R.S.V.P.
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Slimeworld & Galaxy Magazine -- All rights reserved -- |
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Chapter V
by General (Uncle Claude) Xxaxx
& General (E.J. Gold) Nunan PFC 1st Class Ret.
Anthropology/Egghead (Subhead: Cownsil Chambers) — A Shabby, rundown basketball court; shaky, splintered bleachers surrounding a badly kept-up nominally polished hardwood floor upon which a bunch of geeky Eggheads dribble around trying to sink at least one basket in any given half-hour period. Slam dunks? Even if one or two of them topped six feet, it would still be out of the question.
Anthropology/Egghead (Subhead: Basketball Play) — Not only was egghead basketball miserable to play; it was equally miserable to watch, and that — combined with the extreme pain experienced by anyone foolhardy enough to try the bleachers — was sufficient to discourage Citizin and goober bystanders. Even if one or two were able to transcend the egghead’s disgustingly clumsy efforts to huff-and-puff and haul their “fat, aging asses” (egghead vernacular slandering form of glottis maximus muscles apparently used to indicate whole of the egghead body) up and down court maybe five times an hour, nobody could endure it for long.
The few visitors who didn’t get instantly maimed on the bleachers and run hysterically for the boo-boo squad (Cross index to bubbler medical services) to make the owie better, and managed to linger awhile, couldn’t possibly have endured the torturous and highly convincing arguments.
Anthropology/Egghead Sample: Cownsil Meeting — (This sample is a partial extract from a meeting this one was directed to monitor and record by owner Professor Woo.) By reference to a statistically average sample of Cownsil Meetings this extract is fairly representative and most of them sound something like this when you’re actually a player down on the court.
“Thank you for this special meeting—pass the ball, Mike! I’m in the clear!—I think that after you hear what I—uh, oh, just a moment—come on, Mike, dammit! I’m clear! I’m clear, you asshole! There’s nobody on me, you sonofabitch! Give me the ball! Let me have it!—have to say, you’ll understand the urgency—Yeah, right, Mike; you ballhog, give it a break!—of the situation and—If you’d passed me the ball like I told you, we’d have made the shot!—we have to know if it’s true that—Ja Mere, you idiot, dribble with one hand! One hand!—the earth’s rotation is actually slowing down or not,” I finished in a clear voice as the last visitor shuffled out and the door latched firmly behind him.
“What’s your evidence, Woo?” Cownsiler O’Grady asked.
“No evidence. That’s what I’m trying to get.”
“Well, then,” Ja Mere said, drilling a finger into my—fortunately for the survival of my apprehensive breasts—well-bound chest to emphasize his point, “how can you expect us to order a research project which, if it were carried out on the order you expect, would require the combined attention and effort of every Egghead on the planet?
“I don’t know,” Woo admitted, lowering her head for a moment to indicate personal humiliation to the third—of a possible seven—gradation of shame, then lifted her eyes again. Evidently, hara-kiri was not indicated at this time, and she continued.
Anthropology/Egghead (Subhead: Oriental custom) — Hara-kiri is an ancient form of protoplasmic hardware modification that involved the removal of large portions of food processing and nutrient capturing components (See intestines). This modification to the basic operating configuration of the human biological machine did not ever yield a better or more functional model. It is a curiosity why oriental humans persist in experimenting with this.
“But as I see it, we have only two alternatives to full commitment of civilian resources and military and government assets into this project. And we do admit that it isn’t an issue which will wait long for our decision . . . ?” Woo waited a moment, mouth open, jaw slack, eyes disfocused and mentally appropriately distant but not beyond the normal 7.2 of environmental alienation. Had she been a round-eyes, of course, she’d have never gotten away with it, but it had its effect on the cownsilers.
“Look,” Woo began again, silently noting to herself that timing was going to be critical in this presentation; “We can wait until the reduction in the Earth’s rotation becomes painfully obvious without instrumental observation, or—” Woo paused again.
“Or what?” Ja Mere bit.
Woo had them now. She knew they didn’t really want to invest all of Earth’s intelligence assets into a full-scale research crash-program, and would grasp any straw they could for a chance at partial commitment. “How about a small series of preliminary tests now? I could run them myself . . . .”
They gave Woo the facilities of the Alright Observatory. Not personally, of course. She wouldn’t be going to any observatory any time soon. They expected Woo to talk to the Dragons. It was imperative that the cownsil to know where the Dragons stood on the issue. Maybe they wanted the Earth’s rotation to slow down. Maybe they were the ones who were doing it. Hell, if that was what they wanted, there wasn’t a creature on Earth would have denied them the right. Who would have denied them the right, Woo mentally supplied the missing pronoun.
“If the equipment at the Alright lives up to its name, the observatory staff will have to push it to the farthest reaches of its functional limits to get any visible results at all,” Woo commented.
Ja Mere seemed confident. “Something as big as the Earth’s rotation slowing down; we ought to be able to tabulate it, even with a Victorian parlor mirror glued into the bottom of a garbage can,” he hazarded.
“Equipment there’s that bad you can compare it to a mirror in a garbage can?” Woo laughed.
“No comparison, Professor,” he laughed back; “that is the equipment.”
“Yeah,” she nodded, “Science. Things are tough all over. If I’m to see the Dragons, I’ll be starting my summer sabbatical a bit early this year.”
“Like when?” Ja Mere asked; what a good straight man this guy would have made for a standup comic.
“Like today,” she replied, making my exit as dramatic as possible by dribbling downcourt. The lay-up, of course, was her downfall.
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R.S.V.P.
|
Slimeworld & Galaxy Magazine -- All rights reserved -- |
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