God, forgive me. While Jews were being slaughtered by Islamist savages, I was more concerned with making a story about rain. I felt I had priorities more important. Heartless and awful, very awful, considering that one of my girlfriends, Maya, lives in Tel Aviv.
God has a very special place in His heart for Israel. Some contemporary article, I don't know where from and I don't want to know because discourse today is such junk, says that that's why everyone hates Jews. The Jews are the chosen people, and the rest of us, the non-Jews, hate the Jews because we're not them. Such was the argument.
The centre of it is Israel being attacked. The peripheral is, though not an existential matter, alarming.
SO MANY organizations have come out in support of MURDER that I can't number them. Trade unions, student unions, are saying that murder can be a good thing. Decolonizing!
How to live? A quarter of a billion people are not at all liberal.
Why don't I, any way I can't figure any of this out. It's a Monday morning, 1:48 AM, and I want every Hamas terrorist killed. And killed all of their friends and relatives. Murdered.
Viva Las Vegas 1
After being married for a while--for a long while--they decided to re-visit Las Vegas, where'd they been three years before. They wanted to see if it had changed at all, or if they had.
The motel they'd stayed in was all booked up, so they got a room in the one next to it. There's plenty of motels in Las Vegas, understand, and they cluster in groves.
They booked into the place for four nights, because on the fifth night they were going to re-locate to a fancier hotel, at which the wife's brother was going to be staying.
They had four days of the Grand Canyon, the Hoover Dam, the Neon Museum, and vacation sex. Las Vegas hadn't changed in the least. In fact, they barely had to consult any maps.
On the morning of the sixth day, the wife's brother came by, in a green convertible, to pick them up for breakfast. They were almost in the car when the husband said: "Wait, this is our last day. We should pack up our stuff for our decampment." (He liked words like decampment.)
His wife said: "We can do that later this morning."
At Ye Novo Bookshop
Bill and I came upon a bookshop in the town we were in; called Ye Novo Bookshop, it was a new-book bookshop. I immediately got into my head the idea of a new book recently released which had gotten good reviews in both the TLS and the Spectator. I wonder if they had it?
Inside, at the counter, a customer was talking to the clerk. The topic was Israel, and the customer said: "I want to educate myself on the subject." Now nothing gets me like hearing that expression educate myself. I started plotting internally.
Meanwhile, Bob and I checked out new books. A very thick one--apparently a history of the Crimean War--I pulled from a shelf, and I found it surprisingly light. There were only about fifty pages in it; the book didn't close properly. We figured most of the pages were missing. Or maybe it was a supplemental publication. Who knew?
The customer had gone, so it was my chance to put my plan in action. I went to the clerk and said, loudly enough: "Hi, good afternoon. I'm looking to educate myself. Do you have that new translation of the Iliad?"
On Another Planet, Surely
-Did you hear there's a big tropical storm heading into Florida?
-Yes. Pretty late in the season, though. Odd!
-Yep, here it comes for the palm trees: Hurricane ᐊᑖᐁᐧᓯᓇᐦᐃᑲᐣ, here it comes!
-I thought it was just a tropical storm.
-Nope, ᐊᑖᐁᐧᓯᓇᐦᐃᑲᐣ got upgraded in the last day. It's now a cat two.
-Wow, that's pretty serious. Last month, ᒥᓯᓵᐦᑲᐧᒋᓈᐢ, was that a cat two?
-No, it was worse than that. Cat three.
-Man, are these storms getting more and more serious and horrible?
-I'm not sure; last year, there was ᐊᐢᑭᐦᑯᐦᑳᐣ, which was some kind of a record-breaker.
-Right, you're right. That one was pretty serious, wasn't it?
-A whole town destroyed.
-Do you remember where you were for Hurricane ᐊᑯᐦᐱᐦᑲᐁᐧᐤ?
-I was on vacation, in Los Angeles. Saw it on television.
-That one was a four, if I recall correctly.
-Could have been, could have been. We could look it up later.
-You know, I like these hurricanes, phonetically speaking. I don't mind having stuff to do with hurricanes.
-Yes; don't matter what: ᒪᐢᑲᐃᐧᓰᐤ, ᒨᐦᒣᐤ, ᒐᐦᑭᓇᒼ, what have you, it really spices up your speech.
-Maybe we'll get hurricanes named after us.
-Stands to reason!
