Imaginary conversations with real hysterical people

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Humor  |  House: Booksie Classic
I have based the stories on real historical figures having imaginary conversations. You might find them strange or amusing. I wonder what you think of them? Be honest! Only a few people have read them and they thought them very obscure! I admit you have to know a bit about the characters before they make any sense at all.

Submitted: January 08, 2010

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Submitted: January 08, 2010



An Atom Bomb of Your Very Own

Ghengis Khan opened the door and ushered J. Robert Oppenheimer in, glancing back over his shoulder to see if his wife was around. The two men had been friends for years though they didn't always agree. But it was a regular Saturday get together to chew the fat and watch a bit of footy.
Ghengis leaned back in his chair. He curled his lip, rolled his eyes and snorted. "But what's the good of destroying the world rather than conquering it? Where's the fun in that? When do you get to rape and pillage and loot?
He paused."Can you make any money on these bombs, Bob?
Oppenheimer looked thoughtful "Maybe." He added "If the price was right everyone would want one."
Ghengis Khan looked doubtful.
Oppenheimer leaned forward, warming to the subject. "I mean, every tin pot African despot from Idi Amin to Robert Magabe would pay good money for a nice bomb."
Khan smiled '"Can I have one then?'
"Well, you can't just hand 'em out like candy, Khan." replied Oppenheimer in his best serious voice. " Kim Jong-il, Hitler and the Castro brothers would want them ....and those Indonesian guys too.
You mean like Sillyname BangBang DoYouKnowMe? asked Khan.
"Who? "asked Oppenheimer.
"You know ! Sillyname BangBang DoYouKnowMe!" said Khan laughing.
"No, not him. I think Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono's OK. But why do you think he would want a bomb?"
Openheimer was always the most serious of the two and he often didn't get Ghengis's little jokes.
"Well, I don't really. I just like saying his name!" said Khan smirking.
Oppenheimer finally got it and grinned as he reached for another tinnie.
"So, do you think the Americans would want one if they didn't already have one?" Khan asked.
" Oh, for sure" replied Oppy "George Bush in particular would have loved his own personal bomb for Saddam."
Khan thought for a moment before his razer sharp wit suggested another joke.
"Wouldn't have got one though." he said. "Couldn't figure out what to call it when he was filling out the requisition form!  I can just hear him in that slow drawl of his. " Laura, ...LAURA, honey! Do you spell it N U C L E A R or N U C U L A R ?'"
Even Oppy got the joke first off this time.
He became serious again " I tell you what though, Khan. Who'd have ever thought we'd have a president named Barack Obama! Sounds almost foreign, doesn't it."
"Did you know his middle name is Hussein?" asked Khan.
Oppy looked surprised "No, I didn't! Well , doesn't that beat all ! " He went on. "I did know his father used to call him Barry though."
Khan looked amused."Barry, eh! Not a very flash name for a president . A bit like Stu or Nick or Bruce. It should have been something redneck like Billy Bob , Ange's ex, eh. That would have been a hoot!"
Both men were silent for a moment before Khan broke the silence with a raucous laugh."Reminds me of that Monty Python sketch - You know the one 'My name be.....Tim! ' " He laughed so hard his whole body shook. He straightened his helmet which had slipped over one eye giving him a rakish look.
Oppy slapped his thigh."Now, that was funny...........Tim!"
Khan switched on the TV. It flickered into life, the strident voice of the commentator piercing the quiet suburban afternoon.
Khan lit his pipe and Oppy puffed on a cigar.The air became thick with the blue haze of smoke and the fetid smell of old butts.
Mrs Khan's voice rang through the room." Didn't I tell you to mow the lawn last Saturday, Ghengi !" She said , her use of his pet name doing little to nullify the annoyance in her tone. She was an old Tartar when she wanted to be. But then Ghengis was a bit of an old Mongol at times too.
Khan rolled his eyes again and stretched his arms out wide, yawning. Oppenheimer stood up and walked to the door."I had better go.The Missus has a list as long as my arm for me too."
As he reached for the doorknob, he turned and laughed. "Sillyname BangBang DoYou KnowMe. Good one, Khan!"

Ian Fleming and his alter ego.

"Jamaica?" He asked petulantly.
Ian allowed his annoyance an outlet. He was enjoying the alliteration a little too much. And yet it was only an illusion as he had only uttered the word "Jamaica" with an upwards inflection. The rest of his thoughts remained just that - thoughts.

"Jamaica?" He asked again.

Roderick looked puzzled then amused, then puzzled again. "No. I didn't make her. She wanted to go!"
Ian carressed the Smith and Wesson cradled in his coat pocket and pondered for a moment. Was he just Ian Flemming or was he his alter ego, James Bond, with a license to kill? The answer came in a blinding flash. It may have been illegal but certainly not immoral to rid the world of someone who told such old, bad jokes with such impunity.

He had always liked Celia but Roderick was a crashing bore. What was once improbable was now imminent. Of course, given a little more time and a little closer location, his effortless and fatal charm would have won her over - She would have become as limp as a dead rat in a terrier's mouth and totally under his control. But time was precious - disposing of Roderick was quicker.

The cat blew itself up and spat before leaping from the piano and prancing accross the room. James smiled. Cats were so amusing when they were disturbed!

