Why Angels Scream

“Why do the angels scream?
Why do they let tears fall?
What has happened to their wings?
Why hath they their fair eyes clawed?”
“Lament they o’er nothing;
They are afraid of the dark.
Sadly has cold fear on seas
Tossed begun to embark.”
“Why do the angels scream?
Of what dark fearest they?
Light of brilliance does surround,
Cast by He to whom we pray.”
“Lament they o’er nothing;
God’s merely left their fold.
Like a mother with child away
Are they without Him to behold.”
“Why do the angels scream?
Is not He their master?
An He travels where He likes,
How canst it be disaster?”
“Lament they o’er nothing;
God vacations in Hell
To visit Fire and Brimstone
And all His angels which fell.”
“Why do the angels scream,
An God’s on vacation?
He did so on the seventh day;
Such is not below His station.”
“Lament they o’er nothing;
They only overreact.
He’s used omnipotence
To fix what He hath lacked.”
“Why do the angels scream,
An God’s more complete?
How canst they criticize He
For whom they grovel at feet?”
“Lament they o’er nothing;
Evil He found more fun.
He decided He’d be Satan,
An He was anyone.”
“Why do the angels scream;
The Lord can be all things?
Why’re they afraid of the dark?
What has happened to their wings?”
“Lament they o’er nothing;
In the dark they’re alone.
Without servitude’s duty,
Passing insane have they grown.”
“Why do the angels scream?
Despise they an day off?
The longer He is in Hell,
The less at them can He scoff.”
“Lament they o’er nothing;
He’s never to return.
Desolation they comprehend
Finally, since He did them spurn.”
“Why do the angels scream
And venture not to Him?
Golden cities are naught
Without their finest gems.”
“Lament they o’er nothing;
They’ve but been forsaken.
Now they art devils, and wings
From their backs hath been shaken.”
“Why did God betray them?
What taint could so corrode?
An angels do lack leadership,
Then for humans this does forebode.”
“Forsook them because of I,
The Prince of Deceptive Might.
Now canst I command heaven,
In the absence of light.”

Sycamore

I put my love in a sycamore tree
To let her sobre out,
For she breathes jack o’ the daniels
And is a drunken lout.
I put my love in a sycamore tree
Because she likes to scream and shout,
But, when I climbed up to bring her down,
She tried to push me out.
I put my love in a sycamore tree,
But she didn’t seem to care;
All that she did was ignore me
And play with the birdies there.
I put my love in a sycamore tree
With the winds and rains and snow
Blowing harshly around her ears,
But none of this phased her, though.
I put my love in a sycamore tree,
Perchance I should’ve put her in a bush.
For now, when I try to talk,
She but merely tells me “shush.”
I put my love in a sycamore tree,
And I regret the day I did;
For my love jumped right out,
Ran away, and hid.

A Unity of Faith

The sun was high in the sky, and its light glinted off of the tin Star of David the figure wore. Beneath his stetson, the Jew saw the ranch on the horizon. It was a welcome sight, since the desert was already warm. There would be water at the ranch. Perhaps there would be a decent meal. With luck the rancher would let him sleep in the hay in the barn for the night. It would beat sleeping on his saddle blanket, fearing what might be crawling over him, into his boots, or underneath his chaps. He spurred his horse, and they eagerly rode ahead. Dust rose up in little clouds behind the hooves that skirted the sagebrush as best as they could.

As he approached, he began to see foreboding signs. He hadn’t noticed the faint tail of smoke rising into the air at first. Perhaps that was due to the shimmering haze that the heat gave to the land. The windows were broken, and the door to the main building was hanging open. He was horrified to see several bodies lying out in the ranch yard. His stomach turned as he grew close enough to see that a woman and children lay face down on the ground with arrows sticking out of them. It was apparent that they had been scalped. It only confirmed his worst fears—Christians had been here.

Though he was certain that there would be no warm meal, he continued to the ranch. It would be a little safer to be here than in the countryside at the moment. The Christians were unlikely to return to the scene of this raid soon. He rode to the corral and tied up his mount. He could see that the barn was empty. No doubt the Christians had taken the cattle and horses in their raid. With little hope that perhaps someone was still alive, he began to check the bodies. The women and children were dead. There was no doubt about it. Surely they didn’t live so far from civilization alone.

The Jew walked toward the main building, dreading what grotesque thing he would find inside. The smell of smoke from a burned down building, no doubt a storehouse, pervaded the air. He pushed the ajar door to the side and entered. Sprawled face down on the floor was a figure of a man. Blood oozed about him, but he still had his scalp. They must not have taken it because he was bald. He rolled the man over, and discovered that he had a pulse. He tore his shirt to make bandages for the various wounds that he suffered. The injured man’s eyes fluttered open.

“Who are you?” the injured inquired.

“I’m a Jew.”

“Why are you helping me?”

“I had to prove the Chrisjuns wrong about their story of the Good Samaritan.”

“But I’m not a Samaritan. I’m Muslim.”

“I didn’t say that you were a Samaritan. The Samaritan wasn’t the victim. Just humor me. In their story of the Good Samaritan, they said that a Jew wouldn’t stop to help anyone. They must think that we care only for money.”

“I am grateful that you did stop to help me. I didn’t think anyone would ever find me. The Christians don’t know much, apparently. Everyone has feelings and bleeds the same. A Jew can have as much compassion as anyone.”

“Thank you. Can you tell me what happened here?”

“We were raided. It was at the end of Ramadan. My family and I had been fasting all month, eating light foods like soup at night. We were gathered together in our best, to feast and celebrate. It was Eid ul-Fitr, after all—the day we break the fast. The Christians came. We couldn’t see them because the new moon didn’t offer much light. We heard something at the door, and at first we thought the Christian boys and girls were just coming to trick-or-treat. But then we realized that the pagan Halloween was not for two and a half more weeks. By then it was too late. I tried to fight them off at the door, but they overpowered me.”

Then, his eyes grew big, and he exclaimed, “My wife and children! Are they okay? Have you seen them? They escaped out the back as I was fighting.”

The look of sorrow that covered the Jew’s expression told the Muslim what he feared most.

“They’re dead, then?”

“Yes. I found them outside as I was coming in.”

The obviously distraught Muslim began to lament. But it cannot be held against him that he was less of a man. After all, sorrow is a natural part of loss. If there was no sorrow, then there was never any love. Then, he asked a peculiar favor.

“Can you help me face the Kaaba in Mecca so that I might pray? I need to express my gratitude.”

“What do you have to be grateful for? Your family has been slain.”

“Everything happens according to His will. I submit to that will. I trust that greater blessings that I cannot comprehend will ultimately result from any bad consequences such as this.”

The Jew would not argue with his faith. He himself had his own set prayers. As he positioned the Muslim, he wondered, as that secret part of him always had when facing Jerusalem, whether or not one could technically face it either east, west, north, or south, with some variation? Wouldn’t you technically be able to look toward it in any direction, though that might require a larger distance across the globe? Nevertheless, he kept his thoughts to himself and helped the weakened Muslim orient himself toward Mecca. Thankfully, he knew the basic direction since Jerusalem was in the general vicinity.

As the Muslim began to pray, the Jew realized that it was indeed midday. He went off apart so that he wouldn’t be disturbed. Then, he too began to pray while standing. After his observance of prayer was finished, he decided to return to the Muslim. As he was walking back to the house, he discovered that there was a covered wagon on its way. He ran back to the Muslim and informed him that they would have company.

Two nondescript men wearing nondescript dark suits with white shirts and ties guided a nondescript Conestoga wagon that was pulled with a few yoke of oxen. They halted at the ranch. The men jumped down, apparently worried about the fate of those in the ranch yard. As they hurried on foot toward the women and children, the Jew stopped them.

“They’re no longer with us.”

The two men spun around to find the source of the voice. They spotted the Jew leaving the main building, and visibly relaxed, sensing that he was no threat.

“What happened here?” one of the strangers asked.

“Chrisjuns.”

That was all that needed to be said. Everyone knew what they were capable of.

“How long ago did it happen?”

“It happened last night. I found the rancher inside. Muslim. He’s hurt badly, but he told me what happened.”

“Can you take us to see him?”

“Yes, he’s just in here.”

When they went in, one of the strangers went to the Muslim’s side. He whispered something into his ear.

“Yes, I have faith in Allah, the protector.”

The stranger then motioned to his companion. He pulled a small vial of oil out of his pocket. He put a few drops of oil on top of the Muslim’s head, and said a prayer. Then, his companion took the lead in a separate prayer. When they finished, the Muslim seemed visibly stronger.

“Maybe you were sent this way on purpose.”

“Let’s just say that it was for a reason. We felt prompted to come this way early this morning. We got up and prepared our team, and we rode for several hours in the night.”

“We are just sorry that we didn’t make it here in time to do more.”

They stood together, brothers in this sorrow. Three strangers trying to lift another’s burdens. But they had little time to stand idly. They set about to bury the deceased before sundown. They finished with a few hours to spare.

“What do we do now?”

“We wait here for a few days.”

“Why?

“Today is Friday, which was your holy day, I believe,” said the Jew.

“You are correct,” the Muslim replied.
“The Sabbath begins for me at sundown,” said the Jew. “Then Sunday is the day of rest for these Mormon, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is,” one replied.

“How did you know we were Mormon?” asked the other.

“You must be,” the Jew said looking at their name tags. “You brought a wagon. You came prepared.”

“Oh. I can see your point.”

They got prepared for their Sabbaths, and spent the next few days at the ranch. It was a pensive time for all. Despite their religious differences, they got to know each other a little more.

“Where are you going?” the Muslim asked the Jew.

“West. There’s surely plenty of opportunities for a banker or jeweler.”

“May I come with you?” the Muslim asked. “There is nothing for me here now.”

“Yes,” replied the Jew. “I could use the company. These are perilous lands to travel, what with these Chrisjuns.”

“We should all stick together for safety sake,” said one of the Mormons.

“Well, it would sure be good to have a guide in this territory. Your people did pioneer this area, didn’t they?” the Jew asked.

“Largely,” replied one of the Mormons.

“They didn’t have much of an option. The Christians had driven them out of every rightful land they owned. They killed their leaders and women and children. Sometimes they did worse,” the other Mormon replied.

“My people knows about Chrisjun persecution, too,” the Jew replied, thinking of centuries of Anti-Semiticism in Europe and other places in “Christendom.”

“So does mine,” the Muslim commented. “My people should have persecuted them to extinction in Europe centuries ago, long before they started the ‘Crusades,’ which were a poor excuse for butchery in the name of God.”

Monday after prayers were said, they set out for the West. The Muslim had no horse to ride, and he was still slightly frail. Thus, he rode in the wagon with the Mormons. The Jew decided to enjoy the present company, and hitched his horse to the back of the wagon. He rode inside with the others. They had a deep religious heritage to discuss. The Muslim talked about how he believed his religion was the pure religion that God had taught to Adam and Abraham and others. It had been restored after the world had corrupted it. The Mormons commented that they also believed that their religion was a restoration of the original teachings of Adam, Abraham, and other prophets. It was not a point of contention but of comprehension.

“So, where are your wives at?” the Jew asked the Mormons.

“Oh, we’re not married,” one responded, obviously a bit flustered.

“Surely you must have dozens,” continued the Jew.

“No. We don’t practice polygamy any more.”

“Personally, I believe in having multiple kids, not multiple wives. Can you imagine how trying that would be?” the other Mormon commented.

“Yes,” said the Jew. “One woman is definitely bad enough as it is.”

“Makes you wonder how Abraham and other prophets managed it,” commented one of the Mormons.

“I wouldn’t want to find out,” replied the Jew.

“It’s interesting though,” commented the Muslim. “That the Christians would disdain the practice as ungodly, when their leaders and prophets like Moses once practiced polygyny, as was recorded in their Bible. It makes you almost wonder if they read it.”

“Well, I’m just grateful that we don’t have to worry about it anymore. You can tell from what happened with Abraham and Jacob alone that it was a hardship,” one of the Mormons quipped.

“Well, some of my people still practice it,” the Muslim replied.

“Poor devils,” one of the Mormons said under his breath.

That commenced an awkward silence that lasted a while. They rode along for several days, taking only brief stops for prayer morning, noon, afternoon, evening, and night. It gave the Jew ample time to incorporate his Amidah. The Mormons took the opportunities to pray as it was occasioned, being neither indisposed to pray often nor strictly regimented as to the particulars of prayer.

They camped at night and built a small campfire suitable enough to cook from. Each read from their scriptures. From time to time, they would share tidbits of what they were reading, of what impressed them.

“One of my favorite sections of the Quran is in found in the Surah Ahzab verses 41 to 43.

“’O ye who believe! Celebrate the praises of Allah, and do this often;

“’And glorify Him morning and evening.

“’He it is Who sends blessings on you, as do His angels, that He may bring you out from the depths of Darkness into Light: and He is Full of Mercy to the Believers.'”

“That is beautiful,” one of the Mormons responded. “It reminds me of something from the Book of Mormon. It’s found in Alma 26:35-36.

“’Now have we not reason to rejoice? Yea, I say unto you, there never were men that had so great reason to rejoice as we, since the world began; yea, and my joy is carried away, even unto boasting in my God; for he has all power, all wisdom, and all understanding; he comprehendeth all things, and he is a merciful Being, even unto salvation, to those who will repent and believe on his name.

“’Now if this is boasting, even so will I boast; for this is my life and my light, my joy and my salvation, and my redemption from everlasting wo. Yea, blessed is the name of my God, who has been mindful of this people…'”

The other Mormon added, “There is a passage from Isaiah that is also quoted in the Book of Mormon that I like. It’s in Isaiah 12:1-6, or 2 Nephi 22:1-6.

“’And in that day thou shalt say, O LORD, I will praise thee: though thou wast angry with me, thine anger is turned away, and thou comfortedst me.

“’Behold, God is my salvation; I will trust, and not be afraid: for the LORD JEHOVAH is my strength and my song; he also is become my salvation.

“’Therefore with joy shall ye draw water out of the wells of salvation.

“’And in that day shall ye say, Praise the LORD, call upon his name, declare his doings among the people, make mention that his name is exalted.

“’Sing unto the LORD; for he hath done excellent things: this is known in all the earth.

“’Cry out and shout, thou inhabitant of Zion: for great is the Holy One of Israel in the midst of thee.”

When the Jew heard this, he remarked, “That’s a very similar translation to what is found in the Nevi’im in the Tanakh. It’s always made me think of Exodus 15:2.

“’The LORD is my strength and song, and He is become my salvation; this is my God, and I will glorify Him; my father’s God, and I will exalt Him.'”

