Satiricus was exhausted. He shuffled into the Back Street Bar as if in a daze, as his buddies watched him anxiously. As he plunked down into his seat, they waved frantically to the waitress to bring a cold beer in the hope it could revive the clearly “out of it” Satiricus.
“Ah wha’ wrang, Budday?” asked Bungi solicitously. “Yuh look like yuh bin a wuk a backdam fuh wan week!”
“Worse!” groaned Satiricus, as he downed the beer in one swig and signalled the waitress to bring another.
“So what is it?” queried Hari. “Your editor had you covering the Bangladesh and Australia match that ended at 2 in the morning?”
“Worse!” mumbled Satiricus between gulps of his second beer. “My neighbour’s daughter got married, and they’ve been blasting music for THREE NIGHTS IN A ROW TO 2 IN THE MORNING!”
“Me hear am too,” said Bungi. “But me t’ink yuh bin like music?”
“I like music all right,” said Satiricus. “But not when it shakes my whole house! I haven’t slept in three nights!”
“But what about all the noise the police have been making about NOT making noise?” grinned Hari. “Didn’t you call them to complain?”
“Police?!” snorted Satiricus so loudly his beer almost came through his nose. “The police were sporting more than my neighbours!”
“But wha’ yuh a complain about, Sato?” asked Bungi, not so sympathetically anymore. “Na ayuh custom fuh play music ‘fuh dig dutty’ day, weddin’ day and then ‘meat day’?”
“I know our weddings stretch over several days,” confessed Satiricus a bit defensively. “But I don’t think the custom was to blast the music to deafen people!”
“Customs change,” said Hari rather smugly. “You can’t stop progress!”
“OK fellas. But remember what the “mumma” pig said to her piglet when he asked why her snout was so long?” asked Satiricus.
“What?” said Bungi and Hari.
“You’ll grow it out!” smiled Satiricus. “Wait till YOUR neighbours have a wedding!”