Make it is as Glorious in other Peoples' Minds as it is in Yours.

I can be as enigmatic and as mysterious as the next person!" Queen Victoria said.
"If .. I .. want .. to." carefully emphasizing every word in her sentence.
Disreali nodded his agreement. He was thinking of his wife, Mary Ann.
Gladstone leaned forward in his chair.
"I can be as obscure as anyone too,Your Majesty." he said "But I need feedback!"
Victoria , who had been leaning on the mantelpiece, her back to the two men, turned sharply, the stiff black fabric of her gown rustling in the quiet room. "OK, Dude.You win. I understand."
She paused and looked thoughtful. "Actually, I don't." she admitted."Do you want the same? Different? A continuation? A new story?"
Anything you want, Ma'am" replied Gladstone. "Just as long as it is as glorious in other peoples' minds as it is in yours."
Victoria nodded approvingly.
Both men visibly relaxed, Disreali a little too much. He was no longer thinking of Mary Ann.
Gladstone allowed himself a fleeting smile. A full minute passed. Disreali muttered, half aloud, half to himself and half in his mind. "Feedback. Yes, feedback."
He was back onto Mary Annagain.

Irritaton is the sincerest form of flattery

Alexander the Great sat with his back against the wall, his feet on the heavily laden table. He was feeling a bit sulky. Killing his best friend was not the greatest thing he had ever done. He had always assumed that Clitus had been 'taking the mick' but now he was not so sure. Wasn't imitation the sincerest form of flattery?
But he had not been so irked since he'd been stuck with Darius' family after the latter had taken off. Or his mother calling him 'Alexander the OK' - and in front of the troops no less! Or for that matter, his people having the hide to object to him marrying 'that Persian girl' as they had called her. She was actually a Bactrian Princess but he didn't advertise that fact too much. They would have called her 'Camel Girl' for sure!
But he did miss Clitus .... A lot. Especially those late night chess tournaments in the barracks with Roxana serving those home made biscuits that he had liked so much. Good old Roxy! He could never understand why the people had not taken to her. She was never adverse to knocking up a batch of 'Persian Surprises' at short notice and, enough for all the men on duty too.
"Where was she?" He thought with sudden annoyance."She isn't dead too, is she?"
As he idly flicked grapes off the table with his big toe, he thought aloud to himself. "Those anger management classes wouldn't have been such a bad idea after all."

Are we there yet? or Irritation is the Surest form of Flatmate.

I am a bit disappointed " said Napoleon gravely. "I know how brilliant you can be."
"Irritation is the surest form of flatmate." thought Champolleon, though he knew very well flattery could work. It had worked for him after all. A little too well, in hindsight. Changing his name to sound so similar to the Emperor has gotten him an important flatmate, or in this case, tentmate.
Ignoring his companion's silence , Napoleon went on." So when will I get something?"
Champolleon sighed. It had been like this all the way from France to Egypt. "Are we there yet? Are we there yet?" So he was not surprised that the Emperor was growing impatient over the Rosetta Stone.
Champolleon knew his patron's ego made every delay seem like a personal attack.
It's nothing personal," He replied " but it is a teensy, weensy bit hard to decipher a dead language. I am not trying to annoy you but I do need a bit more time. I am so overworked and I am doing my very best."
Napoleon was still not impressed. He was grumpier than usual. He had slept badly and had lain on his hand all night and now it was cold and all pins and needles. He stuffed his hand into the front of his jacket and hoped he would get some feeling back into it. He was getting his portrait painted today.
Champolleon glanced around Napoleon's tent. For a guy who had stolen half the art treasures of Europe, it was somewhat sparsely decorated. Except for that damn great slab of black granite, just sitting there, mocking him. He kicked at it but stubbed his toe. He swore under his breath....several times.
What was that?" asked Napoleon "Have you worked something out? Will I get something?"

A Theory about Relatives

"It can be so lonely without someone to talk to...someone of the same intellectual capacity."said Einstein in that heavy German accent he had cultivated over the years.
"I did try to talk to my wife once but it got frustrating. She understood so little and her English was not so good. "Relativity?" she had said, "Do you mean Relatives? Are your relatives coming to visit?"
Einstein seemed to recall that she had then cocked her eyebrow, smirked and said " I have my own theories about your relatives!"
" I had to smack her around the ears, you know, Stephen" He said, leaning forward in a conspiratorial fashion.
" I ...know... what... you ...mean, Albert "said Hawkins in that clipped, robotic voice he affected when he was nervous.
"I ...left... my.. wife.. and... ran... off ...with ...nurse. Well...act-u-all-y...I with ..her. Or,... more ......acc-u-rat-ly," He paused and looked at Einstein expectantly.
Einstein merely nodded. Hawkins looked miffed, or would have if he could have moved his face and then added.
"It...was...a...joke......Einstein...You...are ....laugh..." He paused , this time for some time, trying, and failing miserably, to inject some sarcasm into his voice.
".It so... ...joke...or...a...funn-y...stor-y No-bod-y I ...a ...great...sci-en-tist...but...I
Einstein tittered nervously. No one would ever know this side of his own personality either, especially now that he was dead.


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