Posted by NL on July 28, 2007 at 13:26:14:
The Flying Saucer Menace-- First of Several Parts
Recently it has come to my attention that the Flying Saucer Menace has much to do with a variety of other things, some of which are known to me, others of which are known to others but not to me. I have chosen to describe those things that are known to others but not to me. For instance, only the other day a man known to his neighbors as Arthur T. "Busty" Bolus got excited by a discovery he had made in his workshop, a discovery involving a chair. Mr. Bolus tripped over a chair in his workshop and realized suddenly that if he cut a hole in the seat of that chair, he would have something amazing! In fact, any chair so modified would become a portable toilet, something we mortals have dreamed of for years and years without quite being able to put our fingers on the key concept. But, as Mr. Bolus then knew, as he said out loud to the very air on that pregnant day of discovery: "Any man equipped with a sabre saw, a chair, and an ounce of imagination can create a portable toilet of such neatness, simplicity and efficiency, that the very gods must weep in despair! How, the gods might well ask, can we restrain such beings NOW? Eh? Soon they shall eclipse us in majesty, and storm the very summits of our holy mountains, portable toilets in hand!" Mr. Bolus without further ado cut a neat hole in the seat of the stout wooden chair he had tripped over a few moments earlier. Then he paused to contemplate the effect. So neat it was, and so simple. What if he whacked his great bald head with a hammer? If tripping over a chair brought him such a wonderful vision, what might be possible to a man who dented his head with a hammer? Well, save that for another day.
It is not known how Mr. Bolus passed the time until evening. It is said that he had a few beers. It is said that he dined well on a victual known as "schnitzerbonk", a victual greatly relished by Mr. Bolus. We do not know. We CANNOT know, because the public record only begins later, at dusk, when the fireflies began to twinkle. At that time Mr. Bolus dragged his portable toilet out of his workshop and into the alley behind his house. "I shall shit where I please, from now on, by the grace of God," he is known to have said. "First I shall shit in the alley. If that feels good, why, there is no telling where I shall shit next. Perhaps downtown, perhaps in the shopping mall, perhaps at curbside while I read the paper. All shall see me and many a cheery greeting will I dispense. But I shall remain modest and speak only of the wonders of my portable toilet if I am asked." Indeed, Mr. Bolus contemplated making a good living making demonstrations, with his sabre saw and any old chair that might be handy, of something that, as a principle, ought to have a name. But he had not yet been able to put his finger on precisely the right name. It was a transformational principle, sure, but what precisely to call it, to seize the imagination of the vulgar?
It was just at dusk. Mr. Bolus, trousers lowered about his knees, seated himself on his portable toilet and inhaled great draughts of the lovely air, air with a definite fallish nip. He was startled by a streak of light that zipped above his head, a light that rose suddenly above the trees at the end of the alley, at the south end, and then zipped clean over his head, only to vanish at the other end of the alley, appearing to "set" behind another stand of trees. It was 7:45 PM. Disconcerted, Mr. Bolus felt his bowels seize up. Instantly, he knew he would not be able to shit that day. And again, another light rose up from the south, but this one moved slowly over Mr. Bolus' head and hovered there for a few moments, looking very much like a great disk of polished Loonium Alloy. Mr. Bolus later swore to a city magistrate that the disk wobbled about slightly, as though made of some rubbery substance and was featureless except for a slightly raised bump in the center, a bump surrounded by a sort of "aureole" (Mr. Bolus' word) of some darker but still metallic colored material. He estimated the object to be perhaps twenty feet in diameter and perhaps one-thousand feet above his head. It was perfectly silent. The object then began to move away, going straight up, accelerating rapidly until it simply disappeared into the darkening sky. Mr.Bolus consulted his watch: it was only 7:55 PM. He was thoroughly confused, he later admitted. He got up, hitched up his pants, picked up his now somewhat trivial-seeming portable toilet and let himself back into his backyard through a wooden gate, the same gate that had been there for year and years.
"I was thoroughly confused you see. I had only intended to shit through the hole in my chair. I wasn't asking for much. God knows I'm not the kind of man to expect any kind of peak experience. I'd had my adventure for the day, tripping over that chair, you see, and discovering that I could easily make-- ANYONE could easily make-- a perfectly beautiful portable toilet. All I asked for was a chance to enjoy it, I mean the free and unfettered use of my new portable toilet. And then strange things happened. I let myself back into my backyard, and right in the middle of my fescue, a small patch I'd planted to cover a barren spot, there was a dead naked woman! I could easily see that she MUST be dead, sprawled on her back like that, with a large knife sticking out of her belly. Blood everywhere. Eyes open. A great, horrible wound that must have been accomplished by plunging the blade into her abdomen, just below her bellybutton, and then ripping downward, to her mound. Yes, and her intestines, a few loops and festoons, had slid out. Her hands were tangled in these. And really, I have no idea how she got there! None!"
Yes, Mr. Bolus made his statement, pleaded "innocence", but nevertheless, once it had been determined that Mr. Bolus had defiled the dead woman with his wanton seed, all protestations of "innocence" were held to be beside the point, and utterly laughable. Mr. Bolus was hanged by the neck until he was dead, and as far as we, the spectators, were concerned, the fact that Mr. Bolus died with a great huge erection seemed to make the case conclusively that he had been a very bad man, a thoroughly EVIL man. I, of course, having spied on Mr. Bolus fruitlessly for years, availed myself of his portable toilet as soon as the yellow police tape got removed. I only wish I had had my eye at the spyglass when the woman was murdered. That would have been a peak experience! We never did figure out who she was, or where she came from, or how she got there. She was simply there. And we were all convinced that Mr. Bolus screwed her corpse because, afterall, who wouldn't? She was quite sexy! She had wonderful breasts! Examination revealed an ass to die for! Guilty, guilty, Mr. Bolus, and no use protesting. We know YOU! Oh yes! WE know YOU!
If only the problem of the Flying Saucer Menace could be resolved so easily!