Viva Las Vegas 2
"I think we should do it now."
She thought for a moment. "Go gather up what you can, and we'll be back in a half-hour. I have to pick some things up for the night."
It was agreed, and the green convertible drove away.
The car had been parked streetside, and when the husband turned, he was momentarily confused by the two motels. They looked alike in that they both had exterior stairways on the front, but the one on the left had three storeys and the one on the right four. He tried to remember the room number. Did it start with a three or a four? He felt sure it started with a four, so he went to the motel on the right.
He went up three flights of stairs to the fourth floor, feeling certain he'd recognize things in time. He put his hand in his pocket. He didn't have the key. His wife had it.
He went down to the ground floor, down three flights. He found the main entranceway, which was between the front building of motel rooms and the back building of motel rooms. Behind him was the other motel.
The Idler at Play
Into my field of vision, of sense, of thought, has come five suspicious objects. They look ordinary, yet I suspect them. They look well-made, but I'm suspicious. They look tasty, but suspiciously so. Most of my senses are telling me they are ordinary pizza pies, but there's a small about of sense in me that tells me to be suspicious of them. How can this small amount of doubt enter my vision, my sense, my thought? Is it the number--five--that makes me so neurotically suspicious? But what if five? Why should the number '5' alarm me so?
Yes, I am suspicious of these five pizza pies. They appear to have all been made simultaneously, for all have the same number of pepperoni slices, the same number of mushroom slices, and the same number of green pepper slices upon them. I wonder if one of them is off, while the other four are not off. That would account for the small portion of suspiciousness in me, this suspicion that all is not right as a whole. What do I dare to do? Should I accept the odds, and eat one of them? Take a bite.
The Origin Story 1972
1 What is the name of that bird?" asked a blue bird. Mother bird said "That is not a bird it is a tiger. His name is Toy Tiger. 2 What is he boing in your tree?" asked a crow. The wind blew him here, said Mother bird. He cannot get bown. He wants to go to his toy-box. 3 Is your toy-box nere hear? The blackbird asked the tigir. Oh no said toy tiger. It is far faraway We will take you there said the black dird.
■ + ■ + ■ = 1 whole cake
1 6+=9 2 2+D=9
1 6+3=9 2 2+7=9
March 1, 1972
If March comes in like a lion it goes out like a lamb 1 Let's put the toys into the boxes. 2 The happy elf told a toy about a tigir. 3 In the morning the little boy put on his black coat.
4 I shall never get to sleep cried the dird 5 The wind blew the hat in to an old tree. 6 I can open that blue toy-box my self. 7 That is the place where I live. 8 Will you
10, 20, 30, [...]
Viva Las Vegas 3
He noticed the symmetry. Four buildings, two three-storey, two four-storey, with front-and-back and left-and-right reversed. He suddenly doubted if he was in the right place.
He went into the motel office. A young woman was behind the desk, sorting through what looked like mail. He said: "Sorry, I don't have my key on me. Can you let me into my room?"
She looked up at him. "Do you have any identification?"
He checked himself. "Actually, no. I left it in the room."
"Can't do anything, then. We have to keep things secure."
"I think it's on the fourth floor."
To be helpful, she looked through the bookings on her bookings computer. "Nothing seems likely."
"Me and my wife are there."
"Still: nothing's unaccounted for. I think you got the wrong place." She was suspicious, and it had all happened before, stuff like it anyways. Graciously she let it slide. "There's nothing I can do."
He looked around the office. A calendar. A large window behind him, with the door beside it. Was the door in the right place? Maybe he was in the wrong motel.
"I may have gotten disoriented. Maybe I'm in your neighbour's motel."
You've forgotten? It's Dandy.
-I have to take the title from the text. (Pause.) What is your name again?
-You've forgotten? It's Dandy.
-Yes, of course. (Pause.) How could I have forgotten it? (Pause.) Your name is Dandy. (Pause.) I may be able to use that somewhere.
-I don't know if I want my name used in that way.
-In what way?
-Whatever way you're thinking of using it.
-Fine. (Pause.) What was it, anyway?
-It's Dandy. It's still Dandy.
-I should write that down somewhere. (Pause.) Can I use it in that way?
-Can you write my name down? That would be perfectly acceptable. I don't want it to wind up in some silly story, that's all.
-Oh, I wouldn't do that. (Pause.) Where did you get the name? (Pause.) Is it of your own making?