Before they could share anymore this particular night, they were interrupted. There was rustling in the brush, and in the distance could be heard the whinnies of horses. Suddenly, from the night stepped a figure. The flickering light of the campfire played across his face, revealing distinct features and a cross hung around his neck. It was no doubt a Chrisjun. Everyone was taken aback. One of the Mormons, acting as a guide, stepped forwards.

“How, Christian,” he said, raising his right hand to the square.

“How, heathen gentile. We have come to barter.”

“What have you come to barter for? Do you want beads? I’m sure we have plenty,” the Mormon replied.

“We have come to barter for your lives. We do not want your petty beads. We want firewater, or you will die.”

That started a small commotion. The Mormon who had been addressing the Christian turned around obviously flustered.

“Do you have any firewater?” the Muslim asked the other Mormon.

“You know I don’t drink,” he replied.

“Neither do I,” replied the Muslim a little dispirited.

“Got you covered,” the Hebrew replied.

The Jew went back to his horse, which was still hitched to the wagon. He fumbled around in the saddle bags for a moment. Clinking and clanking could be heard. Then he returned rather triumphantly with a few miniature bottles in tow.

“This is not enough for my braves,” the Christian replied.

“I’m sorry. I only practice it in moderation,” the Jew said sheepishly.

“Do none of you drink? Then you must give something to atone for this failing. You must give us pork. It is good for the body. It is good for the feast.”

“No it isn’t good for the body,” replied the Muslim. “It is forbidden.”

“I don’t have any either,” the Jew replied. “It’s not Kosher.”

Their eyes and hopes turned to the Mormons. Surely they too were not commanded to abstain from pork. Surely they could save them.

“I have a little, though you should only eat it in moderation,” replied one of the Mormons. He went to the back of the wagon and began to rustle around. He came back with some salt-cured pork.

“This is not enough,” the Christian said gruffly. “You will have to die.”

Those were not the words any of them longed to hear. They were less welcome than Satan in heaven. A bit of strained desperation became apparent in their countenances.

“Mormons, what else do you have in that wagon? Surely there’s something that will appease this Christian,” said the Jew.

“I doubt it. It’s mostly crates and barrels full of copies of the Book of Mormon.”

“You weren’t inspired to bring something else?” the Muslim asked.

The Mormons shook their heads. One replied, “Inspiration is a funny thing, you see. You never can tell why you are inspired to do things. Nor can you rely on inspiration alone to provide what you need for every contingency. Sometimes you have to think ahead for yourself.”

“So we see,” replied the Muslim dryly. “What about you, Jew. Anything else useful in your saddle bags?”

“No, just beads. I was told they would be useful in bartering with Christians. Apparently I was wrong.”

“We go now,” the Christian said. “We will eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow, you die.”

With that, he crept out of the light of the fire. They watched him as he disappeared into the night carrying his pork and firewater. The mood he left behind was sour and apprehensive. The shouts of victory for his conquest and the clamor from his party did little to ease their minds. How many Christians were there?

“Bloody Chrisjuns,” the Jew said.

“Savages,” spat the Muslim.

“They say they worship the Judeo-Christian God. But their God is nothing like Mine. We know who ours is, but we dare not speak His name,” remarked the Jew.

“Have you noticed that each tribe of Christians says God is something different? Their doctrines differ, too. For example, some say that God is love, yet they say He hates His children. Some say all are His children. Some say only the faithful are His children. Others say that only Jesus was His Son, so we have no relationship with Him,” commented the Muslim

“Yes, I’ve noticed. Some say that He fills the universe. Others say that He fits inside the heart,” replied the Jew.

“Some say that He wasn’t created but always existed. Some say that Mary is His mother, and she reigns supreme, and they worship her, for good measure. Some say that He is just a spirit. Some say that He had a body, rose again to take flesh, and then died again to get rid of His body,” added the Muslim.

“Some think He was a wine-bibber, others a saint,” said the Jew.

“Some say that the Father took upon Himself flesh and called Himself the Son, though He was still the Father. Some say that there was a Father who had a Son, and the Son came and took upon Himself flesh and the sins of the world. Some say that God is three persons stuck together like someone who has multiple personalities; others say there are three distinct persons with the title of God. Some say that He is one being, and yet He sits at His right hand, or maybe it was on His right hand. I wonder if it would eventually go numb? In any case it is foolish to believe that someone can sit at their right hand or that they should sit on their right hand,” averred the Muslim.

“It is a confusing creed. Yet, they were warned of Christ that none of them can expect to truly know who they are and for what they are destined, or rather have their eternal life, until they can figure out who God really is,” the Jew stated.

“I do not find necessary to imagine who He is in order to worship Him,” commented the Muslim. “But at least I know His order of things, I know the order of His church.”

“That is something that is well to establish. But the Christians have yet to really determine the structure of their church. After all, some believe in an apostolic church, and yet have no apostles. Some believe that there are prophets, and others believe that there aren’t any prophets. But these same ones take their shamans’ words to be the word of God. Most just don’t really take the time to believe in much of anything besides what their shamans tell them. They just go because they were raised in the tradition and don’t have the desire to study more.”

“Some believe in a resurrection, yet by the same token don’t believe that they will have bodies when they are resurrected. Others don’t believe in a resurrection at all,” the Muslim remarked.

“Some believe in baptism by immersion, others believe in sprinkling. Some believe that baptism isn’t necessary to get into heaven, mocking what Christ taught. Others believe that it is so necessary that infants must be baptized or eternally lost.”

“Some say that they will be caught up to live in heaven. Others say that heaven will be here on earth.”

“Some say miracles have ceased. Others will say they have not and charge you a price to see if they are right or not.”

“Some say they are responsible for the sins of Adam and Eve; others say that they are only accountable for their own. Some say you must only believe to be saved. Others say that you must believe, as well as do what has been commanded.”

“Some forbid to marry, drink, or eat meat, others practice each excessively.”

“Some believe in communalism, others in materialism.”

“Some believe you go to heaven or hell after death, others to purgatory.”

“Some believe in taking the sacrament of the Lord’s Supper weekly, others do it yearly if then.”

“Some believe in washing feet, others in anointing heads.”

“Some believe in taking hold of snakes; others in taking hold of their senses.”

“Some say you forget your family in heaven; others hope you won’t. Some are married until death them parts but don’t realize what this means.”

“Some think God is white; others say God is black. Some say He is male, and a few believe that He is female. They worry about that more than purifying themselves of their sins and trying to follow His commandments.”

“Some abhor traditions, and others place more faith in traditions than in the scriptures.”

“Some keep the Sabbath on Saturday, most on Sunday, and many don’t keep it either way as soon as they leave the church doors. Some treat religion as a way of life. Others only warm a pew on Sunday so that they can feel good about what they do the rest of the week. Others don’t bother coming, thinking that it is not essential, though they might occasionally attempt to pray or read to justify this practice.”

“Some pray to a being that their religion has yet to truly define in any understandable manner, and others think it might be a good idea to do it, and they’ll get around to it one day”

“Some believe in fasting, others in gluttony.”

“Some love God, some fear God, some hate God, many are just ambivalent.”

“Some believe that spreading the gospel is a vacation, some believe that it is a duty, and some some don’t consider it.”

“Some believe in paying tithes, others alms, others any amount they deign, and others in just paying their shamans. They figure that most of it would wind up in his pockets anyway.”

“Some say love thy neighbor. Some say love thy neighbor, but destroy anyone who does not share the same religious tenets as you do.”

“Yes, the tribes of Christianity are quite confusing.”

“Why are you so silent, Mormons?”

“Didn’t you know? They’re part of a tribe of Christianity,” the Jew stated.

“Really, Mormons?” There was both curiosity and new suspicion in his eyes.

“Well, it depends on whom you ask. They wouldn’t accept us, though our beliefs overlap in many areas. They think that just because we actually have firm concepts on whom and what we believe, and because we have prophets, apostles, and priesthood authority that we’re an enemy.”

“The lack of confusion probably scares them,” quipped the Jew.

“I wouldn’t have thought that you thought you were Christian. You don’t have crosses,” the Muslim replied.

“Well, I’m pretty sure that if Abraham had been forced to slaughter Isaac or Ishmael on the mountain top, he wouldn’t have a carried the dagger around his neck to remind him day and night. I doubt God likes to look on the implement of His Son’s sacrifice in any other light. Besides, many tend to worship the cross more than the Crucified. It is often just an empty symbol for them.”

There was another gap in conversation, as they lay reflecting on the night’s happenings.

“Maybe angels come for our souls tomorrow. But maybe we prevail, Insha’Allah,” the Muslim said out of the blue.

“Well, at least we know that any pangs of death will be swallowed up in the glories of the resurrection,” commented one of the Mormons.

The Jew wasn’t sure if he believed in the resurrection or not. Perhaps tomorrow he would find out.

“I think we should fast tonight,” one of the Mormons said to the other.

“But it’s not the first Sunday,” the Jew quipped.

“Still, it’s a time of great need,” the other Mormon replied. “Fasts don’t have to be done strictly only on a set day, because that puts the emphasis on the day and not the reason. Sometimes the reason is just to increase spirituality. Other times, it is a matter of sickness, or a matter of life or death.”

“I will fast with you tomorrow, Mormons,” the Muslim added. “I do not care that it is a day of battle. I do not know if I will make it to the end of the fast or not. But I would like to. After all, I still have five other days left to fast this month. But, be that as it may, I will submit to the will of Allah.”

“Isn’t that what Islam means?”

“Yes, and Muslim means one who submits to God’s will.”

“I believe we will all have to be Muslims in that sense tomorrow.”

The next morning, as the Muslim was saying his Salah, they were attacked. This was a definite disadvantage, since it was one less man to aim a weapon. They were already at a disadvantage since they couldn’t very well circle the wagon. Arrows whizzed around him and one lodged into the dirt. The report of the rifles was deafening.

“I’m kind of in the middle of something,” the Muslim remarked, interrupting his prayer.

“Sorry, we’ll try not to disturb you too much with our deaths,” the Jew commented.

The shootout was over before it began. They only had limited ammunition as it was. Though several of the Christians fell, it was not enough. They were forced to surrender.

“Thank you for finally giving me some peace to finish my prayers,” the Muslim said rising. “Now, give me a gun and we’ll send these Christians to their God.”

It was about that moment that he realized that his side had lost and the battle was over. A Christian came over to him. It seemed to be the same one from the previous night, though now he wore a full headdress and war paint. The Christian pistol-whipped him. The Muslim collapsed to the ground. The Christian stood looking over his body for a few moments.

“I think he’s waiting to see if he’s going to turn the other cheek,” the Jew commented softly.

Two Christians came and picked up the Muslim. They laid him across a horse. Then, they let the Mormon and Jew walk behind through the desert as prisoners.

“He was right. Sometimes the blows we receive in this life can bring us greater blessings in the long run,” the Jew said, grumbling about the dusty trek.

They were taken back to the Christian village. Everyone gawked at these strange prisoners. As they walked through the settling, scalps were seen hanging from the doorways. They were finally taken to be seen by the shaman. When they reached his lodgings, he was nowhere to be found. After waiting about an hour, the shaman pulled up in a brand new Rolls Royce. He exited the car, revealing a man in an expensive Armony suit. He came into the chapel and asked why he had been summoned from his mansion. When he found out who the captives were, he merely said,

“You will die, heathens.” He never bothered to ask anything more.

“But we are not without God,” protested the Muslim.

“But you are without money. My braves have already checked. Your words will not convince me,” replied the shaman.

“Then, we die as martyrs,” commented one of the Mormons.

“A martyr’s death is well rewarded,” the Muslim said.

The Jew, however, was not so certain that death of any sort was well rewarded. He was still half-unsure if there was a resurrection. So it passed that they were taken forcefully to the tribal gathering place. The shaman began with a prayer. As the tribe chanted, he passed around plates for a collection to pay for the expenses of the day. The shaman then told the tribe that today would be a glorious day, for they would have the honor of ridding the world of a few more heathens. The tribe was ecstatic. Some braves notched their bows and a few others readied their tomahawks for the scalping.

“Do you have any last words? Have you been born again?” the Shaman asked them.

“Yes, I believe in Christ. I know that He is my Savior,” one of the Mormons said.

There was a loud “Praise God!” from the half-astonished crowd.

“We are not heathens,” the Mormons continued, increasingly earning “Amens” and “Hallelujahs.” “We all believe in God, in our own way. We are not so much different, you and us, for we are His children. We should treat each other with kindness, as Christ would treat us. The way to change a man’s beliefs is not through violence. It is not with force. It comes from seeing good examples. It is not with well-prepared arguments. Why should we believe in the words of a man, when man is fallible? We must instead trust in what God tells us. The Spirit can witness to our souls if what we are told is true or not. Only then should we believe.

“We should act better than this, brothers and sisters. We should have a better fraternity. After all, we all profess to be People of the Book. Let us look to the Book, to the words of the Master. He commanded us not to judge each other, for judgment is his.

“Remember the instance when the woman who had been taken in the act of adultery was brought before the Savior while He was in the temple? He was questioned if she should be stoned to death according to the Law of Moses. What was His response? Was He rash and hasty in judgment? Did He condemn the sinner to die? How wise was His response, ‘Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.’ Was there anyone there that could cast a stone? None of the men that had brought her could stone her. The Redeemer was the only one without sin, and He did not condemn her. So, it is in much the same way that I say unto you, my brothers and sisters, ‘Let he who is without sin [shoot the first arrow.]'”

The tribe was in shock. In the process of shouting “Amens and “Praise Jesus,” they had been tricked. This Mormon had made them remember that they weren’t perfect either. They had no right to judge or condemn. Quite saddened, they began to unnock the arrows and sheathe their tomahawks. One of the braves began to untie the four prisoners. As he did, the shaman sent the collection plates around to cover the expenses of preaching, and offer a minimal love offering to their new found brothers.

“Allāhu Akbar!” the Muslim shouted.

“You said it. God is the greatest,” the Jew agreed.

They were given back their possessions. Then, they continued on their way, unharmed by this Christian threat.

Ignance, or Pessimismo

How Ignance came to be raised in America

Ignance was born in America. It was only natural that he would grow up there, too. After all, it was the best of all possible lands. It was a land of opportunities and growth. It was the land of the free.

Ignance was born to a poor family, as were many other Americans. But he was raised to be happy in his poverty. They didn’t need health insurance, food, running water, or electricity to be happy. As long as they were together as a family, they had everything that they needed. Consequently, his parents died young of starvation and health problems, thus abandoning all fourteen of his brothers and sisters, begotten from a lack of television and other forms of entertainment, to become wards of the state.

