Super Bowl Piranha

 

 The six-inch-long piranha circled its new home with all its sharp teeth showing.

            "You're sure having one is legal?" Dean asked.  He owned La Dolce Vita restaurant, the site of the new Piranha aquarium.

            "Don't worry about it.  I've had piranha-like this for years," Bumper Poole replied.  He owned Fins and Things, located next door.

            "How much bigger is it going to get?"

            "That's the adult size.  Now, you can't act freaked out.  You're supposed to have owned it for a long time."

            As Bumper finished speaking, the glass door to La Dolce Vita's lobby swung open.  A man wearing a sports jacket and cloth facemask walked in, followed by someone carrying a news camera.

            "I'm Chad from Channel 5.  I'm looking for Dean," the man in the jacket announced.

           Dean and Bumper looked at each other and hurried to put on their face masks.  They were an unusual pairing.  Dean wore a long-sleeved silky shirt.  His salt and pepper hair made him look distinguished and severe.  Bumper was tall and greyhound skinny.  Despite the winter weather, he wore a tank top and constantly looked like he was nervously robbing a convenience store.

            "I'm the guy you're looking for," Dean said.  "You’re here about the fish, right?”

            “I’m a sports guy, so I’m not usually interested in fish stories.  But if he can pick the Super Bowl, then I’m interested.”

            “He’s picked the winner for the last seven years,” Bumper interjected.

            “You work here too?” Chad asked Bumper.

            “No, I own the shop next door.  That’s where the fish came from.  Me and Dean are friends.  We discovered the whole Super Bowl thing together.”

            “So how does he do it?  Swim through a hoop or tap on the glass or something?”

            “Nah, we have these little shrimp pellets, and we dye them the team colors,” Bumper answered.  “The number of pellets he eats equals the team score.  He doesn’t get the score exactly right, but he always picks the winner.”

            Chad walked closer to the tank and stared at the piranha.  He turned to his camera guy and asked, “You think you can get a good shot of him swimming around?”

            “Yeah, sure.”

            “And you’re ready for him to make the picks for this year?” Chad asked Dean and Bumper.

            Bumper held up two plastic containers holding shrimp pellets.  “Ready.”

            “I hope he has a name.  I don’t want to keep calling him “the fish” when I’m talking about this.”

            Bumper’s face froze like he was caught with his hand up a vending machine. Dean stayed cool and almost immediately replied, “We call him Moses.  You know, like the prophet in the Bible because he’s predicting things.”

            “Alright, let’s do this with Moses, the piranha,” Chad declared.

            Bumper and Dean sprinkled the colorful pellets on the water with the camera positioned in front of the aquarium.  Chad dictated the action as Moses swam around and chomped.  Ultimately, he ate thirty-one gray pellets and nine red ones before growing disinterested.

            “You heard it here first, folks,” Chad said into the camera.  “Moses picked your Super Bowl LV score: Tampa Bay 31, Kansas City 9.”

            As Chad walked out the door, he turned to say how he could probably get the story on air that night because people loved Super Bowl prediction stuff.  Dean and Bumper shared a glance as if they had gotten away with something.

            Fins and Things and La Dolce Vita had moved into the same strip mall twelve years earlier.  For most of those years, their owners were cordial but nothing like friends.  Bumper built his business selling interesting fish and reptiles.  He advised his customers to keep healthy aquariums and terrariums; people returned for more.  Eventually, Bumper had three full-time employees, and his business was like his child.  He saw himself reflected in the signs on the door and the aisles of animals for sale.

            Dean’s feelings about his restaurant ran even more profound.  He had worked in a kitchen before venturing out on his own.  He knew most new restaurants fail, but he took the risk anyway and borrowed money from relatives and a bank.  During the first few years, he went to bed every night worrying about bankruptcy.  But he was in a good location and making good food.

            More and more people returned for lunch and dinner.  Bankruptcy fell off Dean’s list of worries as he grew to a staff of twenty people working the kitchen and the dining room.  One of the unique features of La Dolce Vita was a large window overlooking the local high school’s stadium.  The restaurant would be packed with customers who treated it like a luxury viewing suite during football games.

