In the meantime, he marched in last evening and told me he thinks my country is going phooknstabera.
“What on earth is that?” I was at a loss.
“Literally, it is a small airborne creature on Falloonia that excretes a sweet-smelling excrement as it flies. Sniffing it makes a Falloonian behave erratically. So the word is slang for a state of confusion.”
I thought for a moment, then said, “Sort of like ‘bat-shit crazy’ on our planet?”
It was his turn to think. “I suppose so.” Then he nodded. “Exactly.”
“So what brings this on?”
“Don’t you keep up with the news?”
“No,” I said. “I quit doing that. It’s bad for your health.”
“Then you don’t know that the world is on the verge of several outbreaks of disease, any one of which could be a final part of something, especially a period of time, an activity, or a story as regards life on your planet?”
“Do you mean the end of us?”
“That’s what I just said. Why do you repeat me so often?”
“Never mind,” I said, “we have faced disease before and prevailed.”
“Yes, but you taught science in your high schools back then. Biology. The emergence of species.”
“As in evolution?”
“As in the most basic building block of biological life in the Universe.”
“Some folks don’t want their children taught this subject.”
He looked at me as if I had just said two plus two usually adds up to four. “Phooknstabera,” was all he said.
“So what else is troubling you?”
“Has anyone within your species noticed that your planet is frying?”
“Last I heard,” I said, “something like 99 percent plus of our scientists have.”
“And a hand full of so-called “elected” officials can stop any effort to do something about it?”
“That’s the way our country works,” I said.
He slumped into a chair and shook his head and muttered, “Phooknstabera.” Then he looked at me. “Has anyone told you that the Middle Eastern area of your planet is about to explode into total war and some of your so-called “elected” officials are responding by making plans to shut down your government again?”
“Look,” I said, “you’re getting me into a blue funk. Why don’t
we do something fun?” In my mind, I could already see the fishing floats
|The daily "hat-check" seems to take|
Big Dope's mind off the world's
problems for minutes at a time. - C.W.
“What are you going to do? Pour ice water on your head? That’s the only thing that seems to make your species happy these days, that and watching so-called ‘college’ football.”
“Or,” I said, “we could turn on the news and see what kind of hat Kate Middleton is wearing today.”
He put his face in his hands. “Phooknstabera,” was all he said.
Please help me get my new computer by clicking an ad. Big Dope has his password-protected and it takes me almost ten minutes to break into it. - C.W.
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