آموزش زبان انگلیسی رایگان The worst day in Dad's life
The worst day in Dad's life.
A father put his three-year-old daughter to bed, told her a story and listened
to her prayers, which she ended by saying.
"God bless Mommy, God bless daddy, and God bless grandma and good-bye
The father asked, "Why did you say good-bye grandpa?"
The little girl said, "I don't know daddy, it just seemed like the right
thing to do."
The next day grandpa died.
The father thought it was a strange coincidence. A few months later the
father put the girl to bed and listened to her prayers, which went like
"God bless Mommy, God Bless Daddy and good-bye Grandma."
The next day the grandmother died.
Oh my god, thought the father, this kid is in contact with the other
Several weeks later when the girl was going to bed the dad heard her
say, "God bless Mommy and good-bye daddy."
He practically went into shock.
He couldn't sleep all night and got up at the crack of dawn to go to
He was nervous as a cat all day, had lunch sent in and watched the clock.
He figured if he could get by until midnight he would be okay.
He felt safe in the office, so instead of going home at the
end of the day he stayed there, looking at his watch and jumping at
every sound. Finally, when midnight arrived, he breathed a sigh of relief
and went home.
When he got home his wife said, "I've never seen you work so late, what's
He said, "I don't want to talk about it, I've just spent the worst
day of my life."
She said "You think you had a bad day, you'll never believe what
He asked "What?”
She said "This morning our neighbor James suddenly died."
Cold weather has a great effect on how our minds and our bodies work. Maybe that is why there are so many expressions that use the word cold.
For centuries, the body's blood has been linked closely with the emotions. People who show no human emotions or feelings, for example, are said to be cold-blooded. Cold-blooded people act in cruel ways. They may do brutal things to others, and not by accident.
For example, a newspaper says the police are searching for a cold-blooded killer. The killer murdered someone, not in self-defense, or because he was reacting to anger or fear. He seemed to kill for no reason, and with no emotion, as if taking someone's life meant nothing.
Cold can affect other parts of the body. The feet, for example. Heavy socks can warm your feet, if your feet are really cold. But there is an expression -- to get cold feet -- that has nothing to do with cold or your feet.
The expression means being afraid to do something you had decided to do. For example, you agree to be president of an organization. But then you learn that all the other officers have resigned. All the work of the organization will be your responsibility. You are likely to get cold feet about being president when you understand the situation.
Cold can also affect your shoulder.
You give someone the cold shoulder when you refuse to speak to them. You treat them in a distant, cold way. The expression probably comes from the physical act of turning your back toward someone, instead of speaking to him face-to-face. You may give a cold shoulder to a friend who has not kept a promise he made to you. Or, to someone who has lied about you to others.
A cold fish is not a fish. It is a person. But it is a person who is unfriendly, unemotional and shows no love or warmth. A cold fish does not offer much of himself to anyone.
Someone who is a cold fish could be cold-hearted. A cold-hearted person is someone who has no sympathy. Several popular songs in recent years were about cold-hearted men or cold-hearted women who, without feeling, broke the hearts of their lovers.
Out in the cold is an expression often heard. It means not getting something that everybody else got. A person might say that everybody but him got a pay raise, that he was left out in the cold. And it is not a pleasant place to be.
Almost every language in the world has a saying that a person can never be too rich.
Americans, like people in other countries, always want more money. One way they express this is by protesting that their jobs do not pay enough. A common expression is, "I am working for chickenfeed." It means working for very little money. The expression probably began because seeds fed to chickens made people think of small change. Small change means metal coins of not much value, like nickels which are worth five cents.
An early use of the word chickenfeed appeared in an American publication in nineteen thirty. It told about a rich man and his son. Word expert Mitford Mathews says it read, "I'll bet neither the kid nor his father ever saw a nickel or a dime. They would not have been interested in such chickenfeed."
Chickenfeed also has another interesting meaning known to history experts and World War Two spies and soldiers.
