Trio no. 4
by Ben Huberman
Today you can write about anything, in whatever genre or form, but your post must include a speeding car, a phone call, and a crisp, bright morning. (Wildcard: you can swap any of the above for a good joke.)
My (late) husband R was an Army officer. When in mood he would talk of past exploits. One joke was about his senior officer JK.
JK was tall, and hefty. His military boots must have weighed a ton (when his feet were in it). He posed himself as a brave one, but inside he was a coward through, and through.
There has been many wars, and skirmishes with India. As soon as bullets started zinging to and fro, JK would leave his post, and run back from the front line to the trenches at the back. He would drop down feet first on unsuspecting heads to hide there.
It was the standard warning to officers, and men alike, “Beware of JK’s boots. The bullet may not kill you, but JK’s boots will, when he drops down on your heads.”