NAPOLEAN'S LAST STAND

   There he stood, looking every bit the stuff heroes are made of. As he glanced at his marauding enemy, it came to him that perhaps he was not the greatest of rulers. He had conquered Europe. Won wars. Wooed Women. But had he really been reduced to this?

   Waiting for the impending doom?

   For he, Napolean Bonaparte, could never admit to a certain fate.

   The fate that was awaiting Napolean was to be run through with 10,000 zulu spears. (God knows how he got to Africa, or to be at the time of the Boer war.) He stared out at the crowd of semi-naked warriors stampeding towards him.

   He cooly fetched out a piece of camembert that he always kept in his shirt, held in place by his hand. He wasn't going to die hungry, that was for sure.

   He took a large chunk of cheese and chewed it as he pondered his fate. He had, he figured, two choices. Either run away like a coward, or face the borage and die like a man.

   He fetched out his box and stood on it. It helped to clear his head. It also cooled his body temperature, the higher altitude and all that.

   In a moment of mental desperation, Napolean opened his mouth and began to sing! (God knows why:)

'There'll always be an England, And England shall be free, If England means as much to you, as England means to me!'

  He sighed and flicked his neatly-waxes hair. Any moment now. The waiting was unbearable. He loaded his musket, lit a cigarette and aimed. 'I'll take down a few', he thought.

   He set his mind back to his early childhood. His mother hugging him. His father beating him. His Mother beating if Father. His Uncle Christophe implanting dreams of world domination inside his head.

   It was too late now. Napolean winced as five spears entered his Chestal cavity. Within seconds, he had turned into a small, feeble, zulu-laden hedge-hog.

   And the last thought that went through his mind was 'What the hell am i doing here?'