Spy expert Henry S. A. Becket writes that some German spies working in London during the war also worked for the British. The British government had to make the Germans believe their spies were working. So, British officials gave them mostly false information. It was called chickenfeed.
The same person who protests that he is working for chickenfeed may also say, "I am working for peanuts." She means she is working for a small amount of money.
It is a very different meaning from the main one in the dictionary. That meaning is small nuts that grow on a plant.
No one knows for sure how a word for something to eat also came to mean something very small. But, a peanut is a very small food.
The expression is an old one. Word expert Mitford Mathews says that as early as eighteen fifty-four, an American publication used the words peanut agitators. That meant political troublemakers who did not have a lot of support.
Another reason for the saying about working for peanuts may be linked to elephants. Think of how elephants are paid for their work in the circus. They receive food, not money. One of the foods they like best is peanuts.
When you add the word gallery to the word peanut you have the name of an area in an American theater. A gallery is a high seating area or balcony above the main floor.
The peanut gallery got its name because it is the part of the theater most distant from where the show takes place. So, peanut gallery tickets usually cost less than other tickets. People pay a small amount of money for them
آموزشGet Your Act Together: Organization Is the Name of the Game
A woman from Japan was telling a friend about her trip to the United States. The woman had visited major businesses and investment companies in New York City and Chicago.
"I studied English before I left home," she said. "But I still was not sure that people were speaking English."
Her problem is easy to understand. Americans in business are like people who are in business anywhere. They have a language of their own. Some of the words and expressions deal with the special areas of their work. Other expressions are borrowed from different kinds of work such as the theater and movie industry.
One such saying is get your act together.
When things go wrong in a business, an employer may get angry. He may shout, "Stop making mistakes. Get your act together."
Or, if the employer is calmer, he may say, "Let us get our act together."
Either way, the meaning is the same. Getting your act together is getting organized. In business, it usually means to develop a calm and orderly plan of action.
It is difficult to tell exactly where the saying began. But, it is probable that it was in the theater or movie industry. Perhaps one of the actors was nervous and made a lot of mistakes. The director may have said, "Calm down, now. Get your act together."
Word expert James Rogers says the expression was common by the late nineteen seventies. Mister Rogers says the Manchester Guardian newspaper used it in nineteen seventy-eight. The newspaper said a reform policy required that the British government get its act together.
Now, this expression is heard often when officials of a company meet. One company even called its yearly report, "Getting Our Act Together."
The Japanese visitor was confused by another expression used by American business people. It is cut to the chase.
She heard that expression when she attended an important meeting of one company. One official was giving a very long report. It was not very interesting. In fact, some people at the meeting were falling asleep.
Finally, the president of the company said, "Cut to the chase."
Cut to the chase means to stop spending so much time on details or unimportant material. Hurry and get to the good part.
Naturally, this saying was started by people who make movies. Hollywood movie producers believe that most Americans want to see action movies. Many of their movies show scenes in which the actors chase each other in cars, or in airplanes or on foot.
Cut is the director's word for stop. The director means to stop filming, leave out some material, and get to the chase scene now.
So, if your employer tells you to cut to the chase, be sure to get to the main point of your story quickly
Hit is a small word but it has a lot of power. Baseball players hit the ball. Missiles hit an airplane. A car hits a tree.
Hit also joins with other words to create many colorful expressions. One is hit the road. It means to travel or to leave a place, as suggested in this song, "Hit the Road."
Another common expression is hit the spot. At first ithitting a spot at the center of a target with an arrow. Someone who did so was satisfied with his shooting. Now, hitting the spot usually means that a food or drink is especially satisfying.
Many years ago, Pepsi Cola sold its drink with a song that began, "Pepsi Cola hits the spot, twelve full ounces, that's a lot…"
Another expression involving hit is hit bottom. Something that has hit bottom can go no lower. If the price of shares of a stock hits bottom that might be the time to buy it. Its value can only go up.
A student who tells you his grades have hit bottom is saying he has not done well in school.