-It's not of my own making. My parents gave me the name.
-Oh. (Pause.) It's not really yours, then, is it?
-I have come to accept the name. I don't want you to use it.
-Use what? (Pause.) That's a serious question.
-My name.
-I promise not to use your name. (Pause.) What is your name? (Pause.) Am I expected to know it?
Viva Las Vegas 4
"They're more 'next door' than 'neighbours'" This reply meant something significant, but we'll never know what.
The husband went outside and looked over to the other motel: the twin which was a 180° rotation along the property line. It seemed to make sense to him. His brother-in-law's car had moved forward, and the husband had moved with it. He'd would up in front of the wrong motel. However, the four-storey half was in the rear instead of the front. It didn't make sense until he spotted the road in back. They could have easily been using that back road. Again, there was something 180° about it.
There was no point to climbing up the three flights of stairs at the rear of the other motel, for he knew he couldn't get in, lacking a key and all. He knew he had to go straight into the office, where he could either use a better approach or be received by a less rule-abiding motelier. He crossed a low shrub and a decline and a drainage ditch and an incline and a low shrub. He was uncertain what direction he was going, so he looked to his shadow.
The Idler No. 60
The author, Samuel Johnson, pitilessly presents, after a brief preamble of two or three paragraphs, a satire of the critic and his criticism, the former named Minim, 'half note', and the latter being the criticism of stage drama.
Minim, though an inheritance, an excess of idleness, and a desire for fame, absents himself from London to study critical history; he learns all the sharpest opinions and judgements from his forefather critics; and thus, armed with the expression of Opinion, returns to London, to the theatrical haunts, where he displays to all his wisdom as to the positives and negatives of British playwrights going all the way back to Shakespear (as Johnson spells the name) and Johnson (as Johnson spells the name). Minim succeeds in becoming an influential critic to whom people turn, provided they are nearby enough to notably turn.
Minim finally distinguishes himself be revealing unseen beauties in Hudibras that no-one had before noticed, and on this his reputation rests. (This is all satirical, of course.)
All in all, Johnson presents the critic as derivative and unoriginal, a pale reflection of truly original creation, which is vastly more difficult, as I hope I have proved.
Talking to the Bank
I have some sort of a liability problem, Desunudatierie. Listen. I got some notice about liability insurance and I look into it, and it turns out I should have had it, liability insurance, for the last forty years, and only now I'm finding out it.
So the price hovers in the $20-$30 range, and that's per month, Desunudatierie. That's pretty hefty, even accounting for some kind of pro-rated philosophy which I barely understand and can certainly not communicate.
Ssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo, can you get it for me free? From your bank, the bank you work in? We'll conspire, how's that? I'll do anything for you, illegally, that you want me to do, just so's I don't have to pay for any 'insurance'.
If you can arrange it, get your bank manager to an underground garage, and I'll take care of the rest.
Ssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo, we could get together, right? Fortunately, my gastro-intestinal problem has gone away, as if it never was. Its disappearance was something of a miracle. I'm a hundred times better, and I can show you how better.
I have no other way out. I have no options. If you could see how I dress! Please reply.
Viva Las Vegas 5
It was about nine in the morning, he saw.
Isn't 'saw' an unusual word?
The husband went into the office of the leftenmost motel. He was relieved to see a boy at the desk. He'd won out better with boys than with girls.
"My wife has our key," he said: "and I don't know what room I'm trying to get into. I think it's on the top floor."
The boy tapped into a database. "Is your name John Smith?"
The husband bucked up: "Yes, that's me, and that's my room."
The boy led him outside and up two flights of stairs, to the third floor, of the building on the left, if you see it from the point of view of the view of the beginning of this story. The boy opened door three-whatever and the husband went into three-whatever but he instantly knew none of it made sense.
He 'saw' objects that he had never seen before. Whose jacket was that? That winter jacket? Why would a winter jacket be there? He didn't recognize the suitcase. To whom could it belong? It wasn't his style or colour at all. An book was on a table.
This is the Scientifiction
"The crowd has certainly come out to see this astronomical phenomenon, this once-in-a-lifetime event. It's almost three-thirty in the morning, and the shadow of the earth has nearly covered the moon. Due to the nature of these celestial bodies, the shadow will not entirely cover the moon, an event that only happens every seven hundred and nineteen years. It's almost there.... Almost there.... And there it is! A perfect ring in the sky, and moon-sized to boot!"
