Category: Stories

Clause and Effect

by Robert Walker, posted in Stories

INT. A DUSTY ATTIC – NIGHT

A LAWYER in a suit wipes an ancient lamp. A GENIE emerges in a cloud of smoke, dressed in traditional genie garb but looking slightly weary.

GENIE: (booming voice) Behold! I am the great and powerful Genie of the Lamp! You have awakened me, mortal, and I shall grant you three wishes!

LAWYER: (pulling out a notepad and pen) Three wishes, you say? Excellent. But before we proceed, I just have a few clarifying questions.

GENIE: Uh… sure. But let’s not overcomplicate this. Just say what you want, and poof – done.

LAWYER: (scribbling notes) Mmm, tempting. But I’ve seen too many “wish gone wrong” situations in popular culture. Can’t risk it. Now, let’s discuss the terms. (flips open a briefcase, pulls out a contract template)

GENIE: (groaning) Oh no. Not one of these.

LAWYER: (ignoring him) Right. First question: What exactly constitutes a “wish”? Is it a verbal statement of desire, or do I need to phrase it in a specific way?

GENIE: (scratching his head) Uh, I dunno. You just say it, and I grant it.

LAWYER: (narrowing eyes) Hmm. Ambiguous. Let’s define “wish” for the record. (starts typing on a laptop) “Wish (noun): A verbalised request for a specific outcome, stated in clear and unambiguous terms, as recognised by the Genie…”

GENIE: (interrupting) Look, mate, I’ve been doing this for centuries, and no one’s needed a contract. Can we just get to the magic part?

LAWYER: (pointing a pen at the Genie) And that’s precisely why you need one. What if I ask for a million pounds, and you deliver it in counterfeit bills? Or I wish for a dream house, and it’s haunted? No loopholes, Genie. Not on my watch.

The lawyer lays out a growing pile of papers on the table, complete with flowcharts and a checklist. The Genie looks increasingly exasperated.

LAWYER: (writing) Clause 1: No malicious compliance. Clause 2: Wishes cannot harm the wisher physically, emotionally, or financially. Clause 3: No ironic twists. I don’t want to wish for “eternal life” and end up as a tree.

GENIE: You humans are so distrusting. I’m not here to trick you!

LAWYER: (without looking up) Statistically, 87% of genie-related anecdotes suggest otherwise.

GENIE: Stupid Reddit threads… Look, if it helps, I’m not that kind of genie. I’m not here to monkey-paw your wishes. I’m more of a “give you what you want, no questions asked” type.

LAWYER: (smirking) No questions asked? Perfect. Addendum C: If the Genie delivers a wish that violates any clause of the contract, the wisher is entitled to reparations, monetary or otherwise, at the discretion of –

GENIE: (snapping) OKAY! That’s it. Just make a wish! Any wish! I’ll do it! I promise not to twist it!

LAWYER: (holding up the contract) Not until you sign.

The Genie sighs and reluctantly signs the contract. The Lawyer smiles triumphantly.

LAWYER: Excellent. Now, for my first wish: I want one trillion pounds deposited into my bank account.

GENIE: (snapping his fingers) Done!

An alert appears on the Lawyer’s phone saying: “You have received £1,000,000,000,000.00 from A. Genie.”

GENIE: (crossing arms) Told you I’m legit. Can we move on now?

LAWYER: Not so fast. (points to the contract) Sub-clause 2.3 requires documentation on the money’s source. I don’t want MI6 knocking on my door because it was “borrowed” from the Bank of England.

GENIE: (snapping fingers again) Fine! Here’s a receipt!

A golden scroll appears in midair. The lawyer grabs it and examines it closely.

LAWYER: Hmm. “Source: Magical Treasury”. Acceptable. For my second wish, I want to be the cleverest person in the world.

GENIE: (nodding) Easy. (snaps fingers) Done.

LAWYER: (pauses, then narrows his eyes) Wait. Did you just shrink everyone else’s IQ to make me look better?

GENIE: Oh, for crying out loud! You’re still you, but now you know the cure for cancer, the secret to world peace, and how to win at Monopoly every time. Happy?

LAWYER: (grinning) Very. But if I find out this intelligence is temporary or conditional –

GENIE: (cutting him off) It’s permanent! Next wish!

LAWYER: For my third wish…

He pauses dramatically, flipping through the contract.

GENIE: (groaning) Just say it!