When a student's grades hit bottom it is time to hit the books. Hit the books is another way ofsaying it is time to study. A student might have to tell her friends she can not go with them to the movies because she has to hit the books.
Not hitting the books could lead to an unpleasant situation for a student. The father or mother may hit the ceiling when they see the low grades. Someone who hits the ceiling, the top of the room, is angry. A wife may hit the ceiling because her husband forgot their wedding anniversary.
To build something of wood, you usually need a hammer. That is what you use to hit nails into the pieces of wood to hold them together. When you hit the nail on the head, exactly on its top, it goes into the wood perfectly. And when someone says your words or actions hit the nail on the head, he means what you said or did was exactly right.
If you are tired after hitting all those nails on the head, then it is time to hit the hay. That expression comes from the days when people slept on beds filled with dried grass or hay. Some people slept on hay in barns where they kept their farm animals.
Hitting the hay simply means going to bed. That is a good idea. I think I will hit the haynow
"You don't have to be French to enjoy a decent red wine," Charles Jousselin de Gruse used to tell his foreign guests whenever he entertained them in Paris. "But you do have to be French to recognize one," he would add with a laugh.
After a lifetime in the French diplomatic corps, the Count de Gruse lived with his wife in an elegant townhouse on Quai Voltaire. He was a likeable man, cultivated of course, with a well deserved reputation as a generous host and an amusing raconteur.
This evening's guests were all European and all equally convinced that immigration was at the root of Europe's problems. Charles de Gruse said nothing. He had always concealed his contempt for such ideas. And, in any case, he had never much cared for these particular guests.
The first of the red Bordeaux was being served with the veal, and one of the guests turned to de Gruse.
"Come on, Charles, it's simple arithmetic. Nothing to do with race or colour. You must've had bags of experience of this sort of thing. What d'you say?"
"Yes, General. Bags!"
Without another word, de Gruse picked up his glass and introduced his bulbous, winey nose. After a moment he looked up with watery eyes.
"A truly full-bodied Bordeaux," he said warmly, "a wine among wines."
The four guests held their glasses to the light and studied their blood-red contents. They all agreed that it was the best wine they had ever tasted.
One by one the little white lights along the Seine were coming on, and from the first-floor windows you could see the brightly lit bateaux-mouches passing through the arches of the Pont du Carrousel. The party moved on to a dish of game served with a more vigorous claret.
"Can you imagine," asked de Gruse, as the claret was poured, "that there are people who actually serve wines they know nothing about?"
"Really?" said one of the guests, a German politician.
"Personally, before I uncork a bottle I like to know what's in it."
"But how? How can anyone be sure?"
"I like to hunt around the vineyards. Take this place I used to visit in Bordeaux. I got to know the winegrower there personally. That's the way to know what you're drinking."
"A matter of pedigree, Charles," said the other politician.
"This fellow," continued de Gruse as though the Dutchman had not spoken, "always gave you the story behind his wines. One of them was the most extraordinary story I ever heard. We were tasting, in his winery, and we came to a cask that made him frown. He asked if I agreed with him that red Bordeaux was the best wine in the world. Of course, I agreed. Then he made the strangest statement.
"'The wine in this cask,' he said, and there were tears in his eyes, 'is the best vintage in the world. But it started its life far from the country where it was grown.'"
De Gruse paused to check that his guests were being served.
"Well?" said the Dutchman.
De Gruse and his wife exchanged glances.
"Do tell them, mon chéri," she said.
De Gruse leaned forwards, took another sip of wine, and dabbed his lips with the corner of his napkin. This is the story he told them.
At the age of twenty-one, Pierre - that was the name he gave the winegrower - had been sent by his father to spend some time with his uncle in Madagascar. Within two weeks he had fallen for a local girl called Faniry, or "Desire" in Malagasy. You could not blame him. At seventeen she was ravishing. In the Malagasy sunlight her skin was golden. Her black, waist-length hair, which hung straight beside her cheeks, framed large, fathomless eyes. It was a genuine coup de foudre, for both of them. Within five months they were married. Faniry had no family, but Pierre's parents came out from France for the wedding, even though they did not strictly approve of it, and for three years the young couple lived very happily on the island of Madagascar. Then, one day, a telegram came from France. Pierre's parents and his only brother had been killed in a car crash. Pierre took the next flight home to attend the funeral and manage the vineyard left by his father.