            La Dolce Vita made good money, and Dean saved a healthy chunk of it.  Then, in early 2020, everything changed overnight.  Covid restrictions closed Dean’s dining room. What began as a two-week vacation for his staff led to most of them being laid off.  Dean kept a skeleton crew and tried to switch to a takeout menu, but a good part of La Dolce Vita’s appeal was its atmosphere.  It was hard to duplicate that in paper bags in the lobby.

            Next door, at Fins and Things, Bumper let go of his staff, too.  He tried to sell fish and snakes on a website, but few people were interested in picking up animals outside Bumper’s door without first seeing them in person.

            Dean and Bumper continued driving to the strip mall to watch their life’s work get erased.  Often, the only cars in the parking lot belonged to them.  One day, as they were both outside squinting angrily at the sun, Dean invited Bumper for a drink.

            Next to the window overlooking the high school, the two businessmen sipped from bottles and complained about the government and the world's unfairness.  The experience was so therapeutic their meetings became a routine.  They complained a lot about how the world owed them something, but they also shared ideas on starting over.  Their favorite conversation starter was asking, “What would you do with $10,000?”

            During one of their regular sessions, they came up with the idea of a Super Bowl predicting fish.  It was supposed to bring free publicity to the restaurant and Fish and Things.  Their old customers would be reminded to come back as soon as possible.  Bumper already had a family of piranhas.  Setting up an aquarium in La Dolce Vita’s lobby was easy.  It was also easy to convince a sports reporter their fish had a winning streak going.

            When Dean and Bumper had imagined things playing out, they hoped they would get lucky enough for the fish to pick the winner.  In the closing seconds of Super Bowl LV, they realized they had unleashed a phenomenon.  Moses picked the exact final score – Tampa Bay 31 and Kansas City 9.

            Chad, the sports reporter, called as soon as the game ended.  He did a follow-up story, passed on to the national network.  Moses made news across the country as Chad reported that the fish had now correctly picked eight Super Bowls in a row and nailed the score from the last one.

            If Dean and Bumper had not been solid friends and conspirators, they may have fought for custody of Moses.  But they agreed he should remain in La Dolce Vita’s lobby surrounded by signs explaining why he was famous.  One of the signs encouraged restaurant customers to visit Fins and Things next door.  Bumper was content with advertising that his store was the birthplace of the world’s most famous predictive piranha.

            The signs and Moses’ YouTube channel were significant parts of the plan to bring customers back.  As Covid restrictions eased up during 2021, more and more people could sit in Dean’s restaurant.  Before eating, they all stopped to admire Moses.

            “If you like him, don’t forget to visit his friends next door,” Dean told his diners.

            Business increased.  Growth was frustrating and unpredictable.  Dean struggled to find new cooks and waitpersons.  He did much of the work, including cleaning tables and scrubbing the kitchen after everyone else had gone home.

            Bumper spent equally long days cleaning out fish tanks and trying to find new employees to help.  He and Dean still lost money every month, but they got closer and closer to breaking even.  They were frantically busy, yet they always found time to have lunch together.  Bumper brought food for Moses and then ate free spaghetti as he and Dean sat near the window overlooking the high school stadium.

            It was during these lunches that a mythology about Moses emerged.  They forgot about inventing his seven-game prediction streak and randomly selecting him from the fish in Bumper’s shop.  It was easy to accept that Moses had true prophetic powers.  He had come to them as a gift – some small measure of payback after all they had lost and suffered.

            Throughout the 2021 NFL season, Dean and Bumper posted the weekly scores next to Moses’ tank to keep him updated on the teams.  As the 2022 Super Bowl approached, they planned a prediction party big enough to push their businesses past the break-even point.

            Bumper’s girlfriend handled the advertising.  Her campaign combined social media posts with paper flyers left on windshields around the city.  The flyers urged everyone to enjoy a weekend-long celebration at La Dolce Vita and a special Super Bowl sale at Fins and Things.  Moses would make his prediction on Saturday night surrounded by a crowd of fans.