LAWYER: (grinning) I wish for infinite wishes.

GENIE: (laughing) Ah, the classic rookie move! You can’t wish for more wishes.

LAWYER: (smirking) Actually, according to Section 5, Subsection A of this contract, there’s no explicit prohibition on that. Unless, of course, you’d like to renegotiate the terms?

GENIE: (grabbing the contract and flipping through it) You… sneaky little – Fine! You win. Infinite wishes. Happy now?

LAWYER: (grinning) Ecstatic. But let’s amend the contract for clarity. I’ll need –

The genie snaps his fingers.

GENIE: (slowly disappearing back into the lamp) Nope. You can wish as much as you like, but I’m out. This has all now been nothing more than a day-dream! Have fun with your infinite wishes. Byeeeeee!

The lawyer stares at the lamp, stunned. He looks at his phone alert, which changes before his eyes to read: “You have received £0.00 from A. Genie.”

LAWYER: (to himself) Well, I guess I’ll start drafting my terms for an appeal.

He walks off, with a stack of contracts in hand.

Poets’ Corner After Dark

by Robert Walker, posted in Stories

INT. WESTMINSTER ABBEY’S SOUTH TRANSEPT – MIDNIGHT

Moonlight filters through stained glass windows amongst the statues and busts of Poets’ Corner.

A loud creak. Geoffrey CHAUCER, a bronze statue, stretches and yawns, his metal joints groaning.

CHAUCER: By the great quill of destiny, what hour be this? Midnight? Time flies when one is petrified.

Nearby, William SHAKESPEARE, carved in marble, rubs his forehead dramatically.

SHAKESPEARE: To wake or not to wake – alas, the question answers itself! I feel a cramp in my heroic couplets.

Charles DICKENS, his bust high on a pedestal, speaks with a grumble.

DICKENS: If anyone thinks I’ll write another serial after this, they’re gravely mistaken. I’ve spent decades staring at pigeons. It’s intolerable!

Jane AUSTEN’s stone figure comes to life.

AUSTEN: And yet, men will complain, even when dead. Can we focus? Why are we waking up tonight?

CHAUCER: Methinks the moon shines brighter on this eve. ‘Tis a summons from the Muses! Or possibly the Abbey wi-fi acting up again.

Lord BYRON saunters in dramatically, wearing his perpetual stone smirk.

BYRON: (mockingly) Ah, the gang’s all here. Chaucer, the dusty relic; Shakespeare, the eternal show-off; and Dickens, the poster boy for misery. Truly, a cavalcade of brilliance.

AUSTEN: (ignored) Hello?

DICKENS: Oh, look, it’s Byron, the original influencer. What’s the matter? No one liked your latest tragic sonnet?

BYRON: I don’t need “likes”, Charles. My despair is timeless. Unlike your serialised sob stories.

John KEATS and Percy Bysshe SHELLEY drift in, looking lost.

KEATS: (to Byron) Um, hello. Is this… the afterlife’s book club?

SHELLEY: Keats, I told you, stop asking. Byron’s not in charge – he just acts like it.

Jane Austen steps forward, brushing dust off her stone gown.

AUSTEN: We’re supposed to be inspiring the living, not squabbling like characters in a poorly written farce.

SHAKESPEARE: (indignant) Poorly written? Madam, I invented farce! And tragedy, for that matter.

AUSTEN: Yes, we had noticed. We all have to hear about it, endlessly.

BYRON: Come, Miss Austin – trade me your sharp quill for softer pursuits; wit may warm my mind, but only passion can set it ablaze.

AUSTEN: Lord Byron, your passions burn so bright they most frequently extinguish themselves – do let me know when one lasts long enough to cast a steady light.

A faint humming noise grows. The Abbey’s speakers start playing an audiobook. The poets gasp in horror as an AI voice reads a modern romance novel.

AUDIOBOOK NARRATOR (O.S.): He gazed into her eyes, his chiselled jaw trembling with passion…

Byron claps his hands over his ears.

BYRON: What fresh hell is this?

AUDIOBOOK NARRATOR (O.S.): Rain fell in slow motion, though neither of them got wet, because love is waterproof.

AUSTEN: Modern romance. Quite popular, actually.

AUDIOBOOK NARRATOR (O.S.): “I’ve never felt this way before,” he whispered huskily, his voice thick with a past he’d never fully explain.

SHAKESPEARE: Chiselled jaws? Trembling passion? I’d sooner see my plays rewritten as musicals!

