Short Story – Mr Man and his Crocodiles

There once was a man. And Mr Man was his name, if I remember correctly. He used to spend oh so many hours just cavorting around, care free, running here and there, to and fro, pandering to every whim his little old head could muster. But one day…dot dot dot…something happened. A terrible thing. A terrible thing full of two terrible beasties. For one day Mr Man decided to go shopping. But not any old shopping, oh no, that was too simple for Mr Man. CROCODILE shopping. That’s right dear reader, do not adjust your eyes, you read it correctly. Shopping for crocodiles.

Who needs a crocodile, and for what purpose? These are some of the questions that philosophers and great men have struggled with through the ages.

Anyway, Mr Man was very picky when it came to crocodiles. When it came to alligators he was relatively easy going, as long as it was willing to learn the kazoo he was happy. But crocodiles are a whole different kettle of crocodiles. So strolling up and down the shop Mr Man made several checks. Did the crocodile look happy? Was the crocodile classically trained in the bassoon AND oboe? Was the crocodile willing, for a price, to assist Mr Man on several engineering projects he had going on? After several hours of stringent questioning, Mr Man had narrowed it down to 2 crocodile candidates. Or ‘crocdidates’ as he liked to call them.

Unable to decide between the two, he chose them both, and then (after a brief stop at the trouser shop followed by a moving musical number to a gang of brazen pelicans (the story of which I have no time to delve right now…but maybe another time)) he headed home. By the time they were back time was knocking on…it was quarter past late! Mr Man stretched, yawned, and in a content state that todays whim was over, bid his new crocodiles goodnight and went to bed. But he never woke up. Ever. Again. To death.

It turned out that the crocodiles were in fact man and wife. But not the happy “let’s go buy cups and cushions and be happy forever” kind. No, they were the Bonnie and Clyde of the crocodile world, as it were. They gobbled up poor old Mr Man as he slept, escaped, stole his car, and went on to open a haberdashery in Shoreditch.

The moral of the story?

I’m not sure.