            Dean and Bumper did not have to prompt Chad.  He called them to reserve a spot in front of Moses’ aquarium.  So did reporters from New York and Philadelphia.  The La Dolce Vita lobby was set to be filled with so many cameras there was little room for Moses’ devoted fans from Toms River.

            On Thursday afternoon, before the festivities kicked into high gear, two young men wearing suits and sporting scruffy beards walked into La Dolce Vita.  They admired Moses’ aquarium before asking to speak with the owner.

            “What can I do for you?” Dean asked after strolling into the lobby.

            “We’re with BFH.  Stands for Bet From Home.  We’re interested in your fish,” one of the guys announced.

            “So are a lot of people,” Dean replied.

            “We’d like to buy it.”

            “He’s not for sale,” Dean replied coolly.

            “We’re ready to pay a lot of money.”

            Dean looked anxiously at Moses’ aquarium and all the surrounding signs.  “I better get my partner.”

            Bumper came right over.  He and Dean listened quietly as the BFH guys explained they were starting a national campaign for their online gambling company.  They wanted Moses as their mascot, and they wanted him to make his prediction at their company headquarters in New Brunswick.

            “He’s a special fish.  A magical fish,” Bumper said.

            “We realize that,” a BFH guy said in return.  “That’s why we’ll give you $10,000 for him.”

            Dean and Bumper shared the glance they used whenever someone asked probing questions about Moses’ history.  “We’ll have to think about it,” Dean answered.

            “You don’t have very long to think,” the BFH guy said.

            “We’ll sleep on it and tell you tomorrow,” Dean said.

            After the guys in suits left, Dean and Bumper whispered back and forth in front of Moses.  “If he can predict the future, he’s worth more than $10,000,” Bumper insisted.

            “He’s already been worth at least that to us,” Dean said.  “But what if he gets the next score wrong?”

            “I’m more worried about them taking good care of him.  Those guys don’t know anything about piranhas.”

            By the time the whispering was done, they decided to give it more thought, but they were leaning toward keeping Moses where he was.

            It was another late night for Dean.  He was alone when he walked through his restaurant, turning off the lights.  He made a final check of the lobby and aquarium.  Moses was not moving.  Dean dialed Bumper’s phone in panic.

            “Sorry, but you better get over here.”

            Bumper walked in with messy hair and wearing sweatpants.  He took one look at the aquarium and made the dreaded pronouncement.  “He’s dead.”

            Dean and Bumper mourned Moses for fifteen minutes in the dark restaurant.  Bumper repeated that Moses was too young to die and was too special for this earth.  Dean said he felt the same way when his grandmother passed away.

            The pain and emptiness came and went.  A clock on the wall pushed past midnight, and the two struggling business owners realized they were facing a new day alone.  They both had the same thought, but Bumper first verbalized it.

            “Those BFH guys don’t know one fish from another.  All they want is the publicity.  We switch Moses for one of his healthy brothers, and they’ll never notice.”

            Dean quickly agreed, and Moses was reverently placed in Bumper’s fish disposal unit under cover of night.  A sibling took the place of honor in La Dolce Vita’s lobby.

            The following day, Dean called BFH and consented to the deal.  His one condition was that they promised to take good care of the fish no matter what happened in the future.  BFH readily agreed and sent a team down to take possession of their prize.

            Bumper repeated instructions about what to feed Moses’ brother and how to clean the tank.  Then he handed over the dyed shrimp pellets the fish would need for predicting the Super Bowl score – blue for the Rams and orange for the Bengals.  The BFH people nodded impatiently as they understood and then handed $5000 checks to both Dean and Bumper.

            “That’s gotta be the most expensive piranha ever,” Bumper said after the BFH guys disappeared.

            “Should we feel guilty?” Dean asked.

            “What if Moses’ brother is even better with predictions?  Then they got a bargain.  And if anybody should understand gambling, it’s those guys.  Besides, the world owes us a little something.”