Faniry followed two weeks later. Pierre was grief-stricken, but with Faniry he settled down to running the vineyard. His family, and the lazy, idyllic days under a tropical sun, were gone forever. But he was very happily married, and he was very well-off. Perhaps, he reasoned, life in Bordeaux would not be so bad.
But he was wrong. It soon became obvious that Faniry was jealous. In Madagascar she had no match. In France she was jealous of everyone. Of the maids. Of the secretary. Even of the peasant girls who picked the grapes and giggled at her funny accent. She convinced herself that Pierre made love to each of them in turn.
She started with insinuations, simple, artless ones that Pierre hardly even recognized. Then she tried blunt accusation in the privacy of their bedroom. When he denied that, she resorted to violent, humiliating denouncements in the kitchens, the winery, the plantations. The angel that Pierre had married in Madagascar had become a termagant, blinded by jealousy. Nothing he did or said could help. Often, she would refuse to speak for a week or more, and when at last she spoke it would only be to scream yet more abuse or swear again her intention to leave him. By the third vine-harvest it was obvious to everyone that they loathed each other.
One Friday evening, Pierre was down in the winery, working on a new electric winepress. He was alone. The grape-pickers had left. Suddenly the door opened and Faniry entered, excessively made up. She walked straight up to Pierre, flung her arms around his neck, and pressed herself against him. Even above the fumes from the pressed grapes he could smell that she had been drinking.
"Darling," she sighed, "what shall we do?"
He badly wanted her, but all the past insults and humiliating scenes welled up inside him. He pushed her away.
"But, darling, I'm going to have a baby."
"Don't be absurd. Go to bed! You're drunk. And take that paint off. It makes you look like a tart."
Faniry's face blackened, and she threw herself at him with new accusations. He had never cared for her. He cared only about sex. He was obsessed with it. And with white women. But the women in France, the white women, they were the tarts, and he was welcome to them. She snatched a knife from the wall and lunged at him with it. She was in tears, but it took all his strength to keep the knife from his throat. Eventually he pushed her off, and she stumbled towards the winepress. Pierre stood, breathing heavily, as the screw of the press caught at her hair and dragged her in. She screamed, struggling to free herself. The screw bit slowly into her shoulder and she screamed again. Then she fainted, though whether from the pain or the fumes he was not sure. He looked away until a sickening sound told him it was over. Then he raised his arm and switched the current off.
The guests shuddered visibly and de Gruse paused in his story.
"Well, I won't go into the details at table," he said. "Pierre fed the rest of the body into the press and tidied up. Then he went up to the house, had a bath, ate a meal, and went to bed. The next day, he told everyone Faniry had finally left him and gone back to Madagascar. No-one was surprised."
He paused again. His guests sat motionless, their eyes turned towards him.
"Of course," he continued, "Sixty-five was a bad year for red Bordeaux. Except for Pierre's. That was the extraordinary thing. It won award after award, and nobody could understand why."
The general's wife cleared her throat.
"But, surely," she said, "you didn't taste it?"
"No, I didn't taste it, though Pierre did assure me his wife had lent the wine an incomparable aroma."
"And you didn't, er, buy any?" asked the general.
"How could I refuse? It isn't every day that one finds such a pedigree."
There was a long silence. The Dutchman shifted awkwardly in his seat, his glass poised midway between the table and his open lips. The other guests looked around uneasily at each other. They did not understand.
"But look here, Gruse," said the general at last, "you don't mean to tell me we're drinking this damned woman now, d'you?"
De Gruse gazed impassively at the Englishman.