"What's happening up there?"
"The circle: it's moving on its own!"
"It's not the moon after all!"
"So many years thinking we were seeing a moon, when in fact we were seeing something extraterrestrial!"
"Perfesser, what is the explanation?"
"Zat is no moon, zat izz a zspacechip."
"It looks like something from that popular video game, Hidden Moon."
"Eet eez vrom ze popular video gamez."
"How did it get there?"
"Ze collektif unconzious, vitch determines ze sings we zee. It vas alvays a zspacechip."
"Listening audience, run for your lives. Where? I don't know, but the spaceship means us no good. Rounding the earth for a trillion years, now is the time for it to strike. Run, run, run!"
A Certain Clothing Fabric
I was young when I got into the business, and built my own business. I was assigned to experiment on fabrics, and I came up with a dandy, but I kept it to myself. Yes, it was illegal to do so. I was stealing from the company I worked for. No-one's sued me yet.
Seer-sucker. I made my fortune from it, my son. I made your fortune from it, my son. I invented a fabric made from the filaments you could suck out of seers. The stuff was like silk, and no-one has yet figured out my extraction methods. The method will be contained in my will, if you want to carry on. As a hint: if you choose to continue, it's about time you cultivated a stable of seers from which you can suck the filaments. You'll find this challenging enough for now, you bet!
However, it looks like seer-sucker has gone out of fashion. There's too much competition from China and the chemical companies, who can manufacture an inferior seer-sucker substitute and sell the stuff for half my costs.
However, my son, you can apply my general method to just about anything. Go suck!
Searching for the Shakes
After my mouth changed, with the addition of a new molar, upper left, I found out from a dentist that the Shakes had an extra molar, upper left. I'm certain it's a coïncidence.
He goes by three formal names. In certain places, he's called Sheikh Mohammad. In other places, he's Sheikh al-Sammar. And, elsewhere, he's known as Sheikh Sebastian. That's why we call him the Shakes.
He's definitely a citizen of Hungary. Transdanubia, we're almost certain. We've got people working on it.
He's a master of disguise and deceit. I saw him once: at least once. (Who can tell? I've seen many strangers.) I saw him leaving a flower-shop, though I didn't know it until I went into the shop. He'd looked like a middle-aged Parisian. By the time I got back outside, he was gone. So much for that lead.
He's a master of disguise. That's pretty much all we know. My higher-ups say he's guilty of serious crimes, and I have to trust them. "All you have to know is he's disguised, and he shouldn't be," is what my assigner told me.
I'm trying to find someone who's in disguise. That's all I know.
I am a Sleep
Lazily, with pauses between beats of a heart, throwing images like darts onto a board or like bubbles surfacing in a glass of sparkling water but rather onto a mind, with no force opposing my certain steps, I maintain the peace of a body and a soul together, I fuse both into one mass where neither is ascendant and arrogantly pacing their yoke, without, as I've said, any opposition to speak of. The body I have made helplessly limp, whatever body it may be, a bird on a lake, a bird in a nest, a cow in a field, a person in a bed, and I am a ruler for a time, yet a ruler whose rule is easily usurped, by a rattling window, a passing automobile, a rambunctious raccoon, a leaping fish, whereupon I vanish into nothing, and I am no more. I am invited everywhere with little hesitation, often with a hearty yawning welcome, and I come upon all things sneakily so much so that though I am a God I am a God whom none worship outright. I cannot be named, for in my naming I always cease to be, like being sleep.
Viva Las Vegas 6
He'd never heard of the book. It was a translation of some kind. What business did the husband have with translations? That did it; that was the key. This was certainly not their room, and another mistake had been made, by somebody or something.
He said to the boy: "It's a mistake. This isn't my room."
The boy said: "Ah well. Mistakes happen."
Together they went out onto the balcony and down the two or three flights of stairs and the husband stopped outside the office, catching the boy up short, who asked: "Is there anything else I can do?"
"I have to have some time to think."
"Suit yourself, sir." The boy went into the office and the door swung shut.
The husband went over to the divider of the properties. They were so alike, so symmetrical, he was convinced there was a deep relationship between them. The were like twins of the opposite sexes, with heads opposite, facing different ways, Janus-faced, or a double-headed axe, or anything else like that, any other pair of things set in an odd relationship to one another. Frankly, he didn't know what he was thinking.