            The prediction party no longer featured Moses in La Dolce Vita’s lobby.  Dean and Bumper announced that Moses had gone on to a better place.  Then, they shared the link for watching a live stream at BFH headquarters.

            Moses’ replacement did not like the blue pellets at all.  He gulped down 49 orange ones in a row, predicting a Super Bowl blowout in favor of the Bengals.  When the Rams won the game the next day, Dean and Bumper made excuses like, “It was too much pressure for Moses after changing homes.”  When they whispered to each other, they were convinced the real Moses would have predicted the correct score.

            As for the fake Moses, he was never allowed to make picks again.  He lived out his days in the BFH lobby, an expensive symbol of risk and reward.

 

 

                            Want a Trumpless day?

         First, check the back of your closet or a bureau drawer for something bought or given to you before 2015, the year Trump started to run for president, the wristwatch that merely tells time; shoes; a jacket, shirt, or sweater that never matched anything What man doesn’t still have a shirt that needs to be tucked in, and what woman didn’t keep a sweater with shoulders for a chilly day?  That’s what you’ll wear to feel Trumpless.

         Then, for breakfast, including toast, a croissant, or a muffin that contains gluten, followed by coffee that hasn’t been decaffeinated. Lunch could be a salad without kale. The dietary rules aren’t at all strict. For your Trumpless day, don’t order a hamburger. It’s his favorite meal. Try to stay away from  Diet Coke and chocolate cake, and never use ketchup. All four will remind you of what you’re avoiding.

         Buy a printed newspaper and read it in a public space, like a train or a park. If you live in a small town, you can find a metropolitan paper with separate sections. At first, newspapers may be somewhat hard to handle because they don’t fit into your palm and often need folding back and forth. Once you adapt to it, you’ll be saved from swiping up and down. Start your Trumpless day with the business section, the entertainment reviews, sports, and the tech news, ignoring the front page and the National news section. If you drop the newspaper or lose it, that doesn’t matter. You can replace it inexpensively, and there will be no worries about personal information in it. After you buy a newspaper, it can’t be hacked.

        After breakfast, look for that National Geographic Adventure issue you saved, hoping you’ll eventually visit Yellowstone to see the famous geyser. Then, enjoy a morning watching a romantic comedy on Hulu, whether or not you find it.

         For lunch, try a ham and cheese sandwich. Please stay away from tuna fish, as it supposedly smells like Trump.

         Play a CD of cool jazz, Joan Baez, in the afternoon or ask Alexa for the top hits of 2000-14 if you gave your CD player to Goodwill.

         Another thing you can do on a Trumpless day is to write a letter. Writing by hand isn’t necessary, but the letter has to be at least two paragraphs long and requires an envelope, a stamp on the top right corner, and your return address on the top left. The recipient will be delighted, especially if they were born a generation or two before you.

         For dinner, dine with friends you’ve known for years, and when they ask a question about Yellowstone, answer it before they can look it up on the Google app.  You’ll have a memorable evening.

         If there’s time on the weekend, go to a store and buy something you don’t need, like another tool or pair of shoes. If you need to return whatever you purchased, you don’t have to pack it in the original packaging and send it back by UPS. Brick-and-mortar stores don’t deduct return postage.

         After shopping, consider going to a movie that is not yet streaming. You may need to stand in line for a few minutes, but that’s no longer the problem it used to be. Going to a movie counts for your Trumpless Day because he isn’t yet on that giant screen.

      If it’s a beautiful day, check the snow level and consider a ski holiday. Or if you live in a warm climate, play a few sets of tennis or take a walk on the beach. For a thoroughly Trumpless day, avoid golf at all times. Not a beautiful day?  If it’s raining or snowing, read a book. Though it’s not easy to find one that isn’t about what you’re escaping, choose a mystery. Even sci-fi will work if it deals with life on another planet.

     Finally, you can never watch or listen to TV or radio news. If you are on Facebook, Twitter, or other social media sites and someone mentions Trump, unfriend or block them, even if it is a relative.