Chaucer waves his arms to get attention. The audiobook stops.

CHAUCER: Quiet, all! Methinks we must intervene. The living have clearly lost their literary way.

DICKENS: Yes! Let us haunt the publishers until they restore proper storytelling. No more sparkling vampires or billionaire love triangles!

AUSTEN: Or we could just give them… guidance. Perhaps they’re not all lost causes.

BYRON: (smirking) Speak for yourself. I’d rather haunt Instagram.

As the poets argue, a security GUARD enters, holding a torch. The beam of light freezes everyone mid-motion. For a moment, they look like statues again. The guard scratches his head.

GUARD: (muttering) Blimey, I need to cut back on the night shifts. Thought I saw Shakespeare wink at me.

The guard leaves, muttering about getting coffee. As soon as the door shuts, the poets burst into laughter.

SHAKESPEARE: Winking? A tragedy I didn’t invent earlier!

AUSTEN: Let’s focus. If we’re going to inspire, we need to reach the world. But how?

A moment of silence.

CHAUCER: TikTok?

The others groan.

SHAKESPEARE: How about…?

Shakespeare starts scribbling with an invisible quill. The other poets join in, creating ethereal manuscripts that float in the air. Byron spends most of his time striking poses.

AUSTEN: Okay… (reading) We, the spirits of Poets’ Corner, call upon you, dear writers, to elevate your craft! Write with wit, depth, and meaning!

DICKENS: And no clichés! If I see one more “chosen one” narrative, I shall weep.

SHELLEY: (excitedly) Let’s send it out on the wind! A ghostly manuscript carried by the night air.

BYRON: Or, Shelley… we could just leave it in the gift shop.

They all pause. Byron shrugs.

As dawn approaches, the poets resume their statuesque forms, ready to inspire from their silent vigil once more.

INT. THE GIFT SHOP – DAY

The next day, a TOURIST picks up the mysterious manuscript and chuckles.

TOURIST: “A Declaration from the Poets of Westminster Abbey?” Must be some clever marketing.

The tourist pockets it away. Meanwhile, in Poets’ Corner, Shakespeare’s statue winks.

The Diary of Aurelia Windmere

by Robert Walker, posted in Stories

Date: 16th July 1347
Location: The City of Florence

The plague has arrived, they say, riding the wind from faraway lands. I should be frightened, but curiosity holds me tighter than fear. The healers speak of “bad air” and demons, while merchants mutter about God’s wrath. I’ve spent the morning sketching remedies in the marketplace—garlic necklaces, amulets, and crucifixes. But I am not afraid. Not yet. After all, how long can I linger here before the threads of time call me elsewhere?

Date: 14th February 1854
Location: Aboard the RMS Titania

The passengers are abuzz with excitement about the new world waiting for us in America. I have taken to wearing a corset to blend in, though I despise the restriction.

I spent the afternoon sketching the machinery in the engine room, marvelling at how this era’s technology seems both primitive and ingenious. The captain invited me to dine at his table tonight. I wonder what he would say if he knew I had seen his ship displayed in a maritime museum centuries later, reduced to a scale model and a placard.

Date: 4th November 1929
Location: New York City, USA

The crash was only last week, but the city already feels like a graveyard. I watched men in suits weep on Wall Street, their fortunes scattered like confetti. I’ve taken to sitting in speakeasies, listening to jazz that vibrates with desperation and defiance. The music is a spark in the gloom.

Tonight, I met a man named Louis, a saxophonist who played as though the world wasn’t crumbling around him. “Music,” he said, “is how we keep time from swallowing us whole.” I didn’t tell him how literal those words are for me.

Date: 12th October 2156
Location: Astro Colony Alpha

The Earth is just a blue dot in the distance, almost too small to remember. Here, life is regimented: five hours of work, three hours of recreation, then lights out. I tried to ask the Overseer about the forests and rivers back on Earth, but he looked at me like I was malfunctioning. It seems humanity traded nature for the cold precision of metal and glass.

Still, the stars are beautiful here—so close, they feel like they might burn through the dome and swallow us whole. Tonight, I sneaked out to watch the constellations. For a moment, I thought I saw an ancient ship, its sails catching the light of a thousand suns.