Which roadway now?
Logicians on an Island
I have no formal argument as to why I chose to set out on the excursion naked, although my friends went clothed. Perhaps the nature of the island was the cause, with its long beaches bounded by steep cliffs.
Jan set down the picnic basket and we all watched the waves rolling in. We were disputing their periodicity when a sudden infestation of sandflies caused us to hurry over a cliff. We found ourselves on another beach with a familiar island across a strait. I recognized it as the home, undoubtedly former, possibly presently, and hypothetically futurous, of Liz's sister Belinda. (They did not get along.)
I could see Belinda's house. I saw Belinda come out. I mentioned this fact to Liz. Liz, after reasoning, decided she'd prefer sandflies to her sister.
Jan said: "Plus, I left the picnic basket there."
But we did not know in which direction to go. No one had a positive record. So, Heather and I set off in one direction, the rest in another. We found the basket, and devised how to signal the others.
And Heather, out of the blue, asked: "Is there a cause for your thick penis?"
Two Christmas Tree Ornaments
We were clearing stuff out of the basement. Mary found a bag with some of my Christmas tree decorations in it, and she put them in the trash. Later, she felt guilty and told me she'd binned them. I had to see what they were, so next morning I dug out the bag. It was a cold morning. I found the bag, to check out the contents.
Mostly, the bag was full of store-bought spherical ornaments, with no special value. However, two items had special value, so I rescued them.
My grandmother made them. She made them in her handicraft room in her house on Vimy Avenue. I'm not certain as to when, but I guess between 1960 and 1975. They must have been given to my parents, and from my parents they somehow came to me, on a porch on a cold morning.
Now that time has passed, now that I'm getting peaceful with age, now that everyone involved is deceased, I look at them, even knowing how ordinary they are, with tenderness. My grandmother made them with care. By time's calculus, they are now today, and perhaps for some time, my most precious possessions.
The Kings Must Die
On a rainy afternoon, I decided to teach my nephew the game of chess. I explained to him how all the pieces moved differently.
He reflected: "This round one moves back and forth, and this pointy one goes diagonally. And they can't do anything else."
"That's right. The queen can move in any direction, but the king can only move one square at a time."
"So, she's more powerful than he is?"
"In a sense, yes. But the king is the most important piece."
"The game ends when the kings die?"
"Only one. And it's taken off the board; it's not dead."
"Shouldn't they be considered dead?"
"I think the common term for it is captured."
"I think they should be considered dead. And I think both kings should be dead at the end. Like, they shoot themselves in the head or something."
"The game doesn't get into any of that."
He studied the board again for a bit. Was he really my nephew? He said: "No, they're dead. They're both dead. They're killed. It doesn't make sense otherwise."
"Fine, consider them dead."
"Because," he continued: "They must be sacrificed for the grains to grow. Right?"
Viva Las Vegas 7
The answer was arrived at beyond his indecision, for at that moment a green convertible pulled up to the curbside, whether behind him or before him or to his left or to his right he didn't know. He walked over to it as beckoned by the car's horn. His wife said: "What are you doing over there, Henry?"
Henry (the husband) said: "I couldn't figure out which building was ours. And besides, you have the keys."
She gestured away from Henry. "You're not even on the right side of the road. We're not in either of those motels."
"We're not? They seemed so familiar to me."
The brother put in. "Not to cast any aspersions on you, Henry, but those four are the Vanity buildings."
He looked back to them. There wasn't a posted sign anywhere. "I don't get it."
The brother gave them a little audiovisual tour, gesturing widely. "You're not from around here. The two tall ones are called the Narcissus Towers, and the two smaller ones are called the Echoes."
"And people go there, intentionally?"
"Well, not exactly intentionally, though there is something of a magical draw involved in the architectural styles involved."
"You Are Under Arrest"
Those are my favourite words, because I'm a cop. There's nothing better than to apprehend someone, from whatever walk of life, with those glorious words: "You are under arrest." The sentence gives me a chill up my spine; my head suddenly clears; I feel taller, and more righteous. It's a simple sentence, subject-verb-object-or-whatever-it-is, and I feel like a billion bucks. It doesn't even matter if the charge doesn't stick. I get to use the sentence, which most people can't use. It makes me feel special.