This was rather inconvenient for the state. They had tried their hardest to avoid any sort of responsibility for these people as it were. After all, the state should not be responsible for taking care of the citizens. They were only the source of power for the government. Since this was a poor, and obviously weak source of power, the government was better off without them. Previously, they had told the parents that they made too much money to receive any form of financial assistance. Then, to teach this family a lesson for having the audacity to claim poverty, the government made sure that the inflation rates increased, while keeping the minimum wages stationary. They thought they were poor at first, well they would definitely feel poor now! Of course, it was rather rude of the parents to die. They were supposed to just get a seventh job so that they could make ends meet. Lazy, sniveling peasants.

So it chanced that Ignance and his fourteen brothers and sisters were entrusted to the neglect of the Department of Family and Children Services. They were a most friendly lot. They were always asking such pleasant questions such as, “Didn’t your parents ever hear of birth control?” and “Didn’t they have TV?” Ignance would respond that his parents couldn’t afford TV because they were too poor. They would then tell him that they should have gotten another job, or that they should have thought about that before they had fifteen kids. It was easier to ignore the problem of the difficulty of trying to get educated and survive at the same time, than it was to come up with a compassionate solution. But Ignance was with his family, and that was all that mattered. So he was happy.

How Ignance Came to Be Placed In Foster Care

He and his brothers and sisters were immediately assigned a case worker, and after a few months she got around to figuring out who they were.

“Oh, so your family was the one that didn’t believe in abortion, huh? It’s a pity, because you’re such sweet kids. It’s a shame that they weren’t illegals. We like the illegals. They come here; they work in our fields and do all the jobs that we don’t want. They don’t pay their taxes. They bring their gangs. We give them free health care. Everyone wins. When the parents die from exposure to pesticides and such, we just send the kids back to Mexico. It’s far less messy for us. Besides, we’ll see them in a few years anyway. We just did them a favor by teaching them English in the first place.

“But you, we can’t send you anywhere. Mexico doesn’t want you cause you’re not Mexican. America doesn’t want you because you’re not cheap labor. No American wants you because you’re kids. If we wanted those, we would have actually had them instead of getting cars and pets. Why else would we wait until we’re past our prime to settle down?”

Ignance and his brothers and sisters could see that she was a very wise and caring lady. They thanked her for her kind words. They were together, and that was what mattered. When she remembered that she was a social worker and was actually supposed to do social work, which was much later, she immediately had them split up and put into foster care.

Ignance was sad to be separated from his brothers and sisters. But he had a foster family, and that was what mattered. They could be happy together. Indeed, they were happy. The family had never been able to have kids, and they were grateful to have the chance. They spoiled Ignance by giving him things like food, clothing, shelter, and love. He was sure that they must have been the best parents ever.

Then, the social worker came back, and took Ignance away. She apologized
greatly for the wrongs that he had suffered at their hands. She begged him to forgive her, because social workers weren’t supposed to find children good homes. They were supposed to destroy the good homes. He wasn’t supposed to be treated with kindness and loved. This is America, after all.

Instead, he was supposed to go to a home where the father wore wifebeaters, drank, cursed, screamed, and hit everyone. She immediately found him one of these good, respectable families, which are a dime a dozen, and placed him there. The father did indeed wear a wifebeater, and he abused the family. They had bruises and went to the hospital for broken bones. But they were together, and that’s all that mattered. The social worker came by occasionally to make sure that things were going well at the house.

Since the father was too busy drinking and doing drugs to buy trivial things like food and clothing for the family, Ignance learned the value of hard work. It was just barely more than five dollars an hour. But that five dollars an hour was amazing. With it he could buy a loaf of bread occasionally.

He learned the other value of hard work, it meant that you could help support the bureaucratic waste of the government. It gave him such a warm and fuzzy feeling inside to know that his backbreaking labor allowed some droll politicians to sit around in offices and feel important about letting their nation go to waste. He was grateful that he was single, so that he could pay an extra amount to those pork-barrel politicians. He only wished that he could make more money to give to the government. After all, it beat making more money to let his foster father steal it all for booze and drugs, which is what usually happened.

Ignance began to go to school in earnest when he learned that school was the window of opportunity. Before, he’d just gone because he was forced to go. But he thought about the extra money that he could pay in taxes, and how much happier he would feel. Naturally, he strove to excel. He eventually finished high school. After wasting hundreds of dollars on meaningless attire just to walk across a stage and get a piece of paper, he was tickled pink. He determined that he would go forth, diploma in hand, to find out what the real value of an education was. He did. It was a few more places to work at where you can make a little more than five dollars an hour.

How Ignance came to go to College

Ignance had heard while in high school that there was a mystical land of happiness and peace where everyone laughed and smiled. It was called the McDonald’s ball pen. Since he already swept that out everyday, he determined that he would have to seek zen to discover what he should do next in his life after that. What was beyond that far horizon for him besides death, suffering, and more taxes? He was told to go to college, since you would be able to make more money after you got a real education. Ignance was puzzled about the term “real education,” since he thought that he already had one. But he heard that there were plenty of pizza, beer, and girls at college. He knew that if they could all be together, then they would be happy. That would be all that would matter.

Naturally he went to the closest community college. It happened to be in his community. He learned many things at college. He learned that one should never drink a keg before going in for finals. He learned that the body generally needs to sleep more than 2 hours a week for optimal performance. He learned that professors actually want you to work, too. Disappointingly, they didn’t pay just slightly more than five dollars an hour for it, either. They didn’t pay anything.

Instead, Ignance had to keep his job. He also had to take out student loans to pay for his books, which each cost more than what he made in a month. But he figured that since books were the source of learning, they must be worth it. After all, no college would dare engage in a racket to charge exorbitant amounts of money for a worthless textbook that generally won’t even be opened more than once in a semester. It would be ludicrous. Still, he never needed to open his textbooks. But he kept them as reminders of all the fond times he had not attending class.

Ignance began to socially develop during this time. That is to say that he came in contact with some very enlightened individuals. They must have been enlightened, because they always listened to a band called Nirvana. They would discuss topics such as how the minorities ruled the masses. Or rather, how a small percentage of the population controlled the government, and they were rich. They talked about how no one in America had ideals. They talked about whether or not clones had souls. They talked about how they needed to use their freedoms. They needed to assemble. They needed to protest. They needed to boycott. They needed to worship. They needed to express themselves. Ignance really didn’t know what they were talking about. But they were together, so they were happy. That’s all that mattered.

One day they all got together so they could be happy. The city was going to cut down the trees in a park to urbanize. This enlightened group only wanted an excuse to gather, to use their freedoms. They got signs and marched around this park. Some of them chained themselves to the trees. None of them used deodorant or shaved, just so that no one would come near. The police came to drag them away. The leaders protested that they had a right to assemble, that they had signed a petition to save the park. The police replied by telling them that that was sweet. Then, they asked if they had money. When they said they were just poor college students, then they were told that they didn’t matter since they didn’t have any money.

The group began to think about the wealthy minority ruling the nation again. They were forcefully removed from the park. Ignance didn’t expect this to be part of a real education. If he wanted to be abused, he could just go home to his foster father. Still, his group continued to meet together to protest. Usually they protested the war. Naturally, no one listened. After all, the rest of the nation was okay with letting its future get destroyed in the deserts that had been invaded only for the political motive of greed. As long as they still had gas for their cars, what did they care?

How Ignance Came to Be Involved in an RIAA Scandal

While Ignance was in college, a friend lent him a compact disc. He listened to the disc several times. He asked his friend where he could get a copy. His friend told him that he could buy a copy from the local music store. Ignance got depressed when he heard the word buy. After all, he was in college. He was too busy paying the college, government, and textbook publishers to have more than enough money to eat ramen noodles. But his friend told him not to worry and introduced him to the world of file sharing. In the end, file sharing was just free advertising. Ignance thought it was amazing. He was able to get all five songs that he had ever wanted together in once place. They were happy, and that was what mattered.

One day, Ignance got a letter accusing him of stealing hundreds of thousands of dollars. Naturally he was perplexed. He had never stolen anything, let alone hundreds of thousands of dollars. Then he saw what it was for. The crime listed five songs each at 150 thousand dollars. He started laughing. Surely this was a joke. If it cost one hundred and fifty thousand dollars for each song, then no one would ever be able to listen to the music. That kind of defeated the purpose, didn’t it?

He figured that it was a joke that his friend had played on him. But his friend told him that it was no joke. There was an evil empire set on destroying itself by suing everyone that listened to music out of existence. It was called the RIAA, Really Incompetent Anti-Americans. His friend told him that they had started attacking colleges, since they figured that if they could get rid of people who thought first, then there would be no one left to protest later. It wasn’t like the politicians were going to stop the nonsense, since they were getting a cut of the lawsuits anyway. After all, what is a politician but money’s psychiatrist? They only listen to problems where profit’s involved. Everyone else could continue on in the hand basket which the politicians were giftwrapping.

Indeed, the RIAA was trying to get a bill through Congress to make sure that college students who are suspected of piracy could not receive federal aid. That would keep the crooks out of college. Lowering college attendance will lower piracy. After all, college students are a far larger threat to the copyright consortia than the international piracy cartels that make tremendous profits on the black markets. College students in America are also easier to attack, since the American government is the most susceptible to the RIAA’s bribe money. Other nations are too deluded to give in to the pressure. They don’t realize that kids don’t need a college education. They are just the future of the world, after all.

Ignance thanked his friend for letting him know what a predicament he was in. He asked his friend what he should do, and his friend replied that he should pay the money. Ignance wondered how he would pay the money, since he was in college and broke. His friend told him that he should have thought about that before he got involved in illegal file sharing. He told his friend that he was the reason he got involved file sharing. Besides, he had been taught to share from a kid. It was only natural. His friend told him to think of settling as sharing with the RIAA. After all, sharing is nothing more than being taken advantage of.

What Became of the RIAA Scandal

Ignance was forced to go to trial. His college had caved in to the RIAA and given over his IP address information. That really wasn’t a problem, since privacy was such a useless and unnecessary privilege in America. No one really wanted it, otherwise they would have done something to curb its continual infringements long ago. Ignance was one of four thousand John Does to be tried that day. The RIAA figured that they would just lump them all together without any real evidence or legal searches. The judge would certainly condemn them all to death or fees, since in America there is no justice to be had for the poor, and no punishment to be had for the wealthy because of sleazy defense lawyers.

But the judge determined that the people’s time could be worst used by separating the cases. After all, there was more job security for him and his colleagues that way. Ignance was there to see his friend who had introduced him to file sharing be put on trial first. His friend was scrutinized over many of the songs on his computer, and he replied that most of him had been from CDs that he had ripped. The RIAA lawyers responded that they had never given him permission to rip those songs, since a person doesn’t have a legal right to backup their media or use it as they wish. His friend tried to tell everyone that he never realized that it was illegal to file share. He was then asked why he didn’t pay the fine then. His friend replied that if he ever got out of college that he was going to buy the few songs he had gotten P2P. The rebutting argument called him a fool, because if he ever got out of college he’d never have enough money to pay off the student loans as it was, let alone the fees from the case.

The judge saw reason in this argument, and immediately sentenced Ignance’s friend to be burned at the stake. Upon learning that the man had kids, the judge order the kids to be burned at the stake as well. After all, they couldn’t deal with any more wards of the state. Some parents had died a few years back and left fifteen kids to the custody of the state. The government had still not recovered from the shock of having to take care of real Americans instead of wasting billions on humanitarian aid to foreign nations, which scarcely reaches the people but is immediately embezzled. It was an outrage, really. Those parents should be sued, wherever they were.

When the day ended, several more had been burned at the stake. The trial was less about actual music sales than making an example, after all. The RIAA gathered around the bonfire singing and dancing. They made S’mores and congratulated each other. Ignance thought about his friend and his children that had been burned at the stake. Then, he thought about all the RIAA malvados dancing around the ashes of their doom. He figured that they must all be happy, since they were together. After all, that’s all that mattered.

The Surprising Involvement of the NSA

Ignance approached one of the RIAA lawyers. He asked if it would be possible to settle. The lawyer sized him up, and then agreed. He was told to go home, and he would be contacted later. When he got home, he took a shower to rinse off the ashes and soot from the blackened bodies. He no sooner left the shower than a pair of hands seized him.

‘Strong hands,’ he thought.

Ignance was bound, gagged, blindfolded, earmuffed, and transported in the back of an old van to an unknown location. He was subsequently taken out of the van and placed on a chair rudely. The blindfold and gag were removed, and Ignance asked where he was. He saw their mouths move several times and wondered if they were speaking sign language. After a few minutes, his captors realized that he had not heard them, so they took off the earmuffs.

They told him that he had been brought to a secret prison to settle the RIAA lawsuit. He was now in the custody of the NSA, Nazi Secret Army. Ignance wondered what the NSA would have to do with the RIAA. He was told that he should stop asking questions that he shouldn’t have an answer for. Ignance thought that was wise, and asked them what questions he should have an answer for. Instead of answering him with the questions, they just gave him the answers. It was very confusing to Ignance, who almost asked if they could answer in the form of a question at least to humor him. From what he could piece together, he was to be tortured.

He protested that he wanted to settle the lawsuit. They responded that they were going to settle it the old fashioned way. At first, Ignance thought that was a good thing. He had always been old-fashioned himself, what with having fourteen brothers and sisters. Besides, the old-fashioned way was bartering as best as he could remember. That was definitely a lot better than paying money that he didn’t’ have. Then, he realized that the old-fashioned way for them was torture. My, how times have changed.

The goons approached him to rough him up. They said that they would make him confess his crime. He told them that he already did. That’s why he was coming to settle. He’d downloaded five songs. That caught the goons off guard. They didn’t have any reason to rough him up anymore. He had spoiled their fun. They sullenly went back to the van and called their boss for instructions. They came back triumphant.

The told him that they had proof that he had illegally performed another song, “Rubber Ducky,” without paying royalties. He couldn’t broadcast music without paying royalties on it. That was as bad as file sharing. Ignance tried to explain to them that he was alone in the shower when he sang that. They replied that he was broadcasting, because it was caught in a wiretap.

Ignance tried to protest that he had no knowledge of a wiretap. But they told him that everyone knew that the government wiretapped everyone. Ergo, he knowingly broadcasted that song a minimum of 51 times in the last four days. He would have to pay for that. He replied that he would download it fifty-one times from iTunes at ninety-nine cents a piece. After they laughed at him for a few minutes, they told him that it was 150 thousand dollars per instance. He protested that he didn’t have that kind of money, he was American. They told him that he should have thought about that before he was born.

It suddenly occurred to Ignance that he didn’t remember a warrant for any wiretaps. They replied that they didn’t need them. It was a matter of national defense. After all, he could not believe the terror there would be if others should sing, hum, whistle, or otherwise enjoy rightful works without paying for the works. The terror of course would be from copyright consortia like the RIAA. Since the government can do anything as pernicious and contrary to the Constitution as it wants, as long as it was in the name of fighting terrorism, and since the RIAA has deep pockets, the government began to use the NSA wiretapping program to monitor copyrights. After all, what better way to combat illegal copyright infringement than with an illegal invasion of privacy?

