When Tony kicked his shoes off, when he returned home from work, he did it the same way as he had since he could remember. He couldn’t be arsed bending down and undoing the laces. Simply used one foot against the heel of the other shoe and forced the foot out. The last shoe would always be flicked up into the air, to crash against the ceiling and land with satisfying ‘splat’ on the staircase, where it would then proceed to tumble, ‘thump thump thump’ all the way down, where it lay, till his screeching wife Cherie would eventually pick it up and place it on the ‘shoe rack’.
Today was different.
As the right shoe bounced it way down as usual, there was a deeper note, and as it slid to a halt, Tony looked at in puzzlement and took a step forwards, only to crash down onto his face.
From a distance of two hands spread, Tony stared through pain watered eyes at the shoe. Something was wrong. Very wrong. It wasn’t the fact that his sour smelling grey/white sock protruded over the split and worn back of the leather shoe, but that it appeared his foot was still in it!
They sent Tony to a small island, just off the coast, to where the other Lepers lived. He couldn’t really complain. Being an idle sod anyway, life wasn’t so bad. Food and beer was dropped by helicopter every Thursday, Satellite T.V., 24/7. No worries in the world, except at some stage he might fall apart at the seams. The other inhabitants suffered their equal lot with quite dignity. In fact, they would take their fate with morbid humour. The women would giggle over so and so losing his member in the middle of a hefty session, the men would joke how so and so had proudly shown her breasts during one drunken orgy, only to find one was missing.
Tony settled in well, and soon had a regular Poker game going every Wednesday. Then it happened. What every Poker player dreams of. A ‘Royal Flush’, no wild cards. The stakes were high. Cigarettes the only currency. Tony knew he had the others and bet his entire allocated ration. The pile grew and grew, as the other 7 players bid and bid. Tony knew that when he won this hand, and, he had to, the odds of two Royal Flushes were as miniscule as finding life in the Whitehouse, he would have the monopoly on fags for the next week.
“CALL!”, and Tony placed the Royal Flush down on the table and grinned wickedly.
The others threw their hands in with disgust and Tony laughed his head off.