I used to be quite the criminal, you see, when I was younger. I stole stuff; I stole a lot of stuff. Then one day I got caught, and I heard those magical words, and I knew I wanted to use them, and as often as possible. Oh! "You are under arrest." Sometimes it's: "You're under arrest," though I don't like the contraction there. I prefer the four-word version, and I think the criminals and the suspected criminals like hearing it as much as I did once.
Knowing you're a criminal, and under arrest, is something of a freeing feeling. You suddenly see yourself as others see you. Know yourself; know yourself.
He's Got the Wit
"I'm always ready with the quick quip, with the witty whip, with the certain surprise, and with the poor pun. No-one can get past me, no sir e. Sure I get guns against me and sometime swords, but any attempt is speedily ceased by a bit of a beg. 'I'm able to ixnay my insults,' says I to whomever my antag incenséd. With friends I fix my foundation on finding a shared circumstance from some situation that present by applying past points in time; with strangers I stress my statements with joshy gestures and implicit innuendo.
"What can I say? It's all meant in a very hostile manner. I think Freud talked about humour being a form of aggression. Oh who am I kidding it's all right there in Jokes and Their Relation to the Unconscious, which surprisingly enough contains some good jokes. So since I never had any other skills to mention I worked on wit, and there I go again, getting gags through silly speech. It's exasperating to explain but it's plain to all observers and likewise listeners there's a Pagliacci pathos present, a sadness insurmountable and a loneliness not lessened by any levity."
Viva Las Vegas 8
Henry was still staring at the buildings. "When I was talking to the boy in the office of the buildings on the left, I think, I think I gave myself another name, or believed I had another name."
His brother-in-law said: "You wouldn't believe the stories I've heard about what happens in that place."
Henry was still staring. "And so we're not staying there, right?"
His wife said: "No, Henry, we're not."
"We're staying in some other place."
"Yes, Henry, we are."
Henry still stared. "Were we at least staying on the fourth floor of wherever we are staying?"
"No. We're on floor three. Over there. Across the street."
Henry didn't turn to look. He didn't know his wife was pointing. "I have to say it's the damnedest thing. In the other building, whichever it is, there was a woman in the office, and she didn't seem to be on especially friendly terms with the other one, whichever one the other one is."
His brother-in-law said: "There's some things that can't be explained, buddy."
"Maybe we can stay there next time. I want to, I want to-"
His wife interrupted him. "It's all about you, huh?"
Remembrance of Things Past
-Last night, I figured out how we can make a ton of money.
-That's great. We could use a ton of money.
-It's simple. Let's make paintings all called 'The Mona Lisa', and sell them for big bucks.
-I can't paint.
-Doesn't matter. Slap some paint on a canvas, even just primary colours, call the thing 'The Mona Lisa', and sell it for something on the order of ten million dollars.
-Won't people see it's not the famous one?
-They won't understand, since your painting is called 'The Mona Lisa'. People know the name more than they know the picture. The name gets spoken more than the painting is ever seen.
-That makes sense to me. I guess we could write new books with famous titles. I can't think of any right now, but famous books are also talked about more than they're ever read.
-You're catching on. What about architecture? How difficult would it be to build a shack called the Taj Mahal?
-Few people see it compared to how often its name is spoken.
-We'll figure out guitars and pianos and make a record called 'Rubber Soul'.
-Let's use drums instead. Drums are easier.
The Moorish Mysteries XX
We put up our swords and surveyed the carnage we had caused. The only sounds were of ourselves, gasping like greyhounds on a winning podium.
The American Adventurer said: "I thought we were done for a couple times there." He let his sword drop and clatter.
The Professor said: "We've made it to the Silver Tabernacle, at last."
We six looked upon the Silver Tabernacle upon its stone pedestal. Had our journey all been worth it?
The French Comedienne walked up to it and tried to open it. "Locked! Of course. Merde, I'd lock it too if I ever got to my 120th birthday."
The Professor went to it and gently tried all sides. "I see a glyph on its back." He stroked his chin. "Do you recall what the Dancing Policeman said? 'Subjectivity is objective.' Since the opposite sentiment is more often expressed, that must be the key. It's a simple substitution code."
He pressed the buttons, click-click-click-click, upon its lid. Rocks groaned all around us, aroused after two centuries and a half. The lid lifted by a mechanism.
And there it was: the Golden Damascene Fist, ready for our theft of it.
THE END
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