"Heaven forbid, General," he said slowly. "Everyone knows that the best vintage should always come first
The Winepress - Vocabulary
NB: the meaning given for each word is contextual meaning, that is to say it is the specific meaning of the word within the context of the story. Some of these words have other meanings not shown here.
Part of Speech
mathematics (adding, multiplying etc)
Don't ask me to add the numbers; I'm terrible at arithmetic.
The aroma at the spa was of roses and vanilla.
large and round
Santa Claus has a bulbous nose and belly.
We filled the cask with wine and put it in the cellar.
French red wine
You should always serve a nice claret with a juicy steak.
verb - past
Franco concealed his love notes under his pillow.
feeling that a person or thing is worthless
Jane's contempt for her ex-husband is unfair on her kids.
educated about art
My husband is very cultivated because his grandmother was into classical music and painting.
verb - past
Mary dabbed her extra lipstick off with her napkin.
At least wear a decent shirt because you are going to be photographed from the waist up.
The thief rejected the denouncements even though he was caught stealing on camera.
attractive, graceful, simple
I need a long elegant dress to wear to my graduation ceremony.
hosted a party
Whenever my parents entertained their college friends we always had a BBQ and badminton tournament.
with extra effort than necessary
Chrisie called me so excessively that I didn't want to be friends with her.
Astronomers are constantly trying to search the fathomless depths of space.
verb - past
The bride flung her bouquet of flowers behind her.
strong smell that makes it hard to breathe
The petrol fumes at the garage always give me a headache.
hunted birds and other animals (for food or sport)
The only game I enjoy eating is duck.
verb - past
looked at intently with wide eyes
The couple sat on the beach and gazed at the sunset.
This movie is not a genuine documentary.
looks that last only a short moment
Before we started dating we used to exchange glances from our desks.
upset because of a loss
I was grief-stricken when my dog got run over by a car.
season when crops are ready to pick
During the harvest the whole family goes out to work in the corn fields.
expressing a strong wish that something does not happen
Heaven forbid that we ever get hit by one of these terrible hurricanes!
It was humiliating when they made me stand up and make a speech.
It was an idyllic afternoon with all of the kids away at school.
permanent movement of someone from one country to another
The rules of immigration say that I need a permit to work in this country.
without expression, not showing emotion
The young teen stood impassively while the policeman put handcuffs on him.
suggestions about someone (without proof) that are not nice
I broke up with Bob because of the insinuations he made about me and my ex-boyfriend.
aim or plan
Alice's intention was to rent a guitar, not to buy one.
verb - past
I loathed my grade nine French teacher because he gave us so much homework.
verb - past
moved forward suddenly and quickly
The child lunged at the birthday cake before we could remove the candles.
poor person who usually lives off the land
My ancestors were peasants who used to beg for food when their crops wouldn't grow.
record of ancestry, line of relatives
We only breed dogs of excellent pedigree.
verb - past
prepared to act
The fashion model was poised at the foot of the walkway.
a skilful storyteller
There is always one raconteur in the family who makes everyone laugh at the dinner table.
very beautiful, entrancing
Brides always look ravishing on their wedding days.
verb - past
analyzed and formed judgement logically; tried to persuade by giving good reasons
I reasoned with my father to extend my curfew.
opinions or beliefs that others have about a person or thing
Mark has a reputation for dating more than one woman at a time.
verb - past
did because nothing else worked
There were no size ten skates so Marie resorted to wearing men's.
early stage, cause
Janice's mother-in-law is the root of her marital problems.
verb - past
trembled or shook because of cold or fear
Andrea shuddered when she heard the loud scream.
(formerly) mail sent electronically and delivered in printed form on paper
During the war she learned of her son's injuries by telegram.
a bad-tempered, noisy woman
The termagant was hassling her husband about forgetting to make her coffee.
the meat of a young cow
Samantha doesn't eat veal because she's a vegetarian.
The vigorous builders had the house finished in one week.
top wine, usually wine from a specific year
They're serving a 1975 vintage to mark their anniversary.
place where grapes are grown
We worked in the vineyard until all of the grapes had been picked.