Naturally, it would be a state secret, and all semblances of the program would be quelled in court before a real trial that even remotely embraced the concept of justice was conducted. This was the government, after all. Anything that they did must naturally receive immunity, since the government is infallible. The next target is to close the libraries, as they aid and abet perpetrators. Imagine, people actually accessing knowledge and learning for free. That should be a capital offense!

The captors, now worked into a frenzy after this tirade, began to circle Ignance. He asked what they were going to do to him. They repeated to him that they were going to settle this matter. Ignance was not exactly looking forward to this. Trying to stall for time, he asked them why they would do this.

Confidently, the leader responded that by suing or bludgeoning the fans, music sales will increase. Ignance couldn’t see how this could be. He’d always been told not to bite the hand that feeds you, especially if it had just been in the bathroom. But he was hardly in a position to dispute this with this group of goons who wore dunce caps on their heads and had baseball bats in their hands. It made them seem overly qualified in this aspect. They definitely had more clout in this arena than he could comprehend.

After they roughed up Ignance a bit, they told him that they would shortly commence with the real torture. Ignance began to dread what was to come. What could be worse than a beating? Then, he heard it. It was contemporary pop music. It was horrible. He would have rather been burned at the stake at this moment.

The leader came to mock him. He told Ignance that they deliberately picked certain songs just to drive him insane. They were going to hammer him with music full of subliminal messages, just like they played to the rest of the masses. These songs would not only get stuck in their heads, but they would make it where the populace would disdain classical and other public domain music. That way they could continue to have royalties and fees and lawsuits.

Ignance could feel his sanity begin to slip. At the precise moment when he was about to cave, the henchmen started to fight amongst themselves. Soon, only one remained. He turned off the music, and began to walk slowly toward Ignance. Ignance was certain that this was the end.

How Ignance Came to Flee to Canada

The goon looked at him, and asked him if he’d had enough. Ignance wholeheartedly agreed. The goon said that that was good, because the music had driven him crazy. He couldn’t listen to it any more. Ignance asked if the other guys would be okay. The goon told him no, and that Ignance should flee, that way he wouldn’t be blamed for the incident. Ignance responded that he couldn’t very well flee while bound in the chair. The goon thought about it for a second, and then he realized that Ignance was right. He set him free. Ignance asked him where he should go. He was told to go to Canada, since it is now the land of the free, since it has no copyright stupidity like the DMCA.

Ignance took heart at that. He longed to live in a land where he could sing “Rubber Ducky.” He’d always dreamed of living in the land of the free. He just didn’t know how to get there. The goon told him that it was to the north. He should follow Polaris. Ignance replied that he didn’t know which star was Polaris, and the henchman told him that he would just have to go with Ignance. After all, he didn’t have much of a job left at this point.

The goon took Ignance to a friend of a friend of an acquaintance who happened to have heard of someone who still ran the Underground Railroad. They finally found the conductor, and embarked on an intense journey. The RIAA was hot on their trail with hound dogs and rifles. They slept by day and and fled by night. When they were fleeing, they would speak about the freedom that awaited them. They would sing, “O Canada,” hoping that no wiretaps were present. Ignance learned that centuries before people had left England to escape a similar situation with debtors prisons. Now people were being smuggled back into England to escape a similar fate. After all, Canada is a commonwealth of the UK. They lauded Canada for burning down Washington, DC. They spoke of how it had never been invaded successfully by America. If there was any land that was safe from the RIAA, it was Canada.

Ignance and his new found friend eventually made it to Canada. They stared at the banks of the St. Lawrence River. Before them lay freedom. They were supposed to have been met by a boatman on the shore to ferry them across. There was no boat in sight, and the hounds could be heard closing in. They had not made it this far to be deterred like the Nez Perce. They jumped in the river and began swimming to freedom. They swam for quite some time, but finally they made it to the far shore. They began to kiss the ground.

A man walking by stopped and asked them what they were so happy about. They responded that they were grateful to be in Canada at last. He looked at them like they were crazy. Then, he told them that they had just crossed Lake Champlain and were in Vermont. They were understandably disappointed. But the gentleman told them that to get to Canada, they just needed to swim the lake north. So they did, eventually. Several days later they made it across the border into Quebec. They crept into the city of Notre-Dame-Du-Mont-Carmel by night like a pair of waterlogged prunes. Ignance recognized his face everywhere, though he couldn’t read anything written on the fliers.

A passing gentleman saw them and recognized Ignance. With a few sacrebleu’s and mondieu’s he escorted Ignance and his friend into a side alley. Naturally, Ignance felt no worry. What harm could come to him in an alley? After all, he was apparently a celebrity.

The man addressed Ignance as monsieur, and then he told him that it was no longer safe for him to stay there in Canada. The RIAA and others had pressured Canada into passing legislation as flawed and hideous as the American DMCA, without consultation with the public, mind you. Now, Ignance would be wanted here, too. He would be tried for his crimes, unless the Mafia hitmen that the RIAA had sent after him found him first.

Ignance was devastated. He had journeyed all this way on the underground railroad only to discover that Canada was no longer a land of the free, and they speak French there, too. It wouldn’t have worked out after all. But where would he go now? Was there no place safe from the evil empires of America? Was there no bastion of freedom?

The Canadian replied to his unspoken thought by telling him that there was still one more place left. It was a land of freedom. It would be his only hope. He must take a ride on the Pirate Bay and go to Sweden. Ignance asked if they spoke French there. He was told no. Satisfied, he determined that he would go. The only thing worse than the RIAA was learning French.

How Ignance Came to Flee from Canada to Sweden

The Canadian told Ignance that he knew of someone who could smuggle him out of the country. After all, they were heroes now. Ignance and the goon followed the man to a lodge sitting out over the river. There they were given papers which enabled the bearers to receive any help that they required to make it to Sweden, signed 7h15 15 60d. They were also given two disguises—a jar of maple syrup and a moose outfit. Professing many merci’s, they left, eager to reach the safety of Sweden.

No sooner had they started out into the night when they became separated by the pursuit of Mounties. The goon and his maple syrup disguise escaped attention. But the moose was clearly suspicious. What would a moose be doing walking around the countryside at night? Ignance was taken into custody. But at least he was with the Mounties, and they were all together. That’s all that mattered.

The Inquisitor came in to begin the investigation. He began a tirade of French, which Ignance was sure meant something. The Inquisitor continued on for forty minutes, never ceasing to allow a response, and growing ever more agitated for having received none. Ignance finally determined that he wasn’t going to get the gift of tongues any time soon. He pulled out his letter from 7h15 15 60d. The Inquisitor read it, looked back at Ignance, and looked back at the letter. He handed it back, rattling off more French.

“Je suis tres désolé.”

Ignance replied, “Gesundheit.”

The Inquisitor looked at him oddly again. Then, he left, and came back with several Mounties. After rattling off something particularly spittle-friendly, the Inquisitor left the room. The Mounties seized Ignance.

Ignance tried to tell them that he was sorry. However, one of the Mounties, told him not to worry. Everything would be all right. They were taking him to get a ship to Sweden. Ignance was astounded. The journey was uneventful, except for the bruising on his arm where their hands continued to grasp him and a small encounter with the mob.

When they were approached by the Mafiosos, one of the Mounties stepped forward boldly, the letter in hand. Giving them his most official “excuzez-moi,” he handed them the letter. The mobsters looked it over, looked back at Ignance, examined the signature, straightened their white ties, bowed before Ignance, kissed his hands, heiled Hitler, and left. Ignance would certainly have to tell this 7h15 15 60d person thank you again. He was eventually boarded on the first boat to Sweden, again, thanks to the letter. It had definitely proven more valuable than his education ever was.

How Ignance Came to Arrive In Sweden

Ignance had tried to make his stomach obey the mysterious letter that he’d been given. However, it would not. The captain approached him halfway through the voyage to congratulate him. The captain mentioned that Ignance was lucky. Most other letters he received regarding passage on this ship instructed him and his crew to kill the bearer. But then, this was a pirate ship.

When he mentioned piracy, the captain suddenly remembered where he had seen Ignance before. He questioned if he was the same poor, stupid American that was fleeing the RIAA. Ignance proudly replied that he was one and the same. The Captain replied that it was an honor to have him aboard. Ignance was told to lookup the Pirate Party as soon as he got to Stockholm. The ship docked in Stockholm several seasick days later. Ignance’s stomach contents arrived not too long afterwards. But at least they were together, and that was what mattered.

Ignance had been excited to hear about the Pirate Party onboard. He hadn’t been to a party since that incident in the park back when he was still an innocent community college student. It was high time to get a social life. However, when he arrived at the address that he was given, he didn’t see any police. There were no protesters or music or chains or beverages. Parties were certainly different in Sweden. He opened the door, still unaware that the Pirate Party was a political party.

He was greeted by a warm, welcoming hands. It was good to have a new recruit, a foreigner too, among them. Ignance asked how they knew he was foreign. They answered that the eye patch was a dead give away. It was the mark that all copyright refugees had to wear to show their affiliation. He replied that he’d gotten it at the dock, thinking that he should at least try to look appropriate for the Pirate Party. They chuckled with him, and then he was taken to see their captain.

The captain was a mild mannered man, quite simple in appearance really. He wore a large, plumed hat. His right hand was a hook. His cutlass was at his side, and a parrot was on his shoulder. He looked up to see Ignance enter, and a warm smile split his face. It was apparent that he had not gone to the dentist in years. The captain told Ignance that he had expected him. It was a great thing to have him with them. Ignance replied that he was happy to be there, too. They were together, and that was what mattered.

Ignance asked when the Party would begin, since he didn’t want to take up much of the captain’s time. The captain replied that the party had begun long before. Ignance was startled to hear this, since he hadn’t heard much music. He asked what the party was about.

The captain replied that the Pirat Partiet was a political party that existed to do war with the copyright lords upon the high seas. These lords had corrupted the concept of copyrights, and had one creed. The parrot began to mimic a copyright emperor, shrilly professing to want eternal copyrights so that he would never have to lose hold of the souls and the money they covet; all public domain information should be disposed of forthwith, since it profited no one, financially speaking.

The captain continued to say that they wanted copyright reform, since copyrights were once meaningful. Like in America they were only originally for fourteen years. But now they are bludgeons to advancement, just like the series of frivolous patents that are issued daily on things such as software. They have begun to hinder the world’s progress. People get sued for quoting and not paying royalties, which is similar to the Heimlich family. Consequently, they had become the oath of choice here at the Pirat Partiet.

Ignance was moved by the captain’s speech. He had never known how passionate people could be about intellectual property, with the exception of the deranged fanatics willing to destroy anyone who listened to music. The captain thanked him for his kindness. Then, he explained that after they pay their taxes in Sweden, they can’t help but to steal music. After all, there is no money left. Ignance marvelled about how great it must be to be able to pay most of your income as taxes. The captain replied that it was a great thing, because they had free health care for all.

Ignance was astonished to hear that this government actually did something to help its citizens. He told the captain that in America they pay their taxes, and they don’t even get so much as a thank you. Even if they did give their whole income to the government, the American government wouldn’t provide meaningful services for the people. After all, they have too many projects and war expenses to worry about actually taking care of the people.

Before the captain could respond, a great, mighty commotion was heard outside. The captain unsheathed his cutlass and ran into the fray of the battle’s bloody pandemonium. Ignance heard men in suits professing to be from the RIAA and other consortia. He heard these men yelling at the pirates, between sword clashes, that they would pay for their copyright infringement. No place on this planet would be free from the grasps of their power and influence. They would take the world’s money by force, if need be. Ignance also heard the Pirates rallying. Curses were hurled at the RIAA, such as “Oh, go Heimlich yourself,” and “Go do the manoeuvre.” The fighting was fierce and devastating on both sides. Ignance wondered what he would do.

How Ignance came to be Enlightened

Before either side could prevail, an enormous sea wave came flooding through the complex. They all died.

Ignance found himself sitting cross-legged in front of a tall man in a white robe. Ignance asked where he was. The man told him that he was in a state of Enlightenment; it was somewhere near the Fountain of Youth in Florida. Ignance asked him how he attained Enlightenment. The man told him that since he was a famous person, that was all he needed. Ignance was impressed by this. He had learned the value of hard work and an education were just slightly more than five dollars. He learned that the value of a letter signed by 7h15 15 60d was free reign to escape any troubles that would befall him. But he had never known that the value of fame was Enlightenment.

Ignance then asked what people did in a state of Enlightenment. The man replied that they were enlightened, of course. Ignance could feel the wisdom growing within already. He then asked what had happened when he died. The man paused, frowned slightly, and commented that that was a real tragedy. It was not Ignance alone who had died, but the whole world. It had been destroyed by the effects of global warming. Ignance suddenly remembered that when he was in college there were some crazy yahoos who had been warning against global warming. They had talked about polar bears and penguins losing their habitats, and that seemed like just a fairy tale. He had never stopped to believe it since the US government was ignoring the issue. What threat could it have possibly been? The government would scarcely have any ulterior motives like protecting the oil and other industries in its actions.

Ignance then wondered if that meant that the RIAA was destroyed. The man replied that sadly it would never be. He explained that Beelzebub, RIAA, MPAA, and other such titles are just other names for the devil. He cannot be destroyed. Artists sign their souls over to him without realizing it. Look at how many of their creations are satanic and uninspired after signing such contracts. He told Ignance to consider how few can maintain the ruse of Christianity in their lifestyles. The devil is always wanting more control. That’s what he got with with Dark Ages in Europe. That’s what he has gotten by pushing inane copyright laws throughout the globe. Another Dark Ages came, since learning became prohibited and control was assured. Corrupted government has always been his puppet. The communists say there is no God, only government. Islamic rule says that there is no government, only God. America says there is a God, but they don’t care for him to have any part in government, lest he do something good for a change. All of them enslave the people.

Ignance was impressed with this man. Surely he had all the answers. Ignance then asked a question that had bugged him since the days of college. He wondered if clones really had souls, since they are nothing more than a being with a cancerous blueprint. He was responded to with the wise answer that as surely as there is corruption in America, clones would have souls. Ignance could tell that this was truly an enlightened man. He only had one question left. Ignance asked who was 7h15 15 60d. To which the man responded, that it was the Right Honorable Tony Blair.

“Me.”

A Teenage Girl in the Garden of Eden

“Gosh, guys are so frustrating! It’s like I’m not even here! I wish that I could just be in a place where things were a little simpler,” she screamed into her pillow.

After screaming a few more times, she decided that she would call her friend and vent to her. Maybe they could make up some juicy gossip to spread around school about Dan. He was just making her life miserable, and he deserved anything that they could come up with. She lifted her head, and was shocked to see that someone had redecorated her room.

