Pilloried by historians as "military adventurers, mere gadabouts flexing the national brawn" after starting two bloody and unnecessary wars, the "W" era neocons have temporarily retreated into a hibernaculum from which they can be expected to emerge as they entered, moronic, without mea culpa, swords in hand.
"It was exhilarating, like watching a quadrille of fireflies in the night sky," the amateur astronomer explained his UFO experience to the local authorities whose skeptical looks seemed to say, "This gadabout is full of hooey."
Though adults with stunted imaginations may think of it as a lot of hooey, as a boy I remember well when Alice, a gadabout in Wonderland, spun exhilaratingly with her Lobster partner as they answered the Mock Turtle's call to "Change your Lobster, do see do!" in the fantastic Lobster-Quadrille.
"Do you really expect me to believe this schmaltzy, improbable story will sell?" the studio executive responded, waving his hands in the air: "a hayseed farm girl, her pet dog, her house, and miscellaneous paraphernalia are sucked up by a twister into a fantasy land somewhere in the clouds where she meets a good witch, a wicked witch, a band of cute but rebarbative munchkins; then sets off on a journey to meet the Wizard of Oz, and along the way picks up a scarecrow, a tin man, and a cowardly lion who vanquish the wicked witch and a flight of flying monkeys, debunk the Wizard as a fraud, and--stop, get out!"
Inside the Flatiron Lounge Manhattan sophisticates sipped Wassail Fizzes, Bullshots, and "Milksops" (for the wimpish) to celebrate the season, while outside mufflered carolers sang White Christmas, The First Noel, and The Chipmuck Song (for the less devout) to commemorate the Advent of the Savior, their breaths condensing like numens in the cold winter air, snowflakes settling on their shoulders like blessings.
"No, not bulls_it, bullshot!" one tosspot bellowed to the other, tossing his pot high in the air while hanging from a jigger mast, trying his best to look debonair.
Gastronome, Master Chef and greying relict of the Old Cuisine, a man proud to a fault of his exquisite sense of taste (parageusia) and matching eupeptic ability, beamed with satisfaction at his dinner guests poised over their plates to savor the delicacies he had prepared for them in this his farewell dinner--beamed, that is, until his pet dog, "Lickspittle," escaped his leash, leapt onto the table, and landed messily between the Escargots de Bourgogne and Crêpe Suzettes.
"Fiddlesticks!" exclaimed the advertising account executive when the rookie copywriter proposed unintentionally humorous campaign slogans like "rebirth your net worth" for a bank, and "colligate then palpate" for a dating service.
As he read the runic characters chiseled into the tablet he just unearthed, the archeologist was thunderstruck at his discovery: "On pain of death, let no scofflaw or disbeliever profane the sacred Solstitial Mysteries of the Druids colligated below: When the Sun in his ancient path touches the tallest standing stone with His fiery hand, that will be the 'Summer Solstice,' the time of warmth and plenty, and when He nears but touches not the shortest stone, the 'Winter Solstice,' the time of cold and want."
Watching the field nurse offer a spoonful of ragout to the wounded soldier through a slit in his poultices, the Confederate major doubted for the first time whether the struggle to deracinate from the Union was worth the bloody cost exacted between brothers; whether there might still be an honorable way to colligate as one nation under one flag.
Advocates of the Unconscious Influence of Names Theory are stumped by the case of identical twins Cassandra and Pollyanna: Pollyanna is a depressive doomsayer who importunes the world to prepare for the worst in her newsletter, "Apocalypse Now;" Cassandra is a vivacious optimist who founded "Ambulate the Sunshine State," a charity walk-a-thon for needy children.
Sitting in a wisteria-draped pergola on her estate, Dame Edith listened politely to Dr. Mello's usual blandishments ("You're looking more beautiful than ever today, my dear.") until he began describing the marvelous results she could expect after the extensive dental work he proposed, ("You'll have a smile like Julia Roberts," etc.) whereupon the Lady erupted in a laugh from her midriff with a now-famous transpontine pun: "Doctor, that's 'a bridge too far!'"
"I've got a great idea," the writer exclaimed: "a simple man encounters a UFO which somehow leaves him remote and hebetative; he inexplicably begins to focus with peculiar cathexis on building muddy mounds resembling Devils Tower in Wyoming; in the climax he meets the neotenous, large-headed aliens whose scientific, technological, and moral development is much closer to the pinnacle of evolutionary perfection than our species; the extraterrestrials transport him away with them in their spacecraft to a presumably glowing future in the stars--let's call it 'Close Encounters of the Third Kind!'"
Although proponents of an independent Quebec have glommed onto the "neverendum" to wear down resistance to their cause, the strategy has backfired because even a klaxon would not awaken voters near-comatose from dragging themselves to the polls yet one more time.
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