She stood visibly in front of the window, so I knew she was home.
verb - past
filled up (often with liquid)
Her eyes welled up with tears when he asked her to marry him.
machine or equipment used to squeeze the juice out of grapes
We'll need a winepress if we want to make juice out of these grapes.
Lisa gazed out over the Caribbean Sea, feeling the faint breeze against her face - eyes shut, the white sand warm between her bare toes. The place was beautiful beyond belief, but it was still unable to ease the grief she felt as she remembered the last time she had been here. She had married James right here on this spot three years ago to the day. Dressed in a simple white shift dress, miniature white roses attempting to tame her long dark curls, Lisa had been happier than she had ever thought possible. James was even less formal but utterly irresistible in creased summer trousers and a loose white cotton shirt. His dark hair slightly ruffled and his eyes full of adoration as his looked at his bride to be. The justice of the peace had read their vows as they held hands and laughed at the sheer joy of being young, in love and staying in a five star resort on the Caribbean island of the Dominican Republic. They had seen the years blissfully stretching ahead of them, together forever. They planned their children, two she said, he said four so they compromised on three (two girls and a boy of course); where they would live, the travelling they would do together - it was all certain, so they had thought then. But that seemed such a long time ago now. A lot can change in just a few years - a lot of heartache can change a person and drive a wedge through the strongest ties, break even the deepest love. Three years to the day and they had returned, though this time not for the beachside marriages the island was famous for but for one of its equally popular quickie divorces. Lisa let out a sigh that was filled with pain and regret. What could she do but move on, find a new life and new dreams? - the old one was beyond repair. How could this beautiful place, with its lush green coastline, eternity of azure blue sea and endless sands be a place for the agony she felt now? The man stood watching from the edge of the palm trees. He couldn't take his eyes of the dark-haired woman he saw standing at the water's edge, gazing out to sea as though she was waiting for something - or someone. She was beautiful, with her slim figure dressed in a loose flowing cotton dress, her crazy hair and bright blue eyes not far off the colour of the sea itself. It wasn't her looks that attracted him though; he came across many beautiful women in his work as a freelance photographer. It was her loneliness and intensity that lured him. Even at some distance he was aware that she was different from any other woman he could meet.
Lisa sensed the man approaching even before she turned around. She had been aware of him standing there staring at her and had felt strangely calm about being observed. She looked at him and felt the instant spark of connection she had only experienced once before. He walked slowly towards her and they held each other's gaze. It felt like meeting a long lost friend - not a stranger on a strange beach. Later, sitting at one of the many bars on the resort, sipping the local cocktails they began to talk. First pleasantries, their hotels, the quality of the food and friendliness of the locals. Their conversation was strangely hesitant considering the naturalness and confidence of their earlier meeting. Onlookers, however, would have detected the subtle flirtation as they mirrored each other's actions and spoke directly into each other's eyes. Only later, after the alcohol had had its loosening effect, did the conversation deepen. They talked of why they were here and finally, against her judgement, Lisa opened up about her heartache of the past year and how events had led her back to the place where she had married the only man she believed she could ever love. She told him of things that had been locked deep inside her, able to tell no one. She told him how she had felt after she had lost her baby. She was six months pregnant and the happiest she had ever been when the pains had started. She was staying with her mother as James was working out of town. He hadn't made it back in time. The doctor had said it was just one of those things, that they could try again. But how could she when she couldn't even look James in the eye. She hated him then, for not being there, for not hurting as much as her but most of all for looking so much like the tiny baby boy that she held for just three hours before the took him away. All through the following months she had withdrawn from her husband, family, friends. Not wanting to recover form the pain she felt - that would have been a betrayal of her son. At the funeral she had refused to stand next to her husband and the next day she had left him.