“Horrible motif,” she said, getting up to look around the room. “This is just creepy. How did my room change so drastically? Those leaves look almost realistic.”

A bird came by flying beside some butterflies.

“I must be on one of those reality shows. This isn’t funny guys. I want my boy band posters back now!”

But no one seemed to hear her.

“This is really bizarre. Mom would have normally been up here to tell me to stop screaming by now. I would have already slammed the door in her face, too. Where is my door anyhow?”

Nowhere in the vegetation could she find her door.

“This place is just bizarre. Let’s see what is here.”

As she walked, she was taken with the beauty of the place. It was nice, in an outdoorsy, earthy kind of way. A mall would have been far better. But there were plenty of animals. It was like a zoo without cages or annoying little kids and horrid smells. Plenty of fruit hung on the trees. As she wound her ways through this paradise state, she ran into a man. Boy, was he gorgeous.

“Hi, who are you?” he asked.

She didn’t know what to say at first. She was still in shock. Here was the most handsome man that she had ever seen. But he wasn’t wearing any clothes. She was sure that she was four shades of red.

“Are you okay?” he asked again, obviously worried about the color-shifting creature.

“I, um, yes. I’m okay. I just wasn’t expecting to find anyone else here in this naked, um, neck of the woods.”

“Oh, I know what you mean. I wasn’t expecting to see you either. Usually it’s just Eve and I. So, you’re new here then?”

“Yep. Just got off the boat.”

“There was a boat?” he said, his eyes getting wide. “Can I see it?”

“No, not really. It’s just an expression,” she said, still trying to keep eye contact.

“Oh, that’s too bad. What’s your name?”

“Yurisa.”

“Hi, Yurisa. That’s a nice name. My name is Adam.”

“Adam? Your name is Adam? Is this some kind of joke?”

“No, it’s really Adam. Have you heard of me or something?”

“Oh, uh, yeah. I’ve heard of you and Eve.”

“Are you an angel?”

“You sure are sweet.”

“I am?”

“Oh, never mind. It’s just an expression.”

“You sure are different,” Adam said. “Nothing like Eve.”

“Well, I’m pretty sure we have some things in common.”

“Oh, I guess. But Eve doesn’t talk funny like you do. She doesn’t have whatever it is that you’re wearing either. What’s it called?”

“Oh, this?” Yurisa asked, pointing to herself. “These are clothes.”

“Why would you want clothes?”

“To cover yourself up, so you won’t be naked.”

“Doesn’t seem like it’s too necessary to wear clothes. You don’t seem to be covering up much more than I am.”

“Well, I’m covering up what’s important. There are some things you just don’t walk around without hiding. You just can’t go around naked!”

“Why not? It’s comfortable.”

“Yeah, but it’s bad. You can get into trouble for being naked.”

“Really? I better tell Eve. Do you want to stay here and pet my sheep?”

Yurisa giggled a bit, and Adam looked at her like she was strange. She decided to follow along to meet this Eve. She’d heard a lot of things about her, mostly bad. When they found Eve, she was just coming out from behind a tree.

“Whatcha doing, Eve?” Adam asked.

“Oh, just irrigating,” Eve said.

“Oh, great idea. I need to go irrigate, too. Eve, I’d like you to meet Yurisa. She’s new here. She’s got something to tell you about clothes.”
With that, Adam sprinted off to find a tree.

“Hi, Yurisa,” Eve said. She was easily the most beautiful woman that Yurisa had met.

“Hi, Eve. You’re beautiful, you know that?”

“Well, I don’t know about that. God doesn’t make anything ugly, but I don’t know about beautiful.”

“No, you’re beautiful. Hasn’t Adam ever told you?”

“No, he just talks about the animals and such.”

“Oh, well there’s the problem. Do you know why he doesn’t tell you how beautiful you are?”

“Because he’s a guy and doesn’t like to express his emotions?”

“No, it’s because you’re not wearing any clothes.”

“Oh, what are clothes?”

“Clothes are like the things I have on now.”

“And it makes you look beautiful to guys to wear clothes?”

“Yes, if they’re fashionable, because it makes them think about you not wearing any clothes.”

“That sounds confusing.”

“Yes, but it’s just how guys’ minds work. They’re complicated.”

“Tell me about it. He likes petting his sheep more than he likes spending time with me.”

“We’ll change that. But first we have to find something to go with your eyes.” Yurisa began to look around. “Ah, yes, fig leaves will do quite nicely.”

Adam had returned by this point, and Yurisa shooed him off. She told him she’d go find him later. They set to work with the fig leaves, determined to make Eve beautiful. After some time had passed, Yurisa went looking for Adam.

“Adam, Adam, where are you?”

“Over here petting my sheep.”

“Ah, figures,” Yurisa mumbled to herself. “Adam, we’ve got a surprise for you.”

“Really? What is it?”

“Well, I can’t really tell you. I have to show you. We made Eve some clothes.”

“Oh, well, that’s nice. I’ll see them later.”

“No, Adam, you have to come now. Just leave your sheep alone for five minutes. It’ll be okay. Eve needs you to tell her which outfit looks best. She’ll try them on, and you’ll pick. But remember, no matter what it looks like, you have to tell her that she looks beautiful. Okay?”

“I guess. It sounds like a lot of work, though.”

“It’ll be worth it. Besides, if you don’t come, you’ll make Eve sad. You don’t want her to cry, do you?”

“Fine, I’ll go,” Adam assented.

They made their way over to where Eve was. In the time since he had left, they had built a runway of sorts for Eve to walk down. Yurisa had taught her how to strut and turn. She told Eve that it would make him think that she was beautiful. She sat Adam down in front, whispering to him to act impressed. Then, Eve came and tried her best runway walk. It was laughable to Adam. The clothes seemed pointless. But he couldn’t tell her that.

“So,” Eve said as she finished her runway debut, “Which outfit did you like best?”

Adam thought hard. “Oh, um, the one with the fig leaves.”

“They all had fig leaves!” Eve replied.

He remembered what Yurisa had told him, “And they all made you look beautiful.”

“Really?” Eve said.

“Yes. May I go now?” Adam said, twitching uncomfortably.

“Yes, because we need to have some girl time,” Yurisa said.

“Okay,” Adam said, fleeing hurriedly away. It didn’t matter where, he just wanted to leave quickly before they tried some other sort of nonsense. Little did he know that they would make him fig leaves to wear later.

Yurisa sat on a lion, combing Eve’s hair.

“See, Eve, I told you the clothing thing would work.”

“Yes, you did. He told me I was beautiful. Each outfit made me look beautiful to him. I wish I would have worn clothes before.”

“Well, there’s more to being beautiful than just clothes. I have plenty I’ll have to teach you about being mysterious. I also need to teach you how to pout, and how to flaunt your body.”

As she was teaching Eve how to steal Adam’s heart, she heard some bushes rustling. When she looked around, expecting to see Adam, she saw Satan holding an apple.

“It’s about time you showed up!”

“Ah, a fan I take it?”

“Believe me, you’re no Justin Timberlake. I don’t want your autograph. Just get back to what you were doing, we don’t have all day.”

“Oh, right. Eve, eat this apple.”

“You’re doing it all wrong, buddy. You have to tempt her. It’s like this. Eve, if you want Adam to fall madly in love with you and bring you a million gazillion presents every day and write poetry about you and treat you like a queen, then you must eat of this apple,” Yurisa corrected him.

“That’s not bad, I’ll have to take notes. Where did you learn stuff like that?” Satan asked.

“Buttering up my parents as a child. It gets easier with practice,” responded Yurisa.

“So, Eve, you heard what this girl has said. Will you eat this apple?”

“Well, I don’t know, we were told not to eat apples…” she began.

“Eat it, Eve. Trust me,” Yurisa told her.

“You sure?”

“Yes. It’s the only way to make Adam show his love for you. If he eats, too, then it’s because he loves you and he wants to be with you. He’ll do it, too. It’s the only way to take your relationship to the next level. You’ll live happily ever after and have children. Besides, have I ever been wrong?”

“Okay,” Eve said. Then she took a bite of the apple. “It’s not bad.”

“Good,” Yurisa commented. “Now, let’s get Adam to eat, too. That’ll show that he really loves you. I’ll go find him, and bring him here, okay? You just keep thinking about what I was telling you about how to make him fall madly in love with you and worship the ground you walk upon. Remember the pouting, guilt trips, and kissing bits.”

“Okay, thank you for everything, Yurisa. I don’t know where I’d be without you.”

“Eden,” Yurisa mumbled. Then she spoke louder, “Oh, don’t mention it, Eve. You can thank me later. Oh, and if you have a son named Cain, you probably want to drown him at birth. Trust me.”

“You’re silly,” Eve giggled, but she was innocent, after all.
Yurisa went off and found Adam. He was with his sheep, naturally. She tossed him a pair of fig shorts.

“What are these for?”

“To wear. You have to match Eve.”

“Oh, if you say so.”

“Speaking of Eve, she has something important to tell you.”

“Oh? It doesn’t involve more clothes does it?”

“No. But remember, you have to tell her she’s beautiful if she mentions clothing and such.”

“Fine,” he groaned, as they went back over to Eve’s place.

“Adam, do you know what I’ve done?”

“Combed your hair?”

“I’ve been a bad girl.”

“Combing your hair’s not that bad. It actually looks…” he looked over at Yurisa, “beautiful.”

“No, I’ve done something else.”

“What?”

“I ate an apple.”

“But we’re not supposed to eat the apples.”

“I know, but they taste good. You should have one.”

“I don’t want one.”

“But, Adam,” Eve pouted. “You do think I’m beautiful, right?”

“Yes, but…”

“And you do want me to be with you, right?”

“Yes, but I feel the same way about my sheep.”

“But your sheep aren’t as beautiful as I am, are they?”

Adam hesitated, then he looked at Yurisa, who was about to pull a muscle from shaking her head “no.”

“No, of course they aren’t.”

“You hesitated! You don’t think I’m beautiful?”

“Of course I think you’re beautiful,” Adam said. “You’re more beautiful than all the sheep in the garden combined.”

“And you do love me, right?”

“Um, yes.”

“Well, if you love me, you’ll eat an apple.”

“But I don’t want an apple. If I eat an apple, then I’ll get into trouble.”
At this point, Eve burst into tears. Adam was confused. Why was she doing this to him? Women can be so difficult. He thought about it. He could live with her, or live with is sheep. His sheep were a lot less complicated. But he wasn’t married to the sheep. It was a shame, really.

“Fine, I’ll eat the apple.”

“You will?” Eve said, ceasing to cry.

“Yes, I’ll eat the apple.”

“You really do love me, then. I’ll make it up to you later.”

“Really? How?”

“I’ll make more clothes.”

“Oh, okay.” Adam caught Yurisa’s evil glare. “I mean, that sounds wonderful, I can’t wait.”

Adam took a bite. He looked like he was expecting sudden death. But it didn’t come. He opened his eyes, which had been squinched closed, and looked around.

“Well, that wasn’t so bad.”

Eve ran up to him, and gave him a kiss.

“I like that,” Adam said, already beginning to lose his innocence.

“I thought you would,” Eve giggled.

“Adam, I think I want another one. Can you get that for me? It’s just too high for me to reach.”

“But there are a million of them right there. They all taste the same.”

“But I want that one. If you loved me, you’d get it for me.”

Adam looked at Yurisa, certain she’d put her up to this. Life was definitely a lot simpler before she showed up. She mouthed the words, “Do it.”

“Yes, dear. Just to prove that I really love you, I’ll get you this.”

Yurisa gave him two thumbs up, and He got it down for her.

“Here you go, beautiful.”

“Thank you, Adam,” Eve said.

“Aren’t you going to eat it?” Adam said.

“No, I just wanted to see if you’d get it for me.”

“Oh, okay. Well, I’ll be back in a second. I need to irrigate.”

“Okay, bye honey.”

“Eve, you’re a natural. You’ve got him wrapped around your pinky,” Yurisa said, commending her.

“And that’s good?”

“Yes. That’s perfect.”

“So, what do we do now?”

“Well, we ought to play a game. Ever heard of hide-and-seek?”

“No. What do you do?

“Well, you hide, and you wait for someone to go find you. Even if they call your name, you don’t come out, because it’s a trick.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll be it first. You and Adam go hide together. Explain the rules to him, will you? I’m going to count to twenty, and then I’m coming after you.”
Eve ran over to Adam, who was just emerging from behind the tree. She grabbed his arm and dragged him off. He looked like a frightened, confused puppy dog. They played several rounds. Then, they heard another voice in the Garden.

“That’s God,” Adam said.

“He’s it now,” Yurisa said. “You’d better hide. Remember, don’t come out unless he finds you. No matter what.”

They all hid in their respective places. Yurisa watched from between the leaves of the bushes as God walked, looking for them. He was good at this. He was headed straight for them. He was probably cheating and had his eyes open while they were hiding.

“Adam? Where are you?”

Adam was about to respond when Eve elbowed him in the ribs. God heard this and caused the bush they were hiding behind to disappear.

“Adam, Eve, why are you hiding from me? Didn’t you hear my voice?”

“We heard thy voice and hid ourselves because we were playing hide-and-go seek.”

“Who taught you Hide-and-Go-Seek?”

“Yurisa,” Adam replied.

“What are these leaves you’re wearing?”

“They’re the latest fashion in fig leaves,” Eve replied.

“Why are you wearing fig leaves?”

“Because we are naked underneath them.”

“Who told you that you were naked?”

“The Girl,” Adam and Eve replied in unison.

God smacked his forehead and groaned. He turned and made Yurisa’s bush disappear.

“Yurisa, come here.”

She decided that now was not a time to disobey.

“Yurisa, what have you been doing here? You asked to go back to a simpler time, and I obliged.”

“Well, I honestly appreciate it. I mean, the Garden is nice and all, what with me being a vegetarian. But it’s frustrating. There’s no running water or electricity. There are no cell phones, cute boys, malls, TVs, movies, or iPods. There’s no MySpace, air conditioning, or makeup. Eve is just clueless. No offense, Eve. There are snakes and spiders and bugs everywhere! It’s like being in a weird nudist colony, and the only guy here doesn’t even notice me!”

“Are you finished?”

“Almost. There aren’t any cars. How am I supposed to live without a car?”

“I gave you feet. Besides, you don’t need them here. This is a paradise. You tried to distract me from the original question. What have you been up to?”

‘Darn!’ Yurisa thought. Then, she looked at God with big pouty eyes and lips.

“It won’t work, Yurisa. I already know what you did. I just need you to admit it.”

“Man, you’re worse than my mom.”

He shot her a look that put the fear of God into her.

“Fine, I admit it. I sabotaged the garden. I told Adam and Eve that they were naked. I made Eve clothes, and I taught her to be a bombshell of a trophy wife. I encouraged her to eat the apple, and I taught them how to play hide-and-seek. But Satan did give Eve the apple.”

