The Lunatic

“Are you looping the loop again?” I asked the neighborhood lunatic.

“Yes, it’s hard work,” he said wiping his brow after climbing down the lamp post for the eighteenth time.

“What do you see up there?” I asked him.

“I ensure that the lamp posts are going out on regular dates,” he said.

“Do they go out? They can’t be of much use at night then,” I remarked.

“No, no,” the lunatic corrected me, “they go out dating.”

“Lamp posts go out dating!” I exclaimed.

“They all have their secret love lives,” the nut said nodding his head, “they can’t always be like the young cad who stood on the burning deck.”

“Do lamp posts burn the candle at both ends?” I asked eagerly.

“When the bulbs kick the bucket, they have to get candles from the grocers at a premium,” the fellow said, “the grocers make a quick buck when the lamp posts are fumbling about in the dark looking for loose change.”

“You can spare some loose change for the lamp posts,” I suggested.

“I can’t do that, I can only change tires,” the lunatic said, “and do some charging on the side.”

“What do you charge?” I inquired interestedly.

“I charge bulls waving red flags,” the lunatic said.

“Do you charge them frequently?” I asked amazed.

“Whenever they are low on bullshit,” he said.

“Have you ever dated a lamp post?” I asked curiously.

“I did, but almost landed up in the hospital when its rival kicked my shins out of malice,” he sighed.

“Dating lamp posts can be dangerous as also eloping with them,” I remarked.

“I know, they set up kangaroo courts to try offenders,” the lunatic said.

“Where do they get the kangaroos from?” I asked fascinated.

“From the local pet store on credit,” he said.

“They have credit cards?” I asked amazed.

“They give credit where credit is due,” the nut said informatively.

“Very credible of them,” I remarked.

“Especially when they run out of coins,” the lunatic said.

“They use currency notes too?” I enquired.

“Lamp posts have their own mint,” the fellow said.

“They must be minting money!” I exclaimed.

“They also have money plants,” the lunatic said, “It helps to keep some money aside every month.”

“They must be very thrifty,” I declared.

“Yes, but they also pass the buck when no one is looking,” he said.

“But do the bucks pass muster?” I asked.

“When they are on the muster roll,” he replied.

“They must be able to muster a lot of courage?” I asked.

“The lamp posts are very courageous when a dog comes sniffing around and raises its hind leg,” the nut said.

“What do they do?” I asked.

“The lamp posts growl like sheep to scare the pants off them,” he said.

“It must certainly make a dog feel sheepish!” I said.

“Especially the Hound of the Baskervilles,” he said, “Sherlock Holmes always lit his pipe with lamp posts.”

“Quite a pipe collection he must have had,” I remarked admiringly.

“His private collection of lamp posts was also splendid,” the nut said, “He always kept an eye on them to prevent Dr. Watson from filching a handful.”

“Where did Holmes keep his collection?” I asked.

“Up the chimney, of course, to prevent them from going up in smoke,” the lunatic said.

“Didn’t he know that smoking is dangerous?” I asked.

“His chimney had a label ‘Smoking Causes Hiccups’ as a warning,” the nut said.

“But did it make his chimney quit smoking?” I asked.

“No, it switched over to a pipe,” the fellow said.

“Piped smoke should be better,” I commented, “must be something like piped gas.”

“Yes, like bagpipes that the Red Indians smoked when making peace,” the nut said informatively.

“I thought that it was the Scots who did that,” I said.

“Yes when they drink scotch and soda,” he replied, “and draw smoke rings with their left ear.”

“When did they let you out?” I asked cautiously.

“About a month ago,” the lunatic said.

“Did you get bail?” I enquired.

“Yes, the magistrate dispatched it by email and also sent me bait and fishing tackle to go after the big fish,” he said proudly.

“That must have been very fishy!” I exclaimed.

“The magistrate advised me that I should never feel like a fish out of water,” the lunatic said.

“And you liked the feel?”

“No, it was the nurse who felt my pulse and removed the bandages after the electric shocks,” he corrected me.

“Must have been a shocking experience,” I replied.

“Quite an experience it was,” he agreed, “Experience is the father of wisdom.”

“Who is its mother?” I questioned.

“A lamp post probably,” the nut said scratching his head.

“Are you as nutty as a fruitcake or just mad as a March hare?

“Do they make them in April too?” he questioned eagerly.

“You can’t make March hares in April,” I pointed out.

“When do they reproduce?” the nut asked.

“Only after the censors say so,” I replied.

“Do they get an ‘A’ certificate?” he asked.

“Only after graduation,” I remarked.

“And, electric shocks after post graduation?” he queried.

“If you need an aftershock,” I said.

“Very easy to digest,” the lunatic said.

“What?”

“Electricity of course!” he said, “Very good for health.”

“Did your doctor prescribe it?” I asked.

“Don’t speak to me of the doctor!” He exclaimed.

“Why?”

“Because he is a loony doctor,” the lunatic said in disgust.

“How long was he locked up?” I asked.

“They threw away the key, but he found it somehow and let himself out of his padded cell,” the loony said.

“Were you in the cell next to him?” I asked.

“I was, otherwise how would I consult him?” he said.

“You must be mad,” I remarked.

“I did not know you were a doubting Thomas,” he snapped.

