A lethargy has set in these days.
A lassitude has wrapped itself around my shoulders, like a heavy winter shawl.
A piece of clothing once referred to as a ‘muffler’.
Kind of appropriate, actually.
The inertia has taken on a rather specific form.*
That of an unwillingness to settle down and do some serious writing.
If you can call anything I write ‘serious’…
Although I do believe that even writing comedy can be an endeavor filled with gravitas.
It’s just not nearly as much fun to do it under those conditions.
Not when one’s writing is so full of it.
… he typed slyly…
Maybe it’s the lack of daylight.
I know the days are already getting longer.
It just doesn’t yet feel like it.
Therefore, I think I wish to do something about it.
So, I hereby propose an amendment.
To whatever world constitution we have in effect at the moment.
Whattya mean there ain’t no world constitution, yet?
Well, why not?
What have you people been doing all this time?
You want something done around here, you gotta do it yourself!
Article I (of the First Planetary Constitution, of This, the Third World from the Star Sol, on the Outer Arm, of the Milky Way Galaxy)
We, the united peoples of Earth…
By the way, do you ever wonder what all those other life forms that live in our galaxy refer to it as? Surely not the ‘milky way’. I mean, that’s a pretty poor attempt, even for a planet that actually has milk. What if they come from a planet where children are fed… oh, let’s say… seltzer, out of silica-based teats, from day one. What’s their name for our galaxy gonna be – the Great Sangria in the sky? Or maybe something like the Giant Cosmic Celery Julep…?
Ooh, ooh, I know, I know… The Watermelon Vodka Spritzer Supreme… ‘cause they probably don’t put their words in the same order that we do… typed he cunningly…
Still, the ‘milky way’ is a pretty unimaginative attempt. That’s right up there with calling the most mind-boggling explosion ever to occur, in all of existence, something like the ‘outrageous ouchie’; or the ‘preposterous poop’ (he typed knowingly!) – or maybe just something even more incredibly juvenile and ridiculous… like the ‘big bang’…
But to get back to the whole ‘naming of the galaxy’ thingy…
Calling it the ‘milky way’ is like calling the planet Jupiter a baseball, ‘cause it kinda looks like one.
And because we can hold a baseball in our hand, whereas it’s almost impossible to get Jupiter to knuckle towards the plate with any kind of consistency.
Not without years of practice, and an unbelievably silly wind-up…
… but I digress…
WE, the untiedº peoples of Earth, in order to form a more perfect blah, blah, blah… preamble, preamble, preamble… on to the good bits.
We must all get together and decide on much cooler names for the really big, important stuff…
How come we get names like Elantra and Charger, or even Volare, for our cars, while the greatest event in the hugest mostest biggest history of all kinds of events, EVER, is called the ‘big bang’?
Read a poem, or something.
And no, Ford didn’t name their car after an alien, um… artifact…
Well, don’t ask me about the shape.
How would I know?
I’ve never been abducted by aliens.
I never get to do anything fun…!
If we’re all going to die anyway – which, according to Fox News, will be any day now – wouldn’t it be kinda awesome, if we all left for that great big auto dealership in the sky, being on really good terms with everyone else?
Can we, please, huh, can we?
“Today is that momentous day we’ve all been waiting for – the day on which we shall all pass on through to a better place. Please step forward, one at a time. You may now kick the bucket”
“No, please, after you.”
“No, no, no… I insist.”
“I couldn’t possibly…”
“Oh, I think you’d better.”
“But I brought this shiny new bucket here, specifically to make it easier for you to ‘kick off’, so to speak.”
“Well, I’m certainly not going to kick it, and leave you here to ruin things after I’m gone.”
“What do you mean… ‘ruin’?”
“I think you know exactly what I mean!”
“Well, I’m not kicking any bucket that you’ve touched…”
“KICK THE FRICKIN’ BUCKET BEFORE I KICK YOUR FRICKIN’ @$$…”
Well… try and think about it, anyway…
All the world’s population must live on whichever side of the planet happens to be sunny and warm, at all times. Therefore, every citizen of said planet will be provided with a two-house chicken and a car in the pot, and shall then be required to live the equivalent of that Dream formerly known as ‘American’.
Everyone shall move to their respective ‘summer’ homes at the first instance of the temperature dropping below 72ºF (or 22.222222222222222222222222222222… well, why don’t we just round it off to 22ºC, plus a smidge…†) and shall not return until their ‘winter’ home has sufficiently warmed enough that there is no possibility of their ever needing any such thing as a ‘light jacket’.
These temperatures shall be fixed by legislation, and the ding dang planet had just better get on board with all of this.
There shall be no discussion of what the moving of an entire planet’s population to one side of the planet, back and forth every year, might do the the stability of said planets’ orbit. Those who claim irreversible harm are whistling dixie through their Rocky Mountain clams.
Seriously… they’re dead wrong.
Not even close.
So far wrong they can’t even see right from there…
Face it, people – they’re full of it!
The only people who shall be allowed to live in the colder latitudes shall be those necessary for the continuation of the snow skiing industry.
If you are going to be snow skiing, you must prove a sufficiency of technique.
Those exhibiting too much technique shall be flogged, until they learn a little bit of humility.
I hereby appoint myself His Most High Humility Sheriff – ‘Flogging done while you wait’.™
No one shall be allowed on the slopes who can ski better than I can.
Which should leave them rather untenanted.
‘Cause I don’t ski so very well.
… where was I?
Packing in your own food is highly recommended, as everyone else will be too busy skiing, to do anything so pedestrian as cooking.
Drinks will be provided – consisting entirely of Green Fizz Midori Cosmic Cocktails – as that was the name chosen by the Greater Galactic Council, as best representing our own little corner of the universe.
Especially after it was discovered that Midori was, indeed, the center of all wisdom and light.
Not the liqueur.
No, not the ice skater, either.
Nor any of the like-named places in Japan.
And certainly not that sushi place in Sherman Oaks…
I’m talking about the violinist.
Honestly, I don’t know which is more appalling…
Your lack of poetic imagination, or your galactic theology.
The Planetary Constitution shall be continued in a future post.
The galactic bureaucracy’s gotten a bit lazy, since their chicken mortgages were paid off…
† A smidge, as everyone knows (except for some of your more godless heathens, out in the low-rent backwaters of the galaxy), is defined as a 1/5th – kinda – actually, more like a bit shy of a 1/5th (no, not of liqueur… a 1/5th of the original number), plus another… say, some sort of irrational number – added onto a large quantity of purely imaginary numbers, and all of them totaling out to more or less exactly zero… PLUS, a 1/100th of that initial number, super-glued onto the right side of that initial number, for as many times as you can, or until you run out of glue… or until you just can’t be bothered any more.
Shake – don’t stir.
Serve with a twist.
º Typos are SO much more fun when they’re on purpose. It also helps if you arrange your footnotes randomly, and in no way corresponding to the order in which they appear in the post. Good times… good times…
* This is the sort of thing that occurs when I have no fixed topic to write about. When that happens, I just let my mind wander, and this is the kind of §h¥†e that comes out. If you people have any feelings for those you claim to love; or for humanity at large… and even for those people who aren’t quite so large… you’ll band together and stop this madness, before it spreads.
Do not say you were not warned!!!