“Satan, because you gave Eve the apple to eat, and listened to this girl, which she forgot to mention, you will be cast out. ‘Upon thy belly thou shalt go, and dust shalt thou eat all the days of thy life.'”

“Loser,” Yurisa jibed Satan as he was leaving. She had little time to gloat, though.

“Yurisa, because you have done this thing, you shall be cursed worse than Satan. You shall be banished from this time that you had sought to be in. You will return to your own era with a bad case of acne!”

“No!” she began to scream.

Yurisa awoke, screaming madly. When she realized that she was back in her own room, she stopped. It had all been just a dream. Just a terrible dream.

“Oh, thank goodness! That was just a dream! How could people live like that!?”

She stood up and looked around, taking in her room. Her boy band pictures were on the wall, her electronics were where they were supposed to be. Her walk-in closet was full of exposing outfits. Her makeup and jewelry boxes were on the dresser. There was her vanity mirror, too. She couldn’t have lived with out that.

“Ahhh!” she screamed suddenly. “Acne!”

Swappin’ Spit

“Dad, what is the jar you keep next to your trophies from watching TV marathons?”

“Well, it’s a reminder of when I first fell in love. Her name was Grethel. I was in second grade. She was a girl, obviously, with pigtails and freckles. My how she used to terrorize me. I was hopelessly smitten. She would chase me around the playground at recess. I’d have to duck under tires, hide behind swings, and run like the wind. She kept telling me that if she caught me, she would pound me.

“It did me wonders. I loved every minute of it. I was getting chased by girls. After all, girls don’t fight fair. If one girl starts chasing a guy, then all the girls join in. That makes for interesting quarrels later on in high school, but in grade school it’s foolproof. Twenty or thirty blood-thirsty, fingernail-clawing, pigtails-wielding monsters pursuing you with the intent to kill puts a little umph into your step. Of course, knowing that you’re popular does, too. That’s just how grade schoolers flirt.

“Well, life went on like this for a while. Some days I’d manage to escape. Other days I’d come home scratched to pieces with holes in my shirt. Needless to say, my love for Grethel only grew.

“As the year went on, I kept thinking that there must be more civilized ways to express our love. After all, if I couldn’t wear a loin cloth and carry a club while on the prowl, I didn’t think that it was fair that she could use mob mentality tactics. After all, it was just a reversion to Neanderthal love antics. If there was anything that I knew about cave people, it was first that the cave men didn’t stand for the women’s lib movement. Suffragists were just clobbered and grunted at like all the rest. Cave men didn’t vote, so the suffragists were way ahead of their time. Besides, women had a workplace to occupy, staying at home and cleaning the caves while the saber-toothed tigers and the cave boys and girls played.

They did bend the line about grooming, shaving, and beauty, figuring that such nonsense wasn’t important. One woman was pretty much like the next big hairy brute. Many of their descendants have kept their traditions, like not shaving, alive, despite our beauty-centric culture. They’re called the French. The other thing that I knew about cave people was that I was not allowed to wear a loin cloth and bring a club to school. I’d found that out in Kindergarten during show and tell.

“But running, screaming, and abuse were all that we managed to come up with. I wracked my little brain, but I was stuck in a rut. It’s not uncommon to see people who never got past this stage of this life from time to time. They’re caught in the lull of easy love. You can see them on Cops for domestic violence. Sadly, I felt like our relationship was stagnating. I wanted to spice up the affection. So, I went to the one person who would know.

“‘Dad, what do you do to make momma feel special?’

“‘I buy her pots.’

“‘Is that romantic?’

“‘Sure is. She cooks with them, doesn’t she? And you know what the only thing more romantic than a woman cooking is?’

“‘Uh, pencil break?’

“‘No, seeing that woman washing the dishes she cooked with.’

“In later years, I would see that my father was the poster boy for the adage, ‘The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.’ I realized why washing dishes was so romantic—it meant that she could cook from them again.

“‘Well, dad, thanks…’

“‘Glad that I could help. It’s a sure-fire way to be a heart breaker.’

“I could tell I would get no help from his suggestion. First of all, I didn’t have a job to get the money to buy pots with. My allowance would barely buy the bubblegum that I wasn’t supposed to have because of my braces. Second, I didn’t know if pots were a good gift for a frenzied second grade lover. I doubted that she could cook, but then I could only burn water. More importantly, I could envision her and her screaming horde chasing me with my love offering of pots. Those would leave some serious bruises.

“I decided not to go with the pots, after all. It was a good thing, too. Years later, I gave them to your mom. I was just trying to be romantic like my dad. But she got all indignant and violent. Women.

“‘What am I supposed to do with these, cook?’ your mom screeched at me like a hoarse parakeet. Well, let’s just say that I got a taste of what kinds of bruises they leave. I’ll stick to buying her power tools.

“Instead, I borrowed a friend’s whoopee cushion. Not only does it make cool sounds, but it’s soft. I figured that even if she hit me with it, it would only leave a red mark. How much damage could it do? It could only improve our relationship. When she stepped out of the room to get some water, I was ready. I had it placed on her seat. She came back into the room humming and never once looked down.

“Everyone’s eyes were on her. Would she really sit on it? When she did, everyone snickered, and she glowered at me. I figured that must be a good sign. After all, there’s a fine line between love and hate. The way that our relationship was going, the more that she tried to hurt me, the more loved I felt. Oh, as a side note, when you grow up, and you meet people that still feel this way, they have a special name. They’re called masochists.

“While we were taking a test later, something hit me in the back of the head. I looked around and saw a wadded up piece of paper on the floor. I leaned down and picked it up, trying not to make too much noise. Inside there was a love note, or what some would call a hate note. There was a picture of a girl stuffing a stick figure’s head down a commode. There were only four lines. They read:

I’m going to kill you.
How would you like to die?
(check one)
□ Slow □ Painful

“I looked around, and saw her looking at me like a lawnmower looks at grass—ready to tear me apart. I turned back to the note hastily, so that I could avoid her gaze. I’ve been told that women are supposed to be seen and not heard, but this was an occasion when neither applied. It reminded me of how my mom looked at my dad when he would come home, walk right past her, sit in his recliner, and turn on the television. She called it her, ‘Hell Hath No Fury’ look.

“As I was determining which answer would be the cleverest to mark and throw back at her, the teacher came by. I hastily tried to hide the note, but it made some noise.

“‘Cheating!’ Mrs. Nozy exclaimed.

“‘No ma’am, I was just trying to figure out the right answer.’

“‘That’s called cheating. Give me the paper.’

“‘But Mrs. Nozy, it’s private.’

“‘Give me the paper, and go throw your test in the garbage.’

“‘But Mrs. Nozy, it’s personal. I wasn’t cheating.’

“Don’t talk back to me. Go throw your test away, and give me the paper. I’m already going to talk to your parents.’

“I went and threw away my test. That did
not bother me much, because I was going to fail it anyway. Then, I returned to my seat.

“‘The paper,’ she demanded, extending her eager, greedy little fingers with the anticipation of little kids who stand on tip-toes at parades trying to see beyond the wall of adults who block their sight and access to the showers of candy.

“‘Ma’am?’ I tried to play dumb. It usually worked wonders for me, since it wasn’t too much of a stretch.

“‘Give me the paper.’

“‘Oh, uh, yes ma’am.’

“Hesitantly, I handed her the paper. That did worry me.

“She opened the wadded mess.

“‘Is this all?’

“‘Yes ma’am.’

“‘Hmmn. This is definitely a cheat sheet. It must be in a code. That’s just like you, to spend all your time learning secret codes instead of studying for school.’

“‘Oh, uh, yes ma’am.’

“‘Well, who’s it from?’

“‘Oh, uh, nobody.’

“‘Right. You expect me to believe that?’

“‘Yes,’ I said with as much wishful thinking as a kid who lives in an apartment begs to get a pony.

“‘Well, I don’t.’ Just like a teacher to play games with you like that. ‘This isn’t your handwriting.’

“‘Oh. I wrote it with my left hand, so it just looks different. But I wrote it, honest.’

“‘But you are left-handed.’

“‘Oh.’

Mrs. Nozy was good. I was counting on her to forget about that little detail. She always seemed to forget whenever she passed out scissors to the class. It doesn’t pay to be left-handed in a right-handed world. She wouldn’t have understood me if I had said that I had written it with my right hand.

“‘So, whose is it?’

“I had only a moment to think. But that moment seemed like it was an eternity. Should I tell on Grethel? After all, she did write the note. She was the reason that I was in trouble in the first place. But, I didn’t want to get her in trouble. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to get beaten up—that was inevitable. I just didn’t want to ruin our relationship. The last thing that I wanted was for her to choose a new victim. Girls have been known to be fickle.

“‘My friend Zack’s,’ I said, waiting for Zack to complicate matters worse with his denial.

“The whole class gasped. After all, no one is supposed to rat out a friend. They were just about as sure as I was that Zach would never speak to me again this week.

“‘So, Zack wrote you this note?’

“‘Yes, ma’am. ‘

“‘The one with the girl giving you a swirly?’

“‘Yes, ma’am.’

“‘Doesn’t that seem strange to you?’

“‘No ma’am. It happens all the time.’

“‘No, I mean that your friend Zack would make you an ideogram.’

“‘No ma’am. He calls me worse than that when we’re safely out of school.’

“‘That’s exactly why it seems strange, since you don’t even know what an
ideogram is.’

“‘So, I’m not one? Well, my mom’s always told me that there were people worse off than I was in school. Maybe she was right. So, yeah, I guess that Zack shouldn’t have made me an ideogram. I know stuff.’

“‘Not idiot, idgit. Ideogram. It’s a drawing that people write with instead of using an alphabet.’

“Oh, like Cave Men did?”

“‘Yes.’

“‘Then it is strange that Zack wrote me an ideogram like Cave Men used to put on the walls of their caves, since he knows that I don’t want to talk about my loincloth experience from Kindergarten.’

“‘Loincloth?’ Mrs. Nozy paused, obviously a mixture of confused and intrigued. ‘Oh, never mind. Tell me, what does this drawing mean to you?’

“Well, art is a very subjective thing. I could say that I saw anything, and no one could disagree with me, not even the artist. It’s similar to when you sing the wrong lyrics to songs and not even the artist can convince you otherwise. Besides, even if you did believe the artist, the song is much less fun to sing. So, I decided that I would really sell this cheating bit.

“‘Well, this picture is you, Mrs. Nozy. It’s symbolic of how you’re going to fail me. You’re going to hold my head under and enjoy every second.’

“‘Well, there’s some truth to that. Now, tell me what the rest of it means, or I’ll go give you a swirly right now.’

“I could tell that she was serious.

“‘I’m serious,’ she warned.

“‘Well, let me hold it for a second. I was trying to figure that out earlier. But since idgits are no good with ideograms, I hadn’t figured it out yet.’
“She handed me back the paper. While I tried to figure out a story, I gave it my best blank stare. I had had plenty of practice with that before, so it came naturally. As the dust made laps in my brain, something remotely resembling a decent story hatched.

“‘Well, “kill” is our codeword for help. It seems like Zack’s telling me to check my answer for number one. I must have had it wrong. He’s telling me to take it nice and slow or the results will be painful.”

“‘Why did he say, “How would you like to die?’

“‘Well, he didn’t say it. He asked it.’ Her mouth puckered like she was drinking lemon juice concentrate—I’d know. I decided that I’d better continue before she spat any of that sour taste in her mouth on me. ‘It’s something that we invented. We make some random statement that doesn’t really have to do with anything else. That way it confuses everyone.’

“‘Well, your friend Zack’s definitely brighter than you are.’

“‘Yeah, that’s why I keep him around.’

“‘That’s precisely why I thought that it was strange that he wrote you this. Zack’s not here today.’

“That realization hit me like thirty second grade girls. I had been half surprised that he hadn’t denied his participation at first. And I thought that he was just a good friend!

“‘Grethel, go with him to the office for helping him cheat.’ My head whipped around like a hippo in a tilt-a-whirl.

“‘What! But she didn’t help me. I wouldn’t take help from a freckle-faced girl like that!’

“‘I would normally believe you, since I generally wouldn’t think that such a sweet little angel like her would get involved with trouble like you. But obviously you have corrupted her. There is no mistaking it. This is her handwriting. Both of you, go to the Principal’s office right now.’

“Well, I could see that this was not an argument that I was going to win. I got up, free from Mrs. Nozy. She looked at Grethel like Caesar when he was stabbed by Brutus. Then she looked at me as if I were Cassius, Cinna, and Casca rolled into one horrendous form. I was just about to reach the door, when Mrs. Nozy blocked my escape.

“‘Well, aren’t you forgetting something?’ she called.

“‘My manners?’ I figured that she was trying to remind me about letting ladies go first. Leave it to a woman to think of etiquette at a time like this! She’d obviously never been chased by Grethel before. I knew from experience that you needed a good head start.

“‘Yes, but no. The pass. Grethel, come get your cheat sheet. I want Dr. Nurz to see what you two have been doing.’

“‘Yes, ma’am,’ I replied, eager to get out of the room. She could still change her mind and make me take the test.

“At school there was a pass for everything, and I had to dig through them all to find the right one. I shifted the wooden underwear with Transformers out of the way, since I didn’t need the boys bathroom pass. The pink wooden panties with princesses on them were more useless, since no boy was allowed to go to that Holy of Holies known as the girl’s bathroom. The wooden onion we were supposed to use for the burp pass brought back fond memories of burping the alphabet backwards and forwards when we had a substitute one day. She didn’t know about the passes. Ah, sweet rebellion.

“My hands moved the wooden sneakers used for a hall pass, and found the deflated football. That was probably the dumbest pass that Mrs. Nozy had come up with. No one, besides Clumsy Klaus, ever wore it, since it was the incomplete pass. How were we supposed to know if we were going to catch the ball or not? Besides, the ball would never get passed to us if we held it. Just ask Klaus.

“By this point, Grethel had reached Mrs. Nozy. Our teacher gave her the note like it was Brutus’ dagger. She watched Grethel all the way to the door, perhaps fearing to turn her back on the armed traitor. Finally, I found the Principal’s Office Pass behind the free pass. It looked like a paddle that had “Please Spank Me” written on one side. The other side simply said, “Harder.” I took the paddle in hand and tried to make it out the door as quickly as I could.

“‘Wait for your girlfriend,’ Mrs. Nozy called after me.

“I thought that I could have died right then. No one was supposed to know that! Grethel walked up to me and looked me in the eye. This was not good at all. We shut the door behind us, and mumbled our way up the hall. I tried to touch as many of the lights, signs, ceiling tiles, and lintels as I could on the way. She just shook her head. When we were almost at his office, I calmed down and started walking backwards. I didn’t want to look like a suspicious character.