        In reality, since Trump has infiltrated all aspects of our lives, there is nothing you can do to wipe Trump from your life entirely except stay in bed with the lights off all day.

                                            Recycle Bin

        Unless you have been living under a rock, you will concede that global warming and ecosystem decline urgently mandate a reduction of waste production. One notable exception: Your email ‘Recycle Bin” seems to keep growing exponentially, at least my wife does.

        Recently, she asked me to help her with an email problem. She was unable to save an email. I checked the program, and she was right. This problem allowed me to check her email files. She had over fifty saved file folders, with probably a thousand saved emails, some going back five years. She had no desire to eliminate any, and I learned not to argue with her after many years of marriage. On a whim, I checked her Recycle Bin. She had never emptied it. Close to eight thousand emails were in this folder, an ever-growing toxic pile of expired coupon codes, hibernating computer viruses, odd, unsolicited announcements, and spam.

        When I asked her if I should delete the files, she replied, “It’s a recycle bin, not a trash bin.” There might be something in there that I might recycle to my Inbox..” When she turned her back, I emptied it. That solved the problem.

        There’s some mystique surrounding Recycle. – when you hit “delete” or its digital equivalent, “empty” on your keyboard, where does it go? Well, we know that all human organic waste, including the occasional body, eventually ends up in a landfill in New Jersey. However, where do we send the columns of Ones and Zeroes representing our discarded online footprints?

        Northern California, it turns out. After some research, I am now convinced there is a gigantic black hole in Redmon, right behind the Microsoft cafeteria, that sucks up all the crap that we deem unworthy. It seems ironic that the hole’s intense gravity helps remove stuff. But, I wonder, when we blow all this into someone else’s galaxy, wouldn’t this cause some level of embarrassment if read by extraterrestrials? And so, the goal here has to be to stop producing more trash in the first place and get to the source. Here is some advice on maintaining email hygiene to assist you in this worthwhile quest.

     Don’t EVER hit “unsubscribe” — it only signals to the very able spam coder in Moscow that he (or she) has found a “live one,” and therefore, you just picked up speed on the doomsday countdown which will surely end in total obliteration of your operating system. 

      Don’t be fooled by emoticons in the subject lines — yes, they are super cute and look engaging. No – you idiot – you didn’t win anything, and confirming an incoming deposit doesn’t make the promised 100+ million-dollar transaction more real (sent curiously from your long-lost family member in England) – other than the one that’s undoubtedly outgoing from your bank account as soon as you reveal details to the under-aged crook on the other side of the World (or in your next-door neighbor’s basement). 

     Thirdly, when you do a lot of online shopping, use your glasses (the ones you bought from Amazon when you returned for more dog food). Somewhere next to your order is a tiny box you must un-check to ensure you disagree with being inundated with online offers, alerts, and updates.

     Afterward, make sure you clear your recent ‘History’ and then wash your hands thoroughly.

 

               

                    Power Of The Military – An Idea

        The U.S. military has had great success setting up no-fly zones over the lands of foreign enemies. So maybe we should unleash the power of the military over domestic foes. Here are some ideas on how to do this.

        Americans are among the fattest people in the world, which isn't a good thing because when overweight individuals go to the hospital for weight-related illnesses, they increase medical insurance premiums for the rest of us. Can anything be done about this problem? The answer is yes, specifically have the military impose a no-fry zone.

        The U.S. military could declare martial law in the nation and ban fried foods from being cooked here. American soldiers would be stationed in restaurant kitchens across the United States to ensure no foods were fried in them, and at meal times, raids would be conducted in homes throughout the land to ensure people were munching fried-free fare. American naval power would participate by delivering threats to fire cruise missiles at Kentucky Fried Chicken restaurants. Air Force drones would fly nationwide looking for people trying to flout the fried-food ban.

        Once a no-fry zone was successfully established, the military would begin the second phase of the enterprise, which would be to proclaim a no-pie zone to keep the pressure going. The purpose would be to get Americans to ingest fruits and other healthy foodstuffs for dessert. The final part of the operation would be widening food restrictions via a no-ham-on-rye zone and a no-pizza-pie zone.