Date: 11th November 2377
Location: Neo-Atlantis

The city floats above the waves, its spires glinting with sunlight filtered through the ocean’s surface. Neo-Atlantis is humanity’s refuge after the rising seas claimed the continents. The people here speak a hybrid language—snippets of English, Mandarin, and an electronic hum I can’t decipher. They wear clothes made of shimmering bio-fabric, which shifts colours with their emotions.

Today, I visited the archives, where holograms of old cities are displayed like relics. London, Paris, Cairo—all submerged, their histories reduced to flickering lights. I wondered if anyone here remembers what it was like to walk on solid ground.

Date: 3rd April 3012
Location: The Edge of the Andromeda Galaxy

The starship hums around me, its walls alive with glowing circuits. We’ve just crossed into uncharted space, the crew jubilant despite the vast emptiness stretching before us. The captain invited me to the observation deck, where we gazed at a nebula swirling in hues of violet and gold.

I’ve seen Earth’s history unfold, but this moment feels different—like the future itself is holding its breath. What will humanity become out here, so far from home? The stars don’t answer. They simply watch, as they always have.

Date: Unknown
Location: The Fractured Reality

The air here is thick with colours that do not exist in any other timeline. Shadows move without bodies, speaking secrets in languages that bypass the ears and sink straight into the mind. I do not know how I arrived here, only that the usual rules of time and space have ceased to apply.

I found a clock suspended in midair, its hands moving backwards. Beneath it, a sign reads: “Here lies the lost moment”. For the first time in my travels, I feel untethered. I am not sure I want to stay, but I am also reluctant to leave.

Date: Meaningless
Location: The Library at the Edge of Time

I’ve found it at last—a place I’d only heard through the cracks of history. The library exists on the edge of time, its halls stretching infinitely in every direction. Books, scrolls, and tablets fill the shelves, containing every story ever told and untold. I wandered along a path through its halls before finding a desk with a blank book waiting for me.

The ink flows effortlessly as I write these words, as if the library itself is recording my journey. Am I the first to find this place? Surely not. But I feel at home here, among the echoes of eternity.

Off the Menu

by Robert Walker, posted in Stories

INT. RESTAURANT – EVENING

A restaurant is moderately busy. A customer, REGINALD, sits at a table with a menu, tapping it rhythmically with a fork. The WAITER approaches with a polite smile.

WAITER: Good evening, sir. Have you decided what you’d like?

REGINALD: Yes, indeed. I’ll start with an amuse-bouche.

WAITER: Certainly. We have –

REGINALD: I’ll have a single kumquat stuffed with wasabi and garnished with edible gold leaf.

WAITER: I’m afraid we don’t have kumquats, sir. Or edible gold leaf.

REGINALD: No kumquats? In this economy? Fine, I’ll settle for a pickled ostrich egg, sliced thinly, served on a single lotus leaf.

WAITER: We don’t have ostrich eggs either, sir.

REGINALD: All right, let’s move on. For the main course, I’ll have… hmm… an elk steak, medium-rare, infused with truffle oil, and a side of glow-in-the-dark mashed potatoes.

WAITER: Glow-in-the-dark – ? Sir, I don’t believe that’s a thing.

REGINALD: (offended) Not a thing? I had it just last week in Piccadilly. Or was it a dream? Never mind, I’ll take a roasted dodo.

WAITER: A… dodo?

REGINALD: Yes, dodo. The extinct bird. They’re quite tender, I hear.

WAITER: Sir, they’ve been extinct for centuries.

REGINALD: So your restaurant isn’t sustainable, then? Disappointing.

WAITER: Perhaps something from the actual menu?

REGINALD: Fine, fine. For dessert, I’ll have a soufflé made with unicorn milk.

WAITER: Sir, unicorns don’t exist. May I recommend the chocolate cake? It’s very popular.

REGINALD: Cake? How pedestrian. Fine, but only if you flambé it at the table while reciting poetry.

WAITER: Poetry?

REGINALD: Byron, preferably. Or Shelley, if you’re in the mood.

WAITER: I’ll… see what I can do.

REGINALD: Splendid. Oh, and a drink. Bring me water. But not just any water. It must be glacier water, melted under the light of a full moon.

WAITER: Tap water, then?

REGINALD: If you must. But chill it with artisanal ice cubes.

WAITER: Artisanal ice cubes?

REGINALD: Hand-carved by a monk. Preferably one with a beard.

WAITER: I need a new job.

The waiter walks off, muttering, as Reginald begins inspecting his fork with great intensity.