“‘Thank you for trying to save me,’ Grethel said.

“I was as shocked as the key on Ben Franklin’s kite.

“‘You seem shocked,’ Grethel said.

“Well, you’ve never been nice to me before.’

“‘Don’t expect it to happen again. It’s just that you were brave.’

“I didn’t get a chance to make a suave response, because about that moment the back of my head banged into a giant silver fire extinguisher mounted on the wall.

“‘Well, it’s good to see that you’re back to your dumb old self again.’

“Thinking to impress her with my bravery again, I asked for the note.

“‘What do you want it for?’ she asked, handing it to me as if I had more germs than a dog’s mouth. I probably did.

“‘To save you. If the note doesn’t exist, then they can’t prove it was your handwriting.’

“With that, I plopped the crumpled note into my mouth and started chewing like a dog on rawhide. I hope that rawhide is more enjoyable to dogs, because paper is not that great of a snack for humans. It is high fiber, though.

“‘You’re gross!’ she exclaimed.

“She sounded like she meant it. But I could tell different. Really, I could see that she was touched by my heroism. Women are always trying to deceive men. Look at what Eve did to Adam!

“I was still chewing when we opened the door to the office. I didn’t want to rush things. I’d had a papercut before on my finger. I had no desire to find out what they felt like on my tongue. Besides, mom always told me to eat slow, since it was better for my digestion.

“‘How may I help you?’ Mrs. Secretary asked. No one knew if she had a real name. She’d just been Mrs. Secretary for as long as anyone knew. We were certain that she was born in that chair with a pencil behind her ear and a phone in her hand.

“I made some kind of muffled, unintelligible sound. Mrs. Secretary looked at me like an Impressionist trying to understand Cubism. That is to say, she was confused and agitated.

“‘We’re here to see Dr. Nurz,’ Grethel said.

“‘You’re the cheaters?,’ Mrs. Secretary asked, not waiting to hear my garbled plea of innocence. ‘He’s been expecting you.’

“‘Dr. Nurz, the perpetrators are here; are you ready for interrogation?’ she asked through the intercom. ‘More water, a new flood lamp, and a saw? I’ll see if we can get one of the custodians to take care of that. Yes, Dr. Nurz. I’ll send them right in. Do you want both of them, or just the guilty one? Okay, I’ll send them both.’

“She looked at us, and motioned us forward. I was thinking about how to save Grethel again. After all, Mrs. Secretary already established that there was only one guilty person. Since she threw the note at me, it had to have been her. I defied my upbringing, chomped as quickly as I could, and swallowed the pulpy mass.

“‘Ah, Mr. Loincloth,’ Dr. Nurz, or Nurzy as I knew him, greeted me. We’d been on friendly terms since that incident in Kindergarten. We hung out once or twice a week, so I was sure that I could call in a personal favor to rescue her. That would certainly impress her.

“‘She didn’t do anything, Nurzy.’

“‘Of course not,’ Dr. Nurz said.

“‘We never thought that she did.’

“Nurzy caught on quickly. Now this was a true pal. Not like that Zach character, being absent when I needed to frame him most.

“‘We know that you’re the problem here,’ he continued.

“‘Nah, I ain’t never done nothing wrong to nobody,’ I said, winking viciously at Nurzy. I was quite proud of that quadruple negative, quintuple if you count nah, and it would surely help him see the errors of his ways. Grethel, the guilty, was innocent, but I was innocent the whole time. So there was no need accusing me. I was the victim, an innocent bysitter.

“‘Really? You were the one caught cheating with the note. We know Grethel is sweet and innocent. We figure that you threatened to beat her up, and that’s why she was helping you.’

“‘Yes,’ Dr. Nurzy continued, ‘We think that you were coercing her. Victims need to know that they are still loved and that nothing bad will happen to them.’

“‘I never threatened to beat her up. Have you seen her? She’s bigger than I am. All the girls are!” The said irony of being nine was that girls were bigger, stronger, and more boyish than we were with our falsetto voices. ‘Coercing? Never. That sounds dirty and bad! That’s gross!’ I retorted.

“‘Yes, it is gross,’ replied Nurzy.

“‘Yes, it is bad,’ agreed Dr. Nurz.

“‘Sometimes it’s dirty,’ continued Nurzy.

“Well, Nurzy was definitely getting part of it right. Victims should be free of consequences. Since I was the victim, that should be me, not her. He was still as kooky as the last time I talked to him this week. I’d asked him then who “we” were. He’d only replied, ‘Never mind that.’ I figured that he was only trying to do impersonations, because his voice would change depending on who was talking.

“‘Let me see the note,’ Dr. Nurz demanded.

“‘What note? There is no note,’ I told him. I wasn’t lying. The note had ceased to be.

“‘We’re sure Mrs. Nozy had mentioned a note,’ Nurzy said with a twinge of doubt.

“Yes, she told us that she was sending a note,’ Dr. Nurz responded a bit more confidently.

“‘Ah, there on your lip. A piece of paper.’ Nurzy cried.

“I wiped my mouth reflexively. Sure enough there was a scrap of paper. Grethel could have told me that earlier. I couldn’t even say that it was a remnant from where I had nicked myself shaving. She had a better chance of needing to shave than I did.

“‘So you’re destroying evidence, are you?’ Dr. Nurz accused, wagging a finger.

“‘You’re just like the government,’ Nurzy joined in.

“‘What, was it a state secret?’ Dr. Nurz asked.

“I figured that since Nurzy couldn’t play along, I would have to show my cards. I proceeded to take my baseball card from my socks. Those were my least favorite ones, the Indians, the Cubs, and some assorted cards. Then, I started to get the Yankees from my underwear waistband. Finally, I pulled out my mint condition, protector sleeve covered Braves from my wallet. With my club and its protector sleeves gone, my wallet was almost empty. All that remained was some Monopoly money and an Ident-a-kid card that I pretended was my license.

“Dr. Nurz was expecting my ploy, for he said, ‘It’s no good. You know I want the Nolan Ryan you keep taped to your thigh.’

“‘What about considering the ’95 Tom Glavine and Fred McGriff?’ Nurzy asked himself. Yeah, he’s strange.

“‘No, he can’t buy his way out of his crime here. This isn’t the criminal justice system. He will have to be punished,’ Dr. Nurz reprimanded himself.

“‘Wait,’ I tried to plead, ‘You’ve got this all wrong, both of you. We were never cheating. She was threatening to kill me.’

“‘A likely story,’ Nurzy chided.

“‘No, she is definitely too sweet to do something like that,’ Dr. Nurz agreed. Grethel looked at him sympathetically with her big cow eyes.

“‘Besides, you would probably deserve it even if she did threaten you, since you are a cheater,’ Nurzy continued. It was obvious that they believed her.

“‘But I never cheated!’ I cried.

“‘We’ll just ask the victim,’ Dr. Nurz stated.

“‘You just did,’ I retorted.

“‘Not you, the other victim,’ Nurzy scolded.

“‘Honey, did he make you help him cheat?’ Dr. Nurz asked her.

“‘It’s all right to say, ‘Yes,’ since we know he’s guilty. You won’t get into trouble,’ Nurzy prompted.

“‘No,’ she said. That surprised me. Here she was trying to save me. I could never let the guys know that a girl had saved me, though. I had a reputation to think about.

“‘But of course he did,’ retorted Dr. Nurz.

“‘Yes, tell us how he coerced you,’ Nurzy badgered.

“‘He didn’t. I threatened to kill him.’

“‘We’ll give you one last chance,’ Dr. Nurz began.

“‘We don’t want to have to punish such a sweet little girl like you,’ Nurzy said, trying to manipulate her.

“‘But I really did threaten to kill him. He wasn’t cheating.’

“‘Ah, so you are both liars,’ Dr. Nurz declared.

“’She’s suffering from battered schoolgirl’s syndrome,’ Nurzy muttered.

“‘No, we’re not liars!’ we exclaimed in unison.

“‘Really, then prove it.’

“That Nurzy was certainly a character with his ultimatums. We had just proven it. She was my witness. What better witness to have than your accomplice in crime? Not that we committed a crime. We were innocent. At least, I was. She was the guilty one.

“‘Just give us the note, and then we can really see which of you is lying,’ Dr. Nurz ordered.

“‘I can’t,’ I replied. ‘I ate it.’

“‘I’ll give you one more chance,’ Nurzy offered, ‘And then you’ll both suffer.’

“‘Don’t you mean, “or you’ll both suffer?”‘ I asked.

“‘That’s it, we gave you a chance, and you blew it. Since you have failed to produce the note, you’ll both have to stand with your noses to the wall during recess as long as I am principal here. Make sure that it’s the wall that they dust erasers on after school.’

“I didn’t know exactly how I felt when I left his office. I was wrongfully accused and convicted of a crime. I had a hit out on my head. A girl had tried to save my honor. The same girl had put the hit out on my head. The same girl was going to kill me. I would have to stand next to that same girl day in and day out, rain or shine, tornado drill or fire drill, for the rest of elementary school. That might not be too long, since she would have easy access to end my misery. I supposed that I could be best described as being devastated. I couldn’t flirt with her anymore. Our relationship was definitely doomed.

“‘Thank you for trying to save me,’ I said, trying to make conversation while we were still together. Supposedly conversation is important for grownup relationships. At that time, it was all about body language—hitting, kicking, clawing, slapping, and menacing gestures. Come to think of it, that sounds a lot like adult communication at times.

“‘Oh, well, sorry I got us into this mess,’ she said.

“‘Me too,’ I replied. It was apparently not the correct thing to say, because she glowered at me and didn’t respond anymore.

“‘You know what I’m going to miss most about recess?’ I asked.

“‘Not having it?’

“‘Exactly. I’m going to miss being chased all over, running like a madman. It was fun.’

“‘Yeah. I’m going to miss chasing you and bringing blood.’

“‘Maybe we could do it after school?’

“‘It’s just not the same.’

“‘Yeah,’ I replied. As we walked, a thought occurred to me, which is a relatively novel experience in and of itself. But this thought was monumentally stupendously profound. ‘Grethel, you weren’t just chasing me for my baseball cards, were you? I mean, some of them are pretty valuable.’

“I waited for the answer nervously. Surely she hadn’t been leading me on the whole time. She wasn’t a gold digger, was she?

“‘No, not at all. Your cards are safe in your underwear as far as I’m concerned.’

“That Grethel sure had a way of comforting a guy. Conversation wasn’t that bad at all. It was almost pleasant. I had never used her name politely before. When I said it without a mean nickname right behind, I noticed something. It made me feel good. Of course, that didn’t mean that I would stop calling her mean names any time soon. Why change a good thing?

“So, it became our habit to stand on the wall with our noses turning white in the chalk dust like Michael Jackson’s. We’d sneeze occasionally, such as when a wind would pass by. But it gave us some quiet time together alone. After a couple of days of this, I tried to do that conversation thing again.

“‘So, what’s the girls’ bathroom like?’

“‘What?’

“‘What’s the girls’ bathroom like?’

“‘Why do you care?’

“‘Because I’m a guy. We can’t go inside, and so I figure that it must be a wonderful place.’

“‘Well, it’s nice enough. It’s probably pretty similar to the boys’ bathroom, except with girls in it. Y’all do have swimming pools inside, right?’

“‘No! You have swimming pools? No wonder you girls take so long in there and always go with a friend.’

“‘You don’t have swimming pools? What about the waterfalls?’

“‘No, we’ve been robbed! The closest thing to a waterfall that we have is a urinal.’

“‘Oh, well if it makes you feel better, our miniature golf course only works at lunch.'”

“‘You have golf, too? They really spoil the girls. If our bathroom was like that, I don’t think I’d ever leave, except maybe to go to lunch.’

“‘Not really. We don’t have any of that. The girl’s bathroom is just a bunch of stalls and gossip.’

“‘Oh, then I don’t know what all the hype is about. Ours is better. We don’t have the gossip.’

“‘Well, it’s probably just because you aren’t allowed in. If you tell someone that they can’t do something, they’ll immediately go out and do it.’

“‘Oh. I never thought of that. You’re smart, like parents.’

“Somehow, despite the lack of running, our relationship flourished. We got to spend a lot of time together. Still, after a while I found that I wanted to take our relationship further. The only problem was that I didn’t know what to do. I was considering asking dad, but I’d seen where that had taken me. I figured that I would just have to wait for the answer to plop itself down in my lap like a big, stinky dog.

“It turned out that my dad was that big, stinky dog. In fact, he was so stinky with the answer, that he was like wet dog smell. For it just so happened that about the same time, my dad and I started spending more time together. It was great. I wish my mom would have just knocked the rabbit ears off the top of the set, bent them into aluminum pretzels, crushed them in a trash compactor, cut the coax cable twelve times, melted the splitter, and ripped the jack from the back of the TV—all by accident mind you—sooner.

“One day we were out walking in the park, when I saw two teenagers who looked like they were locked in a mortal combat to either suffocate or revive each other. My dad saw where I was looking and sighed with disgust.

“‘They must really like each other to be swapping spit that way, poor devils. I hope they brought some oxygen,’ he muttered

“That was the answer—not the bringing oxygen part. People who really liked each other swapped spit! I had no intentions of doing it the conventional way, though. That was gross. Recess was after lunch, you know. Instead, I figured that, just as there was ‘more than one way to skin a cat and more than one type of cat’, there could be more than one way to swap spit.

“When we got home, I headed for the pantry. I needed an empty jar. However, mom had used all of the empty Mason jars with one bottled vegetable or another. But there, at last, I spotted it. Its name was Smucker’s, and its flavor was strawberry. I stuck the jar underneath my shirt and headed to my room. A few minutes later, I snuck down to the kitchen to get a spoon. I took a couple of big, sweet mouthfuls. That was only bearable for so long, and then it started to make me sick.

“I still had over half of the jar left. What could I do with it? I began to think like a Smucker’s jar. If I were a jar of jelly, I’d want to be in the kitchen inside the fridge. Since this jar would not be making it inside, I figured that it would have to settle for the next best thing. Taking out some construction paper, I began to paint with the spoon. I knew that mom would be proud and hang it on the refrigerator. After all, my macaroni art hung up there for years.

“Well, there comes a point when you no longer feel inspired to paint with strawberry jelly. That point came after the first drawing. It looked like someone had bled everywhere. The last thing that I needed was for mom to send me to a counselor because she thought I was demented. With my luck, it would happen during recess. So, one jelly-paint masterpiece it was. Maybe she’d believe that we did it at school for Valentine’s day. Red and pink seem to be the themes for that day.

