Siete minutos by Ismael Camacho Arango (the little red hen read aloud TXT) 📖

THIN PROFESSOR
Who is the author of such a phenomenon?
FAT PROFESSOR
It’s an attempt against human dignity.
HOMER
His owner is a Colombian man called Mario. He sold Chuchu for very little
money.

PROFESSOR GREER
How much was it?
HOMER
He only charged $85,000 dollars.
WOMAN
Is he healthy?
HOMER
He’s examined every year at Rochester.
THIN PROFESSOR
Does he bite?
HOMER
He’s harmless.
FIFI
Can he make love?
FAT PROFESSOR?
It’s too much money for a monkey.
HOMER
I can arrange exhibitions all over the world.

FAT PROFESSOR
Why don’t you do it?
HOMER
I promised Miguel I wouldn’t do that. Chucho’s very useful here.
PROFESSOR GREER
Homer knows about business.
FERNY
I want more sangria with water of rose petals.


Chucho’s story
Mr. Homer
I used to work for you a long time ago. If you have patience, I’ll tell you how I met the wise man, who trained Chucho, but I won’t charge you a single dollar for the service. Congratulations!
It isn’t strange that your wise men did not feel any admiration for Chucho. I believe wise men are like the extinguished dinosaurs because they used to weight many tons but had small brains. I belong to the crazy minority who doesn’t want to waste life. We mustn’t cry for an inexistent future as the day has twenty four hours and a million moments to enjoy. It has no dividends.
Once upon a time, after you had left us with the shop, I accepted Jaramillo’s offer of LSD. He had brought it from Europe, where aristocrats used it to go to the stars. I can only remember the colours with the transparency of a cloud and the softness of a young woman, while travelling through the solar system, but we didn’t go any further than Jupiter. The universe we saw might not conform to Copernicus or Galileo’s ideas of cosmology we all learn in the school. That is why I’ll never forget the experience of rushing through the ether at unknown speeds.
“Where are we?” I asked on waking up amidst some bushes with spines rather than leaves, my body hurt while a small airplane glistened in the sun.
It had to be real. Jaramillo threw earth on my face, a rude way to show we had landed in the jungle, as a cold wind made me shiver but we didn’t find anything useful inside the wreckage of the plane.
“We have no aguardiente,” Jaramillo said.
It had to be a tragedy. On following a small river in its way to nowhere, we thought we had been in the small plane, although none of us could fly these things. Apart from the small river, we didn’t find anyone else.
After looking at the stars we found ourselves at twenty degrees longitude north and twenty two west. It was day time and that fact made our observations a bit difficult. The small river led us to a bigger one, and on following that one, we found a very big river. Two days later we moved by the shores of a huge river.
As we moved through a mountain, we seldom saw any buildings with the exception of a few Hilton Hotels. Then we arrived at a small town, inhabited by nice people, but on getting nearer, we saw the town inhabited by rude people. The campesinos (10) confused us with trouble makers because of our beards and some marihuana we had in our pockets. After shooting their guns three times, they killed two chickens of a heart attack, and cooked them in a sancocho (11) The town had been built around an idiot called patepiña his right foot had elephantiasis and his left foot had mamustiasis.
We met the potatoes queen on our arrival at the place.
“I’ll feel your balls for a few pesos,” she said.
“That’s my job,” the arepa queen said.
I let them feel inside my pants behind some bushes for a few moments, when the arepa queen without salt sucked my cock, while the queens of sausages and beans, green cheese, white cheese, cheese spread, free plantain, kumis, marmalade, yellow fever, rice and mazato (12) waited for their turn.
“We want some money,” they said.
I nodded. “I believe you.”
I had been there for some time, when Jaramillo appeared in front of me followed by one of