New Years

by Robert Walker, posted in Stories

I’m sorry for the dreams I fled,

When I should’ve stayed and loved instead.

I’m sorry for the dreams I marred,

The tender hopes my silence scarred.

I’m sorry for the broken past,

Let’s find a way to heal at last.

Change begins within,

Where love lets life begin.

With hope, let’s breathe the dawn,

And live the year reborn;

Wipe away the tears of past mistakes,

Renew the vow that courage makes.

The Art of Synergy

by Robert Walker, posted in Stories

Right, good morning, team! Isn’t it just a great day to synergise? To streamline? To… innovate? You can feel the energy in this room, can’t you? Absolutely electric. As your line manager of Interdepartmental Synergy and Workflow Coordination, it’s my duty, my honour, to keep this ship sailing smoothly.

Now, I’ve been reflecting. Reflecting on how we can work smarter harder. And that’s why today, I am thrilled to announce the launch of the Efficiency Enhancement Initiative, or as I like to call it… The Big E.E.I. What is it, you ask? Well, it’s about improving our processes to… uh… ensure smoother workflows. Enhancing efficiencies, optimising our optimisations, streamlining our… streamlining. Simple, really.

As part of The Big E.E.I., I’ll be hosting something very exciting this afternoon: a Preliminary Pre-Brainstorming Session. Yes, you heard that correctly—a session where we prepare for next week’s main pre-meeting. Some might ask, “Why not just… have the meeting?” But that would miss the point entirely. Preparation is key. In this session, we’ll be discussing what we’ll be discussing in the next session. It’s genius, really. Layers of productivity.

And tomorrow? Oh, tomorrow is the big one. The Synergy Alignment Forum. Not just a meeting, mind you—a forum. It’s where ideas are born, nurtured, and allowed to thrive within the safe confines of… well, our current strategies. This week’s theme? Brace yourselves for this one: “Thinking Outside the Box While Staying Inside the Box.” Brilliant, isn’t it? It’s innovation, but with boundaries. You can think big, but only as big as the parameters I’ve already approved. That’s what I call vision.

Now, I know what you’re thinking. “Colin, haven’t we done this all before?” And to that, I say, yes—but not with this level of… synergy. Last week, for instance, we made an enormous breakthrough during our font selection workshop. Remember that? Four hours of collaboration, and we finally settled on Arial. Sleek, dynamic, versatile. And, yes, I know it was the default font, but isn’t that the beauty of efficiency? Sometimes, the answers are right in front of us.

You see, the work we do here is vital. Take Derek, for example. What’s he working on? Spreadsheets, probably. Or… something to do with synergy. Whatever it is, it’s important, and that’s what matters. And Sophie—brilliant Sophie—always ahead of the curve with her status reports. Although I do wish she’d resend them—I tend to skim and auto delete emails these days. Efficiency, you see. Why read everything when you can just read enough?

But let’s not forget the bigger picture. This isn’t just an office. No, no, no—this is a well-oiled machine, a hive of activity, a… a synergy factory. Look at you all, working tirelessly. Some might say, “Colin, what do you actually do?” And to that, I say, I facilitate. I motivate. I innovate. I coordinate synergy across interdepartmental workflows. And isn’t that what leadership is all about?

Right, I think that covers everything. Time for my mid-morning coffee. Keep up the good work, team. Remember: think outside the box, but not too far outside. Let’s keep those boundaries nice and tidy. Efficiency is key, after all.

The Society Within

by Robert Walker, posted in Stories

INT. DIMLY LIT MEDIEVAL MEETING CHAMBER – NIGHT

Several people sit behind a long table, all wearing hoods and robes. The Protagonist (let’s call him ALEX) stands before them as the others chant monotonously.

LEADER #1: (solemnly) And thus, by the power vested in me, as Grand Keeper of the Lesser Secrets, we welcome you into the hallowed halls of The Society of Midnight Shadows.

ALEX: (awkwardly) Thank you. It’s… such an honour.

LEADER #1: Shhh! We don’t say “thank you” here. It’s forbidden. Instead, you say, “The bat flies at midnight.”

ALEX: Right, of course. The bat flies at midnight.

LEADER #1: Excellent.

ALEX: Right. And, um… what does the Society of Midnight Shadows actually do?

LEADER #1: We are the silent guardians of the unspoken truths.

ALEX: Okay, but… what does that mean?