Looking up, Lisa could see her pain reflected in the man's eyes. For the first time in months she didn't feel alone, she felt the unbearable burden begin to lift from her, only a bit but it was a start. She began to believe that maybe she had a future after all and maybe it could be with this man, with his kind hazel eyes, wet with their shared tears. They had come here to dissolve their marriage but maybe there was hope. Lisa stood up and took James by the hand and led him away from the bar towards the beech where they had made their vows to each other three years ago. Tomorrow she would cancel the divorce; tonight they would work on renewing their promises.
من نویسنده وبلاگ English Silence هستم.افتخار پیدا کردم که از این به بعد با این وبلاگ همکاری داشته باشم.
احتمال اینکه بعضی از مطالبی رو که توی این وبلاگ می نوسیم در وبلاگ خودم هم باشه هست.ولی تا اونجا که بشه سعی می کنم مطالب با هم تفاوت داشته باشن.
It was two weeks before Christmas, and Mrs. Smith was very busy. She bought a lot of Christmas cards to send to her friends and to her husband's friends, and put them on the table in the living-room .Then when her husband came home from work, she said to him, 'Here are Christmas cards for our friends, and here are some stamps, a pen and our book of addresses. Will you please write the cards while I am cooking the dinner?'
Mr. Smith did not say anything, but walked out of the living-room and went to his study. Mrs. Smith was very angry with him, but did not say anything either.
Then a minute later he came back with a box full of Christmas cards. All of them had addresses and stamps on them.
'These are from last year, ' he said. 'I forgot to post them.'
"There's no doubt about it. We picked up several from different parts of the planet, took them aboard our recon vessels, and probed them all the way through. They're completely meat."
"That's impossible. What about the radio signals? The messages to the stars?"
"They use the radio waves to talk, but the signals don't come from them. The signals come from machines."
"So who made the machines? That's who we want to contact."
"They made the machines. That's what I'm trying to tell you. Meat made the machines."
"That's ridiculous. How can meat make a machine? You're asking me to believe in sentient meat."
"I'm not asking you, I'm telling you. These creatures are the only sentient race in that sector and they're made out of meat."
"Maybe they're like the orfolei. You know, a carbon-based intelligence that goes through a meat stage."
"Nope. They're born meat and they die meat. We studied them for several of their life spans, which didn't take long. Do you have any idea what's the life span of meat?"
"Spare me. Okay, maybe they're only part meat. You know, like the weddilei. A meat head with an electron plasma brain inside."
"Nope. We thought of that, since they do have meat heads, like the weddilei. But I told you, we probed them. They're meat all the way through."
"Oh, there's a brain all right. It's just that the brain is made out of meat! That's what I've been trying to tell you."
"So ... what does the thinking?"
"You're not understanding, are you? You're refusing to deal with what I'm telling you. The brain does the thinking. The meat."
"Thinking meat! You're asking me to believe in thinking meat!"
"Yes, thinking meat! Conscious meat! Loving meat. Dreaming meat. The meat is the whole deal! Are you beginning to get the picture or do I have to start all over?"
"Omigod. You're serious then. They're made out of meat."
"Thank you. Finally. Yes. They are indeed made out of meat. And they've been trying to get in touch with us for almost a hundred of their years."
"Omigod. So what does this meat have in mind?"
"First it wants to talk to us. Then I imagine it wants to explore the Universe, contact other sentiences, swap ideas and information. The usual."
"We're supposed to talk to meat."
"That's the idea. That's the message they're sending out by radio. 'Hello. Anyone out there. Anybody home.' That sort of thing."
"They actually do talk, then. They use words, ideas, concepts?"
"Oh, yes. Except they do it with meat."
"I thought you just told me they used radio."
"They do, but what do you think is on the radio? Meat sounds. You know how when you slap or flap meat, it makes a noise? They talk by flapping their meat at each other. They can even sing by squirting air through their meat."
"Omigod. Singing meat. This is altogether too much. So what do you advise?"
"Officially or unofficially?"
"Officially, we are required to contact, welcome and log in any and all sentient races or multibeings in this quadrant of the Universe, without prejudice, fear or favor. Unofficially, I advise that we erase the records and forget the whole thing."
"I was hoping you would say that."
