Canto Twenty-One – In the Wreckage
The repaired anti-gravity coils were not one hundred per cent successful. The station whirled to the surface of the planet in a flaming spiral that scattered red-hot sparks throughout the dirty brown clouds that made Galtorr’s atmosphere nearly solid. The impact cracked the seal between the station and the space ship that had impaled it. Smoke and toxic atmosphere rushed in.
“Ah! The air stinks!” cried Menolly.
“The hostile environment suits!” cried Tanith. “Get them on!”
Everyone obeyed as quickly as they could peel themselves off the floor. Alden and Gracie had trouble with the helmets since they were designed for beings with a head fin on their heads. Brekka’s suit was almost too tight to put on. She had to wriggle, pull, and squeal to get it on. But when it was on and all she had to do was push a button to make it fit properly, she didn’t push it. Davalon wasn’t exactly sure why, but he did notice her admiring the reflection of her shapely behind in a piece of interior chrome.
“What do we do now?” asked George Jetson. He turned his helmeted eyes toward the intercom that had been their connection to Sizzahl. “Sizzahl? Are you still there?”
“Of course I am. I’m not the one crashing through the atmosphere. How many of you died? Are the Earthers okay?”
“Is anybody dead?” George asked. “Speak up if you’re dead!”
“We’re all okay,” said Tanith. “I already counted all the survivors. All seven of us made it into environment suits.”
“So, we’re all here. What do we do next, Sizzahl?” Davalon asked the intercom.
“I need live plants. Round up every live plant on the station and bring it to me.”
“Where do we find you?” asked George Jetson.
“Well, I need to have you tune your communicators into the intercom broadcast so I can talk to you and guide you. This dome I am in is hidden well. You will need to follow my directions very carefully to find me without guiding scabbies to my sanctuary.”
“Er…” said Menolly, “what are scabbies? That doesn’t sound good.”
“There’s a movie called Night of the Living Dead, the Galtorrians’ favorite Earther movie, do you know it?”
“No.” They were all quiet, but Davalon wondered what Alden was thinking. He seemed to have heard of the movie.
“In the movie, dead people crawl out of their graves and eat the living people,” Sizzahl explained. “That’s a little bit like the scabbies. They are diseased, and they attack and eat anything they can get their rotten claws on.”
“Oh, no!” Menolly fainted and her metallic helmet clunked against the floor of the station.
“Don’t worry. If you can get here without being discovered by them, I am well protected here. I am looking forward to having you here. I’ve been alone for a very long time.”
“We are coming, Sizzahl,” said Tanith. “Tell us how to tune our com units.”
As Sizzahl explained, Davalon looked at the plants the Galtorrian wanted. They were rather browned and blighted. He wasn’t sure they were really what Sizzahl wanted. Still, gathering up the plants was not too much for her to ask. After all, she had saved all of their lives. By rights, Davalon and his crew of truants should all have died already for their mistakes.
*****
Healing From A Fatal Wound
The Trumpkins and Trolls won the battle and are now busy eating their prisoners… along with the puppies and kittens for desert. And as far as I can see, the war is over. We had a chance with the Paris Climate Accords to repair the damage to the life of this planet, even though it was a very eleventh-hour plan to avert the end of life on Earth. The Trolls and Trumpkins are peeing on that fence too, shorting it out and preventing it from saving us from being eaten by the heat-wolves of corporate polluters.
I myself wasn’t expecting to live through another decade in any case, but now, I fear the lives of my children and grandchildren will be cut short as well. You can’t poop where you eat on a regular basis and expect not to get sick and die. I predicted that the Cubs would win the World Series because they stole key talent from the Cardinals and had a young, rising club to add them to. I got that one right. I predicted that Trump would win the presidency because I know a lot of the Trump-voter kind of former middle-class white people who are seriously in financial and existential pain, and I knew who they were going to blame it on. If I am right about this last thing too, then we are all doomed.
“Jeez, Mickey! You don’t call that humor, do you?”
Well, I guess I do, because humor comes from being able to laugh at the darkness and make fun of the dumpy-lumpy lumbering bears of bad fortune that are about to eat you. We are going to have a laugh or two before the end at the expense of Trumpkins and Trolls because they make world-shaking decisions based on faith in false facts. The irony and stupidity of it all is a very laughable absurdity that will build BS mountains taller than Everest. And those mountains will collapse upon them, burying them in poop. Never mind that we will also be buried. They brought it on themselves by the choices they made. Seeing them get their comeuppance has to be worth a laugh or two.
I have pretty much let Will Rogers speak to this current election result through the memes I have chosen to accompany this gloomy-doomy essay. I think it is significant that wisdom from a hundred years ago still applies so completely to the politics of today. With democracy and elections we get what we deserve… not what we want. We need to change to face the future, if we even get to have one. But the past clearly shows that we haven’t learned our lessons very well. I guess there’s nothing left to do but laugh about it… and try to love each other a little better before the bitter end.
Thanks for sharing, Cousin Will.
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Filed under angry rant, commentary, feeling sorry for myself, humor, irony, Liberal ideas, politics, self pity
Tagged as Donald Trump, doom and gloom, election reaction, goofiness, politics, Will Rogers