eddie and carried on talking. The cashier was looking uncomfortable. "Ok them," she said, which translated as "piss off", but the man ignored her too.
He wanted to tell her all about the kitchen extension he was building.
Enough was enough. Eddie stormed to the front of the queue.
"Why don't you fuck off and let the rest of us pay for our stuff?" he shouted, centimetres from the other man's face.
"There's no need to be like that," the man suggested as Eddie's forehead smashed into the bridge of his nose.
The man collapsed to the floor, wondering if there was anything left of his shattered nose. His ribs were treated to several kicks and he was aware of people telling the man to stop.
Eddie didn't stop until the police arrived. When he told them what had happened in the car on the way to the station they were very sympathetic.