        U.S. armed forces could set up a no-lie zone in Congress to fight legislative false news. This zone, of course, would include our ex-president, Donald Trump. Specifically, American troops trained in spotting lies would be stationed inside Congressional hearing rooms to detect lies told by legislators. When falsehoods are discovered, the lawmakers telling them would be questioned, and if it were determined a person fibbed, they would be sent for rehabilitation to a detention center.

        The military would also establish a no-cry zone to spare the public from watching their elected representatives break down when giving talks and interviews. If anybody should be crying these days, it is the American people who have had to tolerate Congressional clowns who defer making essential decisions on the economy and, as a result, have left us all in a we've-been-put-out-to-dry zone.

        Wouldn't it be great to have a no-hi zone to restrict people you don't know from sending emails that begin with the chatty salutation "hi" rather than the more formal "hello?" And how about a no-buy zone to keep annoying popup ads from appearing on your computer screen when you google something? Such zones are perfectly doable through U.S. government Internet surveillance, which, since 9/11, the CIA has already done through a no-you-cannot-ask-why zone and a what-we-do-is-pry zone.

        Another zone that needs to be established prohibits people from calling each other "deplorables on social media. There is too much dissing going on in our culture these days. To promote graciousness and civility, the military could enact a no-mocking zone. In that zone, conversations would have to be straightforward and respectful. Individuals who kept on issuing insults would be ushered to a bye-bye zone where they would be forced to watch the last 50 speeches delivered by Trump.

                                                                 Orange Man

 

        President Donald Trump has proven, in the past,  to be the most uniquely unqualified president in history. In the office's 277-year existence, every president, from George Washington to Barack Obama, has participated in political or military service. Still, our most recent president does not have quite the same credentials. Mr. Bone Spurs! Our nation's movie star, who previously starred in a supporting role in the film Home Alone, has proven that experience in politics or the military is entirely unnecessary to be president. After all, he spent years as a hotel and golf course manager, a precursor to leading a whole nation for four years. His voter base has made it clear that this experience is worth just as much as the political backgrounds of other candidates.

        Although many ponder whether Trump can genuinely lead an economy, he has shown more than enough evidence that he knows how to use money. The first, only, and most significant example: he knows how to commit tax fraud. If Trump can pull off paying fewer taxes than a teenager working a part-time job, there must be some creative juices in his brain that people are missing. If you got a dollar for every time Trump claimed something as fake news, you might have as much money as Trump has not paid in taxes.

        However, if there is one thing he is truly good at, it would be his amazing ability to criticize. Trump can demolish any other candidate when it comes to a competition of who can bring up the most unnecessary and irrelevant points, as picking fights with other politicians like a middle school breakup is very important. For example, Trump once went on about former President Barack Obama's hobby of playing golf and how devastating it is that we Americans pay for it; however, taxpayers can rest easy knowing their precious tax money is going to a good cause, like securing Trump Tower.

        Many people initially doubted Trump's ability to lead this country, but he has showcased his ability to handle such a position multiple times. One of the skills Americans have undoubtedly noticed is his ability to utilize some incredibly complex technology: Twitter and Truth Social. Past presidents have tried to use modern technology to express and advertise their political face, but none have succeeded as much as Trump. Trump completely changed the playing field by showing his competition with his contemporary yet also slightly immature writing techniques, conveying that he is genuinely a versatile man when it comes to communication.

        Looking beyond Trump's political attributes, nothing identifies a powerful man more than having over 25 sexual misconduct allegations. What speaks to leadership and the ability to take charge more than taking over the body of another person? 

        In the past years of office, Trump has shown that he is not like other presidents and has turned a new leaf for the gold standard of leadership. From now on, future presidents will be expected to engage in middle school gossip, perfect their art of bigotry, and learn how to use money resourcefully to lead the way for a smart economy.

         Donald Trump is running for one of the most important and influential positions on earth despite being profoundly, fundamentally, and objectively unqualified to do so.