“There was still a good bit of jelly left. Dad never said that swapping jelly was a sign of like, just spit. I thought that swapping jelly would be more like teasing, especially if you didn’t give any peanut butter with it. Looking around, a window of opportunity opened up. It was my window. I stuck my head outside and made sure that no one was watching. Then, I began to shovel strawberry jelly outside. I should have considered that mom’s mums were underneath.

“After rinsing it out in the bathroom sink, I brushed my teeth. Then, I screwed up my face as if I were gargling. Making the face helped, because I produced my finest spit possible. After all, Grethel deserved the best. I looked at it in the bottom of the jar. There was a lot less there than I expected. I wondered if I should give a little more. But I didn’t want to overdo it. If I gave too much on the first time, then she would want more and more each time. It was best to start out small and build myself up to it. Maybe it would seem a little less weird with time.

“Nightfall found my gift hidden in my book bag. Thankfully, that was before mom started checking my backpack like she did later that year to make sure if I was really telling the truth about not having homework. It woke up with me in the morning, and sloshed its way to school. Just before we went out for recess, I stashed it beneath my shirt. Trying to be nonchalant, I went outside behind all the others.

“I joined Grethel by the wall. My heart was pounding like hammers at a construction site. I was so nervous that I couldn’t think of what to say. What can I say? I had never swapped spit with anyone. I didn’t know how you started a conversation like that. Not knowing, I just waited with my nose in the chalk dust, trying to act normal.

“‘What’s that in your shirt?’ Grethel asked.

“‘What? Oh, um, it’s funny that you should ask.’

“‘Why? What is it?’

“‘It’s a gift for you.’

“‘Really, can I see it?’

“‘Sure.’

“I tried to stay relaxed. But I was trembling as I pulled it out of my shirt and handed it to her. Who knew that swapping spit could be such an emotional experience? The excited look on her face slowly melted into a look of disgust.

“‘That’s not what I think it is, is it?’

“‘Um, I don’t know. What do you think it is?’

“‘Spit. Please tell me that this is not spit!’

“‘It is,’ I said heartbroken.

“‘Why is it red? Are you bleeding?’

“‘No. There must have been some strawberry jelly left in the jar. I couldn’t let my mom wash it, because it was a surprise.’

“‘Lovely,’ she said.

“From the way she said it, it didn’t sound like she thought it was lovely. Why don’t girls ever say what they really mean?

“‘You don’t like it, do you?’

“‘No. This is just gross. Why would you give this to me? Why didn’t you just give me a Valentine’s Day card instead?’

“‘Because I, uh, like you. You like me, don’t’ you?’ I asked.

“‘Yeah, but in a kinda sorta disgusted way right now,’ she said.

“‘Well, if you like me, then you’re supposed to swap spit. I overheard my dad talking about that last night.’

“‘You’re so immature,’ she said, along with a few other words that I couldn’t comprehend.

“I was about to be indignant when the unbelievable happened. She leaned over quickly and gave me a kiss on the cheek.

“‘Ew,’ I cried. ‘You’re gross!’

“She just smiled. Finally, she said, ‘That’s the dung beetle calling the butterfly gross. But, if that’s too gross for you, we can always hold hands.’

“I was shocked. A whole new world had opened up. She had kissed me. No spit was involved, and she wanted to hold hands. I tell you, that was one of the proudest moments of my life. But, leave it to a girl to go and ruin it.

“‘You know that you still owe me a Valentine, right?’

“‘My spit jar wasn’t enough? There was a lot of hard work put into the making of that jar!’ Girls! They’re never satisfied.

“Maybe our noses were white and our sinuses were always acting up, but we didn’t mind. We got to hold hands everyday. That was much better than swapping spit, as well as a whole lot easier on the stomach. I didn’t even care that her hands were bigger than mine.

“We didn’t get too ridiculed for it, either. Grethel had convinced Mrs. Nozy and everyone else that our handholding was part of the punishment Dr. Nurz had prescribed. There were three reasons why no one doubted her. First, she was too sweet and innocent to lie. Second, they thought I hated her. Third, they knew that she hated me. It was just a cruel and unusual punishment. Why else would a boy and a girl hold hands at that age?

“Eventually, we graduated from grade school. Ladies first, though. I had to visit her at her house, under the pretense that she was my tutor for a whole year, since she had gone and left me to the mercy of Nurzy alone. But, I eventually made it to middle school. Since Dr. Nurz was no longer our principal, we no longer had an excuse to put our noses on the wall and hold hands. That was a big disappointment for me. Why else would I want to come to school?

“‘Do you think that you can write me notes that will get caught more often? I don’t mind going to the principal with you. It’s nice,’ I asked her at lunch my first day in middle school.

“She looked at me and giggled. Then, she said, ‘We’re big boys and girls now. We don’t have to hide it any more. We can actually hold hands without an excuse.’

“‘Really?’ That was a novel idea for me. I tried it. It felt good, brave, and adventurous.

“As our like progressed, so did I. She told me that she liked smart guys. So, I started to really try to learn. It’s sad though, since she left me for a real failure in the long run. The guy later became a cardiologist. He couldn’t spell ‘dadgummit’ or win a mudbogging competition if his life depended on it. What a real winner! I guess that she was just one of those women that always needed a project guy. When she patched me up and it was obvious that I would turn out right, she had to find someone else to improve.”

“Dad, you ramble a lot. You should have just said that it was a jar of spit you tried to give to a girl. You might have actually saved some of what little respect I have for you.”

“Well, it’s not just a reminder of Grethel. It’s also a memento of Mrs. Nozy, my second grade teacher. Those were some of the best years of my life.”

“I think I’m going to take this jar to get my DNA checked. I can’t believe that we’re really related.”

Vulture

Vulture was fastidious. He had to have his feathers groomed and kempt in a certain way. He only drank from the cleanest waterhole, which he had to fly an hour to reach each day. He never squawked off key. He kept his nest compulsively ordered. In short, he was an oddity among carrion.

His family learned to accept his ways. Vulture was what he was, and he wouldn’t change. Once he left the house, they were all happier, since life was so much easier. They began to drag home bits of whatever they found laying around, just to express their freedom.

Buzzard was Vulture’s only friend. They made an interesting pair, too, since Buzzard was arguably the sloppiest creature on the planet. His apathy toward order and cleanliness at home spilled over to his appearance. It was possible that he’d never groomed his feathers.

When Vulture would come back from his water hole each day, he’d wake Buzzard.

“Finally finished your bathing and watering ceremonies, Vulture?”

“Yes. You finally finished being a lazy slob?”

“Nah. But I am ready to go get a bite to eat.”

With that they would fly off into the air, circling and scouting for something tasty. Buzzard could care less what it was. As long as it was dead, he was satisfied. But Vulture was a lot more picky, which goes without saying.

One morning they stumbled across a dead hyena.

“Great, a feast prepared for us, Vulture!” Buzzard exclaimed.

“No, you go ahead. I’ll pass. Hyena’s give me gas,” Vulture declined.

“Well, maybe we’ll find something else,” Buzzard said wistfully. He regretted passing the Hyena up, since that meant that he would have to go looking some more. But, a friend’s a friend, and they should stick together.

Pretty soon, they found the carcasses of flattened opossums.

“Look, Vulture, Possum. They’s good eatin’.”

As Buzzard began to dive down, Vulture called after him, “But I had those yesterday.”

Buzzard groaned, his stomach calling to him. But he followed along after Vulture. Soon, they found the remains of a snake.

“This is it, Vulture. I can’t take it any more. I’ve got to get something to eat.”

“Okay, you go ahead. I think that it’s been dead for a couple of days. The meat’s probably no good. I’ll catch up with you later.”

Buzzard went down and feasted on the snake. He convinced himself that it tasted like the hyena and possum that he’d passed up. Buzzard finished and returned to his nest to sleep.

But Vulture never found anything suitable for his delicate palate. It’s not easy being a connoisseur when you’re a vulture. His search for what lay beyond what he could find brought him to the desert. By the afternoon, he was weak, hungry, and thirsty. Exhausted, he collapsed to the earth.

When Buzzard woke up that afternoon, Vulture was nowhere to be seen. So he set out to find him. Along the way he found dead bodies and snacked. He grew more and more worried as he couldn’t find his friend. He was determined to find him though, since that’s what friends are for. As night fell, he found Vulture lying in the desert.

“Vulture, are you okay?” Buzzard asked as he descended from the skies. He was worried because his friend wasn’t moving. He landed beside Vulture and nudged him with his beak. When Vulture didn’t respond, Buzzard realized that his friend was dead.

He leaned over solemnly and gave his last respects. Then, he took a big beakfull of Vulture.

“Delicious!” He exclaimed, “I’m glad he spent all that time eating and drinking all the finest things!”

Then, Buzzard took another bite. But after all, that’s what friends are for.

Moral: Never let a perfectly good carcass go to waste.

Dasypeltis

Dasypeltis, the egg-eating snake, was out for a stroll one day. He had his top hat and cane, and was working up the courage to ask out someone he’d had his eye on for quite some time. As anyone who’s ever tried to ask out another snake knows, it is terror on the nerves. He only wished that he had butterflies in his stomach, since eating calms his nerves. As he was strolling along, he happened upon a nest.

“Ah, an egg,” Dasypeltis said. “Finally, something to soothe my nerves.”

Dasypeltis looked around to see where the parents were. It was strange not to find a parent close by. Perhaps one was hunting, and the other was off cavorting with dysentery. In any case, they would soon return. He would have to act quickly. After all, once the egg was missing, not even his top hat and cane would quiet suspicions. It was his nature to eat eggs, no matter how much he claimed to be reformed,and everyone knew it.

He hurriedly unhinged his jaw, and slid the egg into his throat. About the time it hit his stomach, he prepared to crack it open and spit out the shell. As he did, he began to gag.

“That egg must have been a dud! It must have been there for a year or more.”

Gagging and coughing, he rushed home trying to get rid of the stench of rotten eggs. But it was no use. Unfortunately, he grew used to the smell, and believed that it was gone. Satisfied, he went off to ask out his dear. What was his surprise when she turned him down.

“You’re gross, you rotten egg sucker! I wouldn’t go out with you in a million years!”

Dasypeltis wondered who had told his secret. It was probably one of those mockingbirds. They were such gossips. They’d planted the egg just to get back at him for an innocent snack or two. His paranoia slowly drove him insane. He never kissed another serpent for years.

Moral: Avoid high cholesterol diets. Some eggs should never be sucked.

Hippo

Hippo was one of those lonely sorts. He’d been a bachelor for most of his single life. Since the prime of his life had now long passed and his girth was extreme, he knew that no one could ever love him for whom he was. Thus, he never tried to date one of the locals. Instead, he did what his old friend Bill had done.

“Hi, Mail Order Piranhas? Yes, My name is Hippo. I was looking through your catalog, and I think I’ve found the one for me. Her name is Caribe. Yes, the little red-bellied one. Excellent. When do you think she’ll be here? Tuesday? Great. How did I hear about you? Oh, my friend Bill ordered a Piranha a few months back. He just raved about it. He said that it got him back into shape. OK, thanks.”

Hippo thought about telling Bill about his good news. But he hadn’t seen Bill for a while now, and the phone had been disconnected. But then, newlyweds did like to have privacy, or, as they call it, “alone time.” While he waited for Caribe to come, he started trying to get into shape. After all, he didn’t want to just be a tub of lard to her.”

Finally, Tuesday came, right after Monday, as usual. He was holding a sign for her at the station. She walked over to him, and she was prettier than the catalog had shown her.

“¡Que carnudo!” Caribe said to him.

Hippo wasn’t put off by the language barrier, though. After all, love was universal. They went home, and life was great. Hippo enjoyed his new life. He was starting to lose weight just like Bill did. Every morning he’d wake up, and look in the mirror, and he was a little skinnier. In fact, one morning he rolled over, and there was nothing left of him.

Moral: Piranhas don’t make good bed mates.

Boar

“Hey, Boar,” Vulture said as he lowered down to where Boar rested.

He landed on his belly and pecked once to wake the beast. Boar snorted, so Vulture pecked him harder. Boar grunted and opened his eyes. In panic, he rolled over hastily to let the scavenger know that there was still life in his bones.

“I’m not dead, I tell you, Vulture! I’m just resting!”

“I know. I was just coming to see if you’d heard?”

“Heard what?”

“What Asia is saying about you.”

“What’s Asia saying about me?”

“That you’re fat, stupid, ugly, and smelly.”

“Yeah, and?”

“He says that he’s fatter, stupider, uglier, and smellier. He’s been telling everyone.”

“Oh yeah? Well, you go and tell Asia that I’m the fattest, stupidest, ugliest, and smelliest beast to ever walk this land. You tell him that I’ll prove it, too. Tell him to meet me at the waterhole tomorrow, and I’ll teach him a thing or two.”

“Okay, Boar. I’ll let Asia know, but you’re gonna have to be really fat, stupid, ugly, and smelly. Asia is really good.”

“Just you wait, Vulture. I’ll do you proud.”

With that Vulture went off to find Asia. Boar made sure that he ate like a pig. When he got through, he could barely hobble over to wallow in all the muck, mud, and other smelly things that he could find. He was confident that he was stupid and ugly enough as it was. There’s no way to improve perfection.

Vulture found Asia walking along. He swooped down low, but not too low. Asia had a nasty temper, and it was no use getting clawed by this tiger to deliver his message.

“Hey, Asia, have you heard?” Vulture greeted him.

“What, Vulture?” Asia asked.

“About Boar. He said that you’re even fatter, stupider, uglier, and smellier than he is. He’s been telling everyone. And, he also has been telling everyone that you’re too scared to meet him, since he could easily beat you. He’s told everyone that you wouldn’t dare come to the waterhole tomorrow. Are you really scared of him?”

“Me? No! I’ll show that Boar who’s fat, stupid, ugly, and smelly!”

“Well, he says that you won’t. He says you’re too scared.”

“Well, I’ll show him.”

Vulture flew off quite happy indeed. There would be a feast tomorrow.

Boar was waiting near the waterhole for Asia the next morning. He saw that Vulture and a few of his buddies had come to watch. Vulture was a true friend, always rooting for the home team. He heard soft footsteps coming.

“You here, Boar?” a voice growled. That voice quickly materialized into a tiger. For a second, Boar was scared.

“You don’t think I’m going to fall for the old pretending to be a tiger trick, do you? You really are stupid. I’ll give you that. You’re just tying to scare me off because you know that I am better than you are. But look at you, you’re one pitiful excuse for a tiger.”

“I am, huh?”

“Yep, but at least you had the nerve to come.”

“Well, I hear that you wanted to meet me.”

“Yep, I needed to show you a thing or two.”

“Me, too,” Asia said as he protracted his claws.

Vulture leaned forward eagerly on the tree branch. It suddenly dawned on Boar that he had never thought to ask what kind of creature Asia was.

Moral: Beware of vultures that send you to fight against Asia.