Spectator Competition: Smalls miracle

In Comp 3369 you were invited to write about the recent underwear storm of Chongqing, or some other freak event, as if it had happened centuries ago and become legend. The entries were wonderfully imaginative, though they dangled some grim visions of the future. It pains me not to squeeze in David Silverman’s poem, so here is his second verse:

Sing of that legendary dawn:

Of Chongqing’s briefs and panties, borne

Aloft o’er realms of Genghis Khan;

Of knickers measureless to man,

Of boxer, Y-front, bra and thong,

Dry clean and machine washable.

Recall the words of Mao Zedong:

That miracles are possible!

The winners below receive £25.

In days long since, an ancient man came to Chongqing. He knocked on the first house, saying: ‘I am old, hungry and thirsty. Spare me some bread and water.’ He was chased away. It was the same at the next house and the one after. In time he had called at every house with the same result. He hobbled away to a nearby hill and sat on a rock. With a wave of his hand the man transformed himself back into Sun Wukong, the Monkey King. He looked down at Chongqing, saying: ‘You would not support an old man in his need, so you shall have no support where you need it most.’ He waved his hand again and a great whirlwind sprang up. It raced through the town ripping undergarments from lines and sucking them into the sky. Wails rose up from the folk of Chongqing. Sun Wukong laughed.

Joseph Houlihan

Time back, beyond the recall even of granite, China’s Emperor Xi determined all: his eyes were in every room, his Thought in every mind. All went smoothly and to his monomaniacal purpose until, one day, amongst the drying underthings of his unfortunate underlings, a freakish tornado suddenly blew up. Bras entwined themselves about the Emperor’s surveillant eyes, flying underpants diverted into helpless hilarity minds hitherto preoccupied adhering to his edicts, suddenly animate nighties enjoyed freedoms of movement unknown to their owners.