 “You should join the Mad Hatter’s tea party,” I suggested.

“Not him again, the last time we partied he tried to stick straws into my hair,” the lunatic said appalled.

“But I see that you are bald?” I said peering closely at his head.

“Certainly not, there were at least seven hairs when I last counted them and another was being born!” he exclaimed.

“I hope the last one was not a stillbirth?”

“No, the doctors revived it with artificial respiration,” he said proudly.

“So you are raising eight hairs?” I asked.

“It’s a hair-raising experience,” he admitted.

“Did the lamp posts call on you while you were convalescing?” I questioned.

“They did and also brought me flowers with a bee in the bonnet,” the lunatic said.

“What happened to the bee?”

“It followed ‘C’ and disappeared out of the window,” he replied.

“They both must be looking out for you?” I said guardedly.

“Don’t tell them,” he said suddenly frightened.

“Why not?” I asked.

“They will take me back to the loony bin,” he said.

“I hope you don’t bite,” I said apprehensively.

“Only on Wednesdays and Saturdays and that too if the postman is late,” the lunatic said.

“Doesn’t the postman mind?” I asked surprised.

“Why should he, he doesn’t mind a bite or two before lunch.”

“It must whet the appetite,” I remarked.

“And, I always walk a mile up a lamp post after dinner,” he said informatively.

“It must be the breeze up there that is gratifying,” I said.

“No it makes the blood rush to my head when I hang upside down,” he said chuckling.

“Is it good for digestion?”

“Also good for flatulence,” he replied.

“You mean when they lay you flat out in an ambulance before putting the straitjacket on?” I queried.

“That’s not so bad as when they turn a hose on me before breakfast,” he said dejectedly.

“Don’t be so sad,” I said, “just show me where your straitjacket is and I will help you into it.”

“It’s at the tailor's,” he said brightly, “I wanted a refit.”

“Oh!” I exclaimed.

“I have slimmed down considerably after my last session at the gym with the psychiatrist,” he said.

“Was he wearing a white jacket?” I questioned.

“They all do, that’s the fashion among loony doctors and veterinarians,” he said.

“You mean doctors for the birds, bees, and birdbrains?” I queried.

“Also for orangutans, baboons and enlightened lamp posts,” he said informatively.

“They must be highly qualified?” I said in awe.

“Yes and they ask their mirrors daily who is the brightest of them all,” the lunatic said.

“And who is that?” I asked surprised.

“The lamp post, of course,” he said, “when it plays the last post on the harmonium to the postmaster.”

 “The postmaster must have a very musical ear,” I said admiringly.

“He also has a nose like a trumpet case,” the nut said.

“Does he blow it often?”

“He loves blowing his own trumpet,” the lunatic said, “especially when he is stamping letters.”

“Don’t the people in queue mind?” I asked.

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because he has crackpot stamped all over him,”  the loony said.

“Did he escape too?” I questioned warily.

“They all eventually do because the chaps managing the lunatic asylums are always wanting a raise,” the lunatic said.

“That’s the trouble with labor unions,” I sighed.

“I have heard of the labor room too,” the chap said, “They make test tube babies there.”

“Don’t they test the waters first?” I asked surprised.

“No water I told you, I hate cold showers before breakfast,” he said angrily.

“You mustn’t get angry, just put on your straitjacket,” I said with a winning smile.

“Do I also get to wear a tie?” he asked hopefully.

“Do they tie you to the bed sometimes?” I asked curiously.

“Only when I get violent during the full moon,” the lunatic said.

“It’s not the full moon now,” I said nervously.

“I must climb the lamp post again to verify it,” he said excitedly.

“You can also ascertain if the lamp posts are out mating,” I said helpfully.

“They mate when they play chess,” the lunatic informed me importantly, “they learned that in biology class.”

“Oh!”

“Check and mate,” the lunatic said,” they are very particular.”

“They check their mates?”

“In the matrimonial columns,” he replied.

“Oh!”

“Ask Garry Kasparov or Bobby Fisher!”

“Are they like the Kingfisher?” I asked puzzled.

“Birds of a feather, flock together,” he said, “Do you play rummy or chess?”

“Neither, “I replied, “But I can play the fool.”

“On April first? That’s a coincidence, I was first diagnosed with lunacy years ago on that date after I bit a car trying to overtake me,” the nutcase said.

“There, you see you bite,” I said backing away.

“Do you want me to bite you with the incisors, canines or premolars, the choice is yours,” the lunatic said generously.

“But you should not do that without brushing your teeth,” I said turning pale.

“I always bite on an empty stomach, doctor’s orders you see,” he said.

“Why don’t you climb that lamp post to see if the coast is clear,” I said tensely.

“Good idea,” he said slapping me on the back, “Actually, I keep a pair of false teeth there, just in case my incisors get blunt.”

“Let me help you up,” I said catching him my the scruff of his neck and kicking him swiftly in the pants.

“You mustn’t do that do your guests,” he gasped.

“I am also calling the fire brigade,” I said ominously.

“You mean they are going to use the hosepipe on me again?”

“They will not only water the lilies and your insides, but also check to see if you need dental surgery, a Cat scan or just a plain lynching,” I shouted, slipped indoors and shot the bolt home.