The Snow Goose
The three words deliver "Heaven". The addition of one more word "pillow" and you have the essentials of a life of pure bliss.
I make no bones about it; Hungarian goose down pillows will be the downfall of civilisation, or my very small corner of it. For what is, in terms of the larger benefits, a modest outlay a couple of pillows filled with the down of some Slavic geese are a bargain.
Then there are their Siberian cousins! Companions in bliss and all things gorgeous. The great Marxist experiment wouldn't have failed, the wall wouldn't have tumbled down if the Commies had realised the ballistic destructive equivalence of a Hungarian/Siberian goose down pillow.
Instead of exporting Ladas and caviar, the Communist's 5 year planners should have built goose farms across the length and breath of Siberia, Hungary and anywhere else geese feel at home. Mass exportation of pillows, flooding every High Street, every Habitat and Biba would have had the West on its knees. Or on its side soundly sleeping.
No need for MAD, no need to build arsenals of intercontinental ballistic missiles brimming with megatons of TNT. No Bay of Pigs, no Cuban Crisis, no Vietnam War, just the sweet rhythmic sound of Europe, America and other free nations of the World blissfully asleep, as millions snuggle up to their beloved goose down pillows.
You might think we've had a close shave, but you're wrong. The threat is still there, the danger ever present.
You can't have failed to have noticed the upsurge in ads for goose down pillows. At this very moment our High Streets are knee deep in them. I should know. The missus and I went to the John Lewis clearance sale today - and bought two "Hungarian goose down" pillows: both for me! Strictly speaking they were 90% down and 10% feather, but who's noticing.
They were my wife's Xmas present to me - I've always wondered about her political leanings. I think she's a Commie sleeper.
Anyway, here am I in bed trying hard not to doze, head sinking slowly into my two little clouds of heaven.
Now I can say I've had goose for Christmas - with all the trimmings.
Comments
"Sir, can I please see that bag?" he asks. "Sure," says the hunter and hands the bag over.
The Inspector looks through the bag, pulls out one goose, and sticks his finger up its ass. He pulls it out, smells it and says, "This here's a Virginia goose, do you have a Virginia Hunting License?"
The hunter looks through his wallet and pulls out it and shows it to the inspector. The inspector nods and sticks his hand in the bag and pulls out another goose.
He sticks his finger up it's ass and says, "This here's a Maine goose, do you have a Maine Hunting License?"
The hunter looks again through his wallet, pulls out the card, and shows it to the inspector. He nods again, and pulls out the last goose. He does the routine and says, "This here is a Rhode Island goose, do you have a Rhode Island Hunting License?"
The hunter fishes through his wallet, shows the card to the inspector and puts it back in.
"Boy," you having all these licenses, where you from?" asks the Inspector.
The hunter pulls down his pants and asks, "Why don't you find out?"
Filth.
All my sympathies are with you Karen.
If at any time you want a pillow to lie on......