Post by Peter MoylanPost by Guy BarryPost by R H DraneyPost by Mack A. Damia"This is actually a play on a practice of the British Army back in the
imperial days, when officers (particularly those of noble birth)
accused of heinous crimes would be given the option of a pistol with
one shot, and a bottle of whiskey. Their subsequent "suicide" would be
less damaging to their family than a trial."
I suppose the whisky is supposed to take away the inhibition against using the
revolver, but there's a drawback...as Heinlein put it, "Beware of strong drink;
it can make you shoot at tax collectors -- and miss"....r
I wondered about that as well. Left in a room with a bottle of whisky
and a revolver, I think I'd be most likely to drink all the whisky and
pass out.
You have to do these things in the right order. First you shoot
yourself, and then you drink the whisky.
(Don't laugh; you're next.)
When this thread first started, I thought it was going to be like the
very first shaggy dog story I heard which I will try to relate in a
relatively shortened form:
One dark and stormy night, a man turns up at the gate of the remote
monastery where I had recently entered holy orders. He asked to see the
Abbot, so I escorted him to the Abbot's chamber.
"Please", he said, shivering with cold, "Could you give me an apple, a
slice of bread, a glass of water and lock me in one of your cells for
the night?"
"Are you sure you need to be locked in?" asked the Abbot.
"Oh, yes. That is vital", came the reply.
The Abbot agreed, I brought the bread, apple and water and locked the
door with the massive, old-fashioned key.
Next morning I was sent to ask the man if would like to join us for our
meagre breakfast, but when I unlocked the door the cell was empty: the
bread was gone, the apple too, even the core, and the glass was as dry
as if it had been polished.
This went on for years. Every time, the man would turn up in the middle
of a storm, make the same simple request and disappear from his locked
room. One night, he turned up as the Abbot was dying, and the Abbot
asked to see him.
"Tell me son", said the Abbot, "I will never see you again, so before I
die, will you please tell me how you manage to disappear from a locked
cell like that?"
"I will tell you, but you must tell no-one else", declared the visitor.
I left the two together. By morning, the Abbot had passed away. The
mysterious man too had disappeared and never to return again, and as the
Abbot didn't pass on the secret, we never did get to the bottom of the
mystery.
--
Robert Bannister (Don't you hate shaggy dog stories!)