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The Cynic's Column for December 11
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Ask a Cynic: Turkey Vultures, but No Pornography
The Cynic is back, everybody! Do happy little monkey dances now!
Yes, yes, the Cynic knows nobody noticed its absence, but hey, it can dream, right? As a matter of fact, the Cynic returns bearing ominous and terrible news, but it’s a long story, and it starts a few days ago in the oddly named "Upper Deck" food...place...thingy. The Cynic was about to order its regulation "chicken tenders" when a new and ugly sign caught its attention. Hoping against hope that sleep deprivation had caught up with it and was playing merry hell with its sensory perception, the Cynic took a closer look. It really did say something like "Please Pay When Ordering."
Now, this would have been bad enough. The old system of ordering "food" in the "Upper Deck" was perfectly acceptable; one ordered, waited for half an hour, and was presented with some facsimile of what had been indicated on the order slip, for which one then forked over some blocks. Now, the Cynic realized in horror, it was no longer possible to refuse to pay and stalk haughtily out of the "Upper Deck" if the surly BET-watching counter slaves got the order wrong, because one had to pay while ordering. Where is our freedom? Where is our justice? Where the hell are our chicken tenders? This is a caesar wrap.
No, that would have been bad enough, indeed, but the horrors did not stop there. On the Cynic’s way out to jump in the Cynicmobile and head to Sheetz for shriveled meat, an even more hideous sign made itself known to the Cynic. Some genius had apparently drilled holes in the tasteful brick walls of the "Upper Deck" and attached large ugly purple letters spelling out "Upper Deck" to the bricks at about head height. The Cynic was unaware that anybody cared what the place was called, nor less spent time and money making it obvious. Perhaps "Airport Caff" wasn’t elegant and progressive enough. Yet, worse than even the ugly purple letters, was the giant ugly purple representation of a turkey vulture that crowned the words themselves.
(At this point the Cynic would like to interject that turkey vultures are perfectly wonderful birds and are not in any way to be looked down on, even if there is an ugly purple one nailed to the wall in the "Upper Deck.")
Screaming in abject terror, the Cynic left the building. That day, along with idiot changes in the rote method of scavenging for nourishment, the Cynic had had to deal with moronic jocks on the path, individuals who wouldn’t stop phoning the Cynic and knocking on its door, an M-80 that steadfastly refused to explode, and ANOTHER hike in the price of cigarettes in the "Daily Grind," also newly labelled in purple. The "Daily Grind," not the cigarettes. Therefore, it was with a thoroughly disenchanted mien that the Cynic returned to its chambers and called up an old, old friend. The transcript of that interview is as follows:
CYNIC: Oi, are you there? Something fishy’s going on.
S. SNAPE (cross): What is it? Some of us have jobs to do, you know.
C: Shut up and tell me what’s happening. Things that were stupid to begin with are getting stupider. It’s like there’s a wave of stupidity rising over the world that threatens to engulf us all.
S: Calm down. That’s what you said last time. Doesn’t anything ever happen in your world that is not stupid?
C: Don’t I wish. Come on, Sev, do your magical scrying bit and tell me who’s influencing the so-called minds of Southern Maryland this time.
S (sigh): Fine, fine, fine. Jesus, you’re needy. (pauses; sounds of cursing are heard in the background, followed by thumping as if something is being kicked to get it to work) Er, it looks like the answer is "Don’t Bet On It." Oh, wait, no....the answer is "My Sources Say No."
C: Sev, are you using Voldie’s old magic 8-ball again?
S: What? What? It’s a genuine antique! There’s nothing wrong with it!
C: Right. Well, can you at least tell me if it’s Bill Gates’s fault again?
S: DON’T SAY THE NAME! DON’T SAY THE NAME!
C: Sorry, sorry. The Bespectacled Git, then?
S: (shaken) Yes...yes, all right? It’s him. He’s back. The fortune cookies aren’t enough. He’s putting something in the air to make you all dumber than he is, so he can take over the world, or something.
C: Ah. I should have known. Thanks a million, darling, I’ve got to go and beat up an evil computer mogul and save the day for truth, justice and the pursuit of mild intelligence!
S: You do that. Oh, wait, Malfoy wants to talk to you.
C: (squeals) Put him on! Put him on!
So, to make a long story slightly shorter, the world never actually got saved for truth, justice and the pursuit of mild intelligence, because the Cynic was too busy lazing about with Malfoy in a hot tub and drinking extremely good champagne. This is the bad news the Cynic returns with: there is now no longer any hope for any of you, and you’re all getting stupider by the day, thanks to Bill Gates’s evil machinations, and if the trend continues, we will have a great deal of trouble getting anyone to order food at all in the "Upper Deck," because everyone will be sitting with their eyes glued to BET and drooling gently. With this refreshing view of the future, the Cynic will leave you.
Of course, if you don’t breathe, Bill Gates’s stupidity particles can’t get you.
(The Cynic has just been informed that this article lacks pornography.)