"It seems harsh, but there is a limit. Do we really want to make contact with meat?"
"I agree one hundred percent. What's there to say? 'Hello, meat. How's it going?' But will this work? How many planets are we dealing with here?"
"Just one. They can travel to other planets in special meat containers, but they can't live on them. And being meat, they can only travel through C space. Which limits them to the speed of light and makes the possibility of their ever making contact pretty slim. Infinitesimal, in fact."
"So we just pretend there's no one home in the Universe."
"Cruel. But you said it yourself, who wants to meet meat? And the ones who have been aboard our vessels, the ones you probed? You're sure they won't remember?"
"They'll be considered crackpots if they do. We went into their heads and smoothed out their meat so that we're just a dream to them."
"A dream to meat! How strangely appropriate, that we should be meat's dream."
"And we marked the entire sector unoccupied."
"Good. Agreed, officially and unofficially. Case closed. Any others? Anyone interesting on that side of the galaxy?"
"Yes, a rather shy but sweet hydrogen core cluster intelligence in a class nine star in G445 zone. Was in contact two galactic rotations ago, wants to be friendly again."
"They always come around."
"And why not? Imagine how unbearably, how unutterably cold the Universe would be if one were all alone ..."
دوست عزیز علی.براتون دو تا داستان میذارم.البته در گروه آموزش زبان انگلیسی یاهو زیاد داریم.اگر مایل بودید میتونید عضو گروه بشید.
GRIMM’S FAIRY TALES
Jacob Ludwig Grimm and Wilhelm Carl Grimm
Grimm, Jacob (1785-1863) and Wilhelm (1786-1859) - German philologists whose
collection “Kinder- und Hausmarchen,” known in English as “Grimm’s Fairy Tales,” is a timeless literary masterpiece. The brothers transcribed these tales directly from folk and fairy stories told to them by common villagers. The Old Witch (1812) - A disobedient girl goes to see an old witch despite her parent’s threats and warnings. At the witch’s house the girl is frightened by what she sees.
THE OLD WITCH
THERE WAS once a little girl who was very obstinate and wilful, and who never obeyed when her elders spoke to her; and so how could she be happy? One day she said to her parents, “I have heard so much of the old Witch, that I will go and see her. People say she is a wonderful old woman, and has many marvelous things in her house; and I am very curious to see them.” Her parents, however, forbade her going, saying, “The Witch is a wicked old woman, who performs many godless deeds; and if you go near her, you are no longer a child of ours.” The girl however, would not turn back at her parents’ command, but went to the Witch’s house. When she arrived there the woman asked her, “Why are you so pale?” “Ah,” replied she, trembling all over, “I have frightened myself so with what I have just seen.” “And what did you see?” inquired the old Witch.
“I saw a black man on your steps.” “That was a collier,” replied she.
“Then I saw a gray man.” “That was a sportsman,” said the old woman.
“After him I saw a blood-red man.” “That was a butcher,” replied the woman.
“But oh, I was most terrified,” continued the girl, “When I peeped through your window, and saw not you, but a creature with a fiery head.” “Then you have seen the Witch in her proper dress,” said the old woman. “For you I have long waited, and now you shall give me light.” So saying, she changed the girl into a block of wood, and then threw it into the fire; and when it was fully alight she sat down on the hearth, warmed herself, and said, “Ah, now for once it burns brightly!”
THE OLD BEGGAR WOMAN
THERE WAS once an old woman, but thou hast surely seen an old woman go a-begging before now? This woman begged likewise, and when she got anything she said, “May God rewards you.” The beggar-woman came to a door, and there by the fire a friendly rogue of a boy was standing warming himself. The boy said kindly to the poor old woman as she was standing shivering thus by the door, “Come, old mother, and warm yourself.” She came in, but stood too near the fire, so that her old rags began to burn, and she was not aware of it. The boy stood and saw that, but he ought to have put the flames out. And if he could not find any water, then should he have wept all the water in his body out of his eyes, and that would have supplied two fine streams with which to extinguish them.