        And this isn't about politics. There is room for political disagreement in a polite society. No matter what political position Donald Trump took, I would condemn him in the strongest terms. There is much about his personality to be turned off, but that is minor. The fact that he has even a chance of becoming president is horrifying.

        Without getting into politics or even positions that any given person might find objectionable, Donald Trump has zero relevant experience, no knowledge or expertise that gives him any insight into how to lead a country. His policy positions are either frustratingly vague or laughably unworkable, or some combination of both. This indicates that he has no clue what he's doing.

        Moreover, he's temperamentally unsuited for the role. He's crude, angry, shockingly impulsive, vain, and self-obsessed, virtually incapable of admitting error, and he openly boasts that making threats to force concessions is his preferred method of operation.

        Now, all that would make him a loudmouth I'd want to avoid, but some people might find entertaining. But now he's gone from joking about our entire political process to threatening the future of our country. He clearly shouldn't be in the role of running for a second term but remains there out of narcissism and unjustified self-confidence.

        Worst of all, if I truly believed he cared about helping the country, I'd have some compassion for him, but I don't. I'm convinced he's in this race for his brand and ego. Damaging the country I love for his sake earns my loathing like few other things could.

                                                             On School Rules

It was a cold, miserable night with a drizzle that soaked through you like a well-used car wash sponge. The building was unlit, and the alley to the back door was strewn with strands of silly string, decaying beanie babies, and broken pieces of virtual pets. It was a dangerous place to walk, but the secret meeting at the schoolhouse was important enough for everyone to attend; it was an emergency that would determine the course of future generations.

             Inside the closed, draped classroom was an aura of interpretation and anticipation of the upcoming discussions. There were eight of them sitting around an ink-stained oak table. The chairman was speaking.

             "You all know what you are here for and the importance of our decisions. We have the power and the means to change the course of future generations. We must come to an immediate course of action and act on it as soon as possible. The floor is now open to discussion."

             "Mr. Chairman. I have been thinking about this problem for over a week now, and I think there is a crack in our logic. We cannot afford to leave ourselves open for criticism, and our decisions must be based on the purest of logic, even at the expense of common sense. Our logic will prevail in the end. The populace will agree, so let's be logical about this."

             "What are you getting at? We have discussed this matter in detail, and I'm sure we all agree that we are right," said the chairman.

             "What I'm getting at is the eraser. I'm not convinced it needs to be included in our new policy. It's biodegradable, non-intrusive, and does not fall into the range of our predetermined definition of a hazard."

             "How can you possibly say that? The American Health Organization, the Medical Advisory Council, and our testing lab have determined that the digestive process cannot handle an eraser within the parameters set forth by Federal mandates. Besides, it poses a choking hazard or, at the very most, minor discomfort. We cannot and will not allow anything that poses the remotest threat, regardless of how others may view it.

            Thank you for your valuable input, but we have put it to rest. Are there any other comments?"

             Another member said, "I still disagree with the decision to include paper."

         The chairman immediately answered, "How could you even bring that subject up again? You have even stated that the trauma you suffered as a small child as a result of your misuse of this item has caused you to seek therapy as an adult. That's the end of that discussion."

             "Unless we have further discussion, we will bring it to a vote. All in favor raise your hand… that's a unanimous decision, and the motion will now become a matter of law."

             "In anticipation of this vote, I have printed out the new decree, which I will now read to you. It read as follows:"

 

To all Administrators, Students, and Staff:

            Henceforth, the possession and use of any writing implements, including but not limited to pencils, pens, or any writing implement that could cause physical harm if used aggressively, is now banned from all school systems. In addition, the use of any paper products that are designed such that their edge could cause grievous bodily harm is also outlawed. Violation of this directive will force all parties to be dismissed immediately for an indefinite time.

             This decision, like our decision to ban silly string, beanie babies, virtual pets, yo-yo, and key rings, aligns with our philosophy to eliminate any potential hazards with our young.

             Signed and sealed this 12 day of December 1998

                         The School Committee

             "Unless there is any other new business, this meeting is over!"

