Canto Twenty – Wing One Airborne Once More
The two lizardmen were both secured in the passenger seats in the cargo area of the wing. The fat one was causing the anti-gravity compensators to work seventy-five percent harder, but Biznap and Farbick had always kept Wing One in tip-top shape. It flew like an agile glide-wing aerial beast through the toxic fog of the Galtorrian skies.
“Why is there so little life left on this planet?” asked Farbick.
“I think a better question is why there is any life left at all?” said the fat one.
“What has happened to your planet?” asked Biznap.
“Great warriors rose up to do battle and win at all costs,” said the fat one.
“And while they did it, corporate parasites like Bahbahr here grew wealthy and horded all the best food, all the best technology… the best of everything,” said the little one.
“And warriors like Stabharh here destroyed the towns and cities and society that they claimed to be fighting for,” said the fat one. “This one would not be alive if I hadn’t persuaded him to work for me and protect my interests instead of continuing the carnage.”
“It is possible to get tired of killing,” said Stabharh. “I rather enjoyed it once, but when Grakknarh and I escaped from the scabbies I realized that there were really no more mountains to climb, or cities to burn. A Galtorrian can’t live without something to strive for.”
Looking out the front viewing portal of Wing One, the crew and the two visitors could look down on the scarred and pitted landscape. There were buildings of concrete and steel everywhere, but none were wholly intact. Many were on fire, slow-burning fires that produced long dark plumes of greasy smoke and bits of burning rubbish. No green was visible anywhere. The colors of the landscape were brick-red from rubble, burnt orange from open flame and firelight, black from soot and cinders, and filthy brown from dirt and sewage. It was a sad and basically repulsive landscape.
“If you’ve stopped destroying things,” Starbright thoughtfully asked Stabharh, “then what keeps you alive? What do you live for now?”
“Keeping Bahbahr alive and carrying out my assignments in spite of scabbies, fires, and loss of will has become a game. It keeps getting harder, especially now that Grakknarh is dead. I don’t want to do it forever, but it only ends when the scabbies kill and eat me. I’m not particularly looking forward to that.”
“I don’t know why you are so gloomy,” said Bahbahr. “I couldn’t be any happier. With most of the population of Galtorr gone, look at all the resources lying around ready for me to claim them as my own. I may already be the richest man on the planet.”
“You may be the only man on the planet soon enough,” said Stabharh.
“I can live with that,” said Bahbahr with a grin that chilled Farbick to the bone.
*****
Farbick
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