LEADER #1: Mostly we just meet here on Tuesdays. Sometimes we rearrange traffic cones to spell “danger”.

ALEX: (doubtful) That’s… very noble.

LEADER #1: And remember, this is the only secret society that truly matters.

A bookcase suddenly swings open, revealing a hidden room.

VOICE FROM HIDDEN ROOM: Oh, for heaven’s sake, stop telling people that! You’re not even a real society!

Alex is dragged by robed figures into the hidden room, where the Society of Eternal Whispers is gathered. They’re all wearing identical robes, but these ones are purple.

LEADER #2: Welcome to the real secret society.

ALEX: There’s… another one?

LEADER #2: Of course! Did you think that façade was real? How naïve. This is the Society of Eternal Whispers.

ALEX: What do you whisper about?

LEADER #2: (loudly whispering) Everything.

ALEX: Like what?

LEADER #2: (louder) Stop asking questions!

ALEX: (mutters) You’re not very good at being secret.

LEADER #2: (not hearing the comment) You are one of us now. Your first task is to prove your loyalty by reciting the Pledge of Eternal Subtlety.

ALEX: Fine. What is it?

LEADER #2: (grabs a scroll) Repeat after me: “I shall live in shadows, walk in whispers, and never wear yellow.”

ALEX: Why can’t I wear yellow?

LEADER #2: Because yellow doesn’t really coordinate well with purple. Now repeat!

ALEX: (resigned) I shall live in shadows, walk in whispers, and never wear yellow.

LEADER #2: (smirks) Perfect. You are now one of us.

Another bookcase swings open. Everyone groans.

VOICE FROM NEW HIDDEN ROOM: (mocking) Oh, look at you, so subtle. Real subtle, with your purple robes and dramatic whispers.

Alex is pulled by more robed figures into the next room, where the Society of Infinite Layers meets. They wear gold-trimmed robes and are eating biscuits.

LEADER #3: Welcome to the actual secret society.

ALEX: (exasperated) How many of these are there!?

LEADER #3: We’re the Society of Infinite Layers. We’ve been infiltrating the infiltrators for centuries.

ALEX: Do any of you actually do anything?

LEADER #3: How dare you! We’re responsible for all of society’s greatest advancements.

ALEX: Like what?

LEADER #3: (proudly) Biscuits. We standardised the size of biscuits in 1874.

ALEX: That’s it?

LEADER #3: And we control the national stockpile of custard creams.

ALEX: (mutters) That explains why they’re always out of stock.

LEADER #3: (ignoring Alex) Now, to prove yourself, you must complete our sacred task.

ALEX: (sighs) Let me guess. Something pointless?

LEADER #3: (offended) Not pointless! You must solve a Rubik’s cube in a tastefully darkened room while reciting the periodic table.

Before Alex can begin, another bookcase hidden door opens, revealing an elderly man sitting alone in a minimalist room.

LEADER #4: Don’t bother with that. Come in. You’ve reached the Ultimate Society.

The members of the Society of Infinite Layers tut their disapproval, as Alex enters the latest hidden room.

ALEX: (sceptical) Are you absolutely sure?

LEADER #4: Yes. I am the secret head of all secret societies.

ALEX: (relieved) Finally! So, what’s the ultimate secret?

LEADER #4: (leans in) The secret is… (pauses for dramatic effect) there is no secret.

ALEX: What? So you’re telling me I went through three ridiculous societies for nothing?

LEADER #4: Oh, it’s not for nothing. (hands Alex a biscuit) Have a custard cream.

Accountancy Jokes

by Robert Walker, posted in Stories

What’s an accountant’s least favourite drink?
Anything that doesn’t come with a receipt.

What do accountants say when they’re shocked?
“That’s a significant variance!”

What do accountants sing on New Year’s Eve?
“Should old accounts be reconciled…”

What do accountants name their cats?
Cash and Flow.

What do accountants name their dogs?
Debit and Credit.

What’s an accountant’s favourite film?
“Return of the Journal Entry”.

What do accountants write in love letters?
“You’ve increased the value of my assets.”

What’s an accountant’s favourite fairy tale?
Goldilocks and the Three Balance Sheets.

What’s an accountant’s favourite board game?
Risk — it helps them manage their capital exposure.

Jokey Thoughts

by Robert Walker, posted in Stories

My coworker said they work better under pressure, so I started sending them emails with the subject line: “URGENT: THE WORLD IS ENDING.” Productivity hasn’t improved.