                                                             Myth Busting

 

It was a warm summer night with clear skies, a slight southerly breeze, and the smell of hydrangea in full bloom. Several friends and I were sitting on a bench beside a tennis court in our backyard, trying to polish off a fifth of King George scotch by passing it around, each taking swigs of the somewhat bitter beverage. We were feeling no pain.

The talk among us revolved around girls, not conquests but just about the girls in their senior class that we would like to date. This discussion had been going on for several hours, and we were struggling to come up with someone we hadn’t already discussed. The subject turned to urban myths.

“I heard a story about a couple parking in a secluded area, listening to music, and making out. The music was interrupted by a new forecast about an escaped psychopathic mental patient by the name of Hook who had just escaped from a state hospital that was located nearby”, stated Boomer, who liked to take charge of any discussion.

“That’s not a true story,” said Willy, who usually didn’t believe anything someone said.

“It’s true; I swear it. I heard the story from my father.

“Well, there you go,” said Willy, “Is this from the same man who believes aliens live among us?”

“At ease, Willy. He said this couple soon heard some scraping sounds, got spooked, and drove home only to find scratches around the door handle.”

Boomer countered, “They might have been smoking some pretty strong weed. How come there wasn’t anything on the news about it?”

“I heard that if you put a sleeping person’s hand in warm water, they will piss themselves,” said Trout interrupting the argument and changing the subject.

“I don’t believe that for a second,” I said.

“My cousin tried it, and he said it works,” replied Trout

“Hey, let’s try it. Your sister went to bed an hour ago. I bet she’s sound asleep.” said Willy.

Through the addled mind of the scotch, I thought: “Why not?”

Willy and I decided to test the theory, so we went into the kitchen, got a pot of warm water, and proceeded to sneak into my sister’s bedroom. She was indeed sound asleep.

“What do we do now?” asked Willy.

“I don’t know. Take her hand and stick it into the warm water,” I answered.

Willy carefully pulled the covers back, moved the pot closer to the bed, grabbed her hand, and put it into the water.

“What now?” he asked.

I answered, “Pull the covers back and let’s see if she pisses herself.”

Willy complied. “I don’t see anything happening. I guess it’s not true.”

Before I could say anything, my sister woke up and let out the most blood-curdling scream you ever heard. She sat bolt upright and just kept screaming. Willy panicked, opened the nearby window, and jumped onto the porch roof. I was ready to follow him but then remembered the water pot. I grabbed it, threw it out the window, and followed it. The pot hit Willy on the head, causing him to fall off the porch onto a hydrangea bush beside the driveway, crushing it flat. I decided it was time to get out of there, so I climbed down from the roof, grabbed Willy by the hand, and ran back to join our friends, laughing hysterically, having seen Willy fall off the roof.

“Well, that was a lot of fun,” said Willy, cleaning off the dirt and leaves from his clothes. “At least we proved it was a myth.”

At that moment, my father appeared. He was still in his pajamas, and he was obviously pretty mad. You could still hear my sister crying.

“Does anyone want to tell me what just happened?” he asked in an intimidating tone that only a parent can conjure up. “Can you tell me why there is a pot on the porch roof and one of your mother’s prized hydrangeas has been destroyed?”

No one answered him even after he asked the same questions again. It was better to say nothing rather than lie.

He soon left, and everyone decided it was time to head home.

The following day, I woke late, after my father had gone to work, and went into the kitchen for one of several cups of coffee I had decided I needed. There was a note on the kitchen table. It read:

Dear child of my loins,

I have taken your car keys and will keep them for a week or until you have finished the following list of jobs you will do around the house. I will use the money I save for not having to pay you for these duties to purchase a new hydrangea bush for your mother, which you will help her plant. Here is the list:

1.      Scape and paint the garage. The tools and paint are on the garage floor.

2.      Trim the shrubs in front of the house. Do not touch the Hydrangeas

Thank you for taking care of this. Don’t forget to retrieve the pot from the roof and apologize to your sister.

By the way, why would you think the warm water trick would work?

Dad 

“Wonderful,” I thought, “at least I proved the myth false.”