Canto Sixteen – Falling Out of Orbit
Alden and Gracie Morrell, along with all the Telleron tadpoles were gathered around the communicator.
“We welded our ship into the side of the space station,” Davalon said to the voice on the speaker.
“Why the Hrrasskattoon did you do that?” said the angry female voice.
“Hrrasskattoon?” asked George Jetson.
“It probably means blogwopping,” said Tanith.
“Blogwopping?” asked Gracie Morrell.
“You don’t really want to know,” said Davalon.
“Oh,” said Gracie, suddenly realizing.
“We crashed into the side of the station and there were holes in the bulkheads of both vehicles. We would’ve eventually had explosive decompression if we hadn’t made the two vehicles into one.”
“Resourceful,” said the angry voice, “but you are trespassing on my property.”
“Are you somewhere here on board?” asked Davalon.
“Of course not! I know better than to be aboard an unaerodynamic space vehicle when I am trying to salvage it and bring it down to the surface through the atmosphere. I might burn up.”
“You are crashing the station?” Brekka was horrified. “We’ll all die!”
“You’re lucky you are not dead already,” said the voice. “But since you are there, you can do some repairs for me that will help me bring you down safely. I’d rather not burn the station up if I can help it. Especially now that I can see you have Earth humans with you. They might be worth a lot to me if I can get them down here alive.”
“Tellerons are not worth anything to you?” asked Menolly.
“Of course they are. But I could still eat a dead Telleron, couldn’t I?”
Menolly and Brekka grabbed each other around the necks and did the hugging thing they learned from humans. Both girls began shivering violently.
“So you are planning to eat us?” asked Gracie in an angry tone.
“No. I can use all of you if you live through this. You may have noticed that my world has been devastated. I am trying to save what is left of it. I’m not ready for the reality of planetary extinction.”
“How can we help?” asked Davalon.
“I need the anti-gravity coils repaired so I can float the whole thing down. That will keep the whole station from burning up on re-entry.”
“What if we don’t know how to repair anti-gravity coils?” asked George Jetson nervously.
“I will guide you through it step by step. You don’t think I would rely on Telleron intelligence, do you? We often refer to your people as Space Clowns. There’s a reason for that,” said the voice with a sneer.
“A good reason,” Davalon said softly to himself.
“Say! How is it that you speak English?” asked Gracie.
“The same reason your Telleron friends speak it,” said the voice. “Television. I particularly like the Brady Bunch. It is my favorite show. It’s how I know you two Earth people are mere children. I especially like when Marcia bosses around Greg and Peter. They almost act like Galtorrians sometimes, though much funnier… and less killing and eating each other.”
“My name is Davalon,” said Dav. “I am the leader of this expedition. Can I ask what your name is?”
“I am called Sizzahl. But we need to be getting to work before your orbit degrades any further. As far as any of you are actually concerned, my name, for the next few hours, might as well be GOD ALMIGHTY.”
“Oh, good,” muttered Alden Morrell, “a religious lizard-woman.”
*****
But the thing about monster movies… at least the good ones, is that you can watch it to the end and see the monster defeated. We realize in the end that the monster never really wins. He can defeat the monstrous qualities within himself and stop himself. Or the antidote to what ails him is discovered (as Luke did with Darth Vader). Or we can see him put to his justifiable end and remember that if we should see those qualities within ourselves, we should do something about it so that we do not suffer the same fate. Or, better yet, we can learn to laugh at the monstrosity that is every-day life. Humor is a panacea for most of life’s ills.
“The fool’s mother constantly puts a sign on his bedroom door that says, Clean your room! So he has to do it every day before he can do anything else. One day he decided he didn’t want to clean his room that day, and he made a sign himself. It said, Don’t put any signs on this door! He put it on his bedroom door. But then he read what it said and had to take it down again.”
Catch a Falling Star 
Doom is Imminent, It’s Time to Sing!
Yessir, the Cubs have a chance to win their first World Series since 1908 tonight. They have not won the title since Tinker to Evers to Chance was the double-play combo of poetic proportions. They have never won in my lifetime, and I am quite old. So, there is proof positive the world is about to end.
Yes, I can even describe the mechanics of the thing. Donald Trump will be elected President of the United States thanks to Mr. Comey’s timely reveal of more scandalous emails that he has not read and chuckled about yet. You know, the ones that he couldn’t have actually read yet because they come from potential pedophile Anthony Weiner’s computer, and he had to have a separate warrant from a judge to read anything that may have to do with Hillary, even though probably none of them contain nude pictures from Hillary, and she probably didn’t even write those emails. The world had to know about that right before the election, especially members of the Republican House Committee for examining Hillary’s every boo-boo. So, the Donald will win, because nobody is doing any press conferences on the FBI investigation on his ties to the Russian government through the biggest bank in Russia. ‘Taint important, Pogo.
And once the great orange pumpkin-head is our next president, our health care will no longer be under the misguided protection of Obamacare. Instead, it will will be taken care of by “something terrific” that will make high profits for somebody, and make certain that I will never be able to pay another medical bill (since those who are deceased rarely do).
And, of course, President Pompadoodle will be able to declare that we no longer have to believe in the climate change hoax. The result being that we will soon be able to buy beachfront property in Iowa and Missouri, be able to purchase our breathable air in factory-made brick-form, and possibly grow a helpful third eye from the mutating effects of nuclear radiation.
And, lastly, I would like to thank the late great Walt Kelly for illustrating today’s post. One wonders how a cartoonist can look so far ahead from the 1960’s to do such a fine job of illustrating the problems of 2016? Will miracles never cease? I mean, really, we could probably do with a few less of these industrial grade miracles made out of recycled elephant poop.
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Filed under angry rant, comic strips, commentary, conspiracy theory, feeling sorry for myself, goofy thoughts, humor, politics, satire
Tagged as Chicago Cubs, Donald Trump, doom, end of the world, Hillary Clinton, humor, politics, satire, Walt Kelly