I saw a trailer for a new superhero movie. It’s about a guy who gets bitten by a radioactive sloth. His superpower? Extreme patience.

The Dark Ages weren’t really dark. That’s just what happens when a historian writes the story without paying the electricity bill.

My ex said, “You’ll never find someone like me.” I said, “That’s the point.”

I told my goldfish a joke. He just stared at me like he’d heard it before. I guess I need new material.

Old Friends

by Robert Walker, posted in Stories

INT. A QUIET CAFÉ – DAY

STEVE (in his 40s, slightly dishevelled) is sitting at a corner table with a coffee and a half-eaten croissant. The door opens with the sound of an eerie wind, though nobody else in the café reacts. Enter DEATH, wearing a classic black robe, but with a cup of takeaway coffee in hand. He approaches Steve, who looks up in confusion.

DEATH: (cheerily) Ah, there you are! It’s been a while. How’ve you been?

STEVE: Sorry, do I know you?

DEATH: (mocking offence) Do you know me? Oh, come on. After everything we’ve been through? All the near misses? The times you dodged me like we’re in some sort of game of tag?

STEVE: You must have me confused with someone else. I don’t think we’ve met.

DEATH: (laughs) Oh, please. It’s me. Death. You know… The Death. Big D. Grim Reaper. Ringing any bells?

STEVE: (staring) Death? As in… Death?

DEATH: Bingo. I mean, you’ve seen my work. Not to brag, but I’m kind of a legend.

STEVE: Okay… um, what do you want?

DEATH: (sitting down uninvited) Oh, you know, the usual. Bit of a catch-up. Quick chat before we get down to business.

STEVE: (panicking slightly) Business? What business?

DEATH: (ignoring him, takes a sip of coffee) So, what did you mess up this time? Honestly, it’s inspiring the skill you have at that sort of thing.

STEVE: I haven’t messed up anything! I’m just sitting here having a coffee. What are you talking about?

DEATH: Honestly, you’re impossible to keep track of. One minute you’re climbing dodgy ladders, the next you’re crossing motorways like you’ve got a death wish – oh wait, that’s my department. (chuckles)

STEVE: Wait a second. Are you saying I’ve… dodged you?

DEATH: Oh, several times! And not even in cool, action-hero ways. That time you choked on a peanut at the zoo? Classic. I was ready with the scythe, but no, here comes some stranger with the Heimlich manoeuvre. Rude.

STEVE: That’s not my fault. I didn’t ask to choke or be saved!

DEATH: (leaning back) Well, no one asks for these things, mate. But you’re a regular Houdini. So, what’s it today? Heart attack? Falling sign? Spontaneous combustion? Don’t keep me in suspense.

STEVE: Nothing! I’m perfectly fine. Healthy as ever! No signs, no combustion. Look, is this some kind of joke?

DEATH: (ignoring him) Right, anyway, let’s move this along, shall we? Any regrets? Unfinished business? That time you pretended you were sick to avoid your cousin’s wedding – you want me to apologise to her on your behalf?

STEVE: How did you? – look, this is ridiculous. I’m not dying today!

DEATH: That’s what you said last Tuesday when you thought it was a good idea to microwave an egg.

STEVE: Look, I don’t know who – or what – you are, but I’m not ready to go anywhere with you. You’ve got the wrong guy.

DEATH: (calmly sipping his coffee) Hmm, bold words. You know, I get that a lot. “Not ready, wrong guy, I’m too young.” (sighs) You humans act like I’m some sort of telemarketer. It’s a bit hurtful.

STEVE: Maybe because you show up uninvited and start scaring people?

DEATH: (offended) Scaring? I’m delightful! I bring closure! Peace! And, occasionally, free coffee. (gestures to his cup) Speaking of, I got this from that new café down the street. Lovely macchiato. Shame you never got to try it.

STEVE: (panicking again) What? Why not?

DEATH: Oh, relax. I’m just messing with you. Not your time. Yet.

STEVE: You can’t just waltz in here, make me think I’m about to die, and then say “just kidding!”

DEATH: Why not? Keeps things spicy. Anyway, I’ll let you get back to your coffee. But seriously, maybe avoid tall ladders for a while. Just a hunch.

STEVE: Great. Now Death gives DIY advice.

DEATH: (heading towards the door) Hey, I’m looking out for you. Sort of. Catch you later…