SERIALIZATION OF “the Zany Time Travels of Warble McGorkle” – Chapter 43 of 61
Warble Advises Deliberate Ignorance and Defends Domestic Colonialism
“Keith McHenry!?” Ward says, “who in Sam Hill is Keith McHenry!?”
Warble crumples to the ground in a heap. For a second, he pretends to have passed out.
But he quickly tires of that game, and jumps back to his feet. “You've never heard of Keith McHenry?! The biggest threat to our national security and way of life, and you've never heard of him?! What kind of imbeciles am I forced to associate with?!”
Warble buries his head in his hands and moans: “Oh, it's lonely at the top of the food chain and at the pinnacle of the evolutionary scale of progression! If only there were someone in my tax bracket and IQ range whom I could talk to, to relieve the relentless burden of having only nitwits to commune with! I feel like a mother of septuplets, stuck home alone in a shotgun shack or an efficiency apartment with nobody but her babes to talk to, with no intelligent conversation to maintain her sanity.
“A CEO! A CEO! My kingdom for a CEO!” Warble plaintively pleads, howling at the all-but invisible moon.
“What the deuce are you babbling about, Warble?” Jacques grouses. “What do you want with a CEO out here in the middle of nowhere, anyhow?”
“Any CEO worth his salt and pepper goatee would know who I'm talking about,” Warble replies, “especially if he was in the vittles business. Keith McHenry is anathema to my brethren, the CEOs of this illustrious land. They would find common cause with me and support me in every way, spurring me on to victory with a hale and hearty slap on the back--and cut me a healthy contribution check, to boot, I bet. They know what an insidious threat Mr. McHenry is to our way of life, and what a hero I would become once I vanquished him.”
A pleasant thought comes to Warble's mind, as he envisions future accolades that will accrue to him: “And what a hero I will be to them! They will either have to bust up one of those old geezers on Mt. Rushmore to replace his plug-ugly mug with my dignified visage, or make room for me there some other way—maybe add on to the mountain a little.”
Without having to even consult one another about it, “Warble's septuplets” spontaneously and unanimously decide to refrain from questioning their boss further on the identity of this mystery victim, this Keith McHenry person.
A couple of minutes go by, while Warble stands impatiently before them, arms crossed, toes tapping, looking from face to face to see who is going to have the intelligence and gumption to beg him to explain to them just who this menace to society might, in actuality, be. That is, what does McHenry do or what has he done that is so dangerous.
“All right, then!” Warble finally blurts out. “If you're all too dull to even formulate the question, or embarrassed to put your ignorance on display in front of your comrades-in-arms, I'll indulge your immature and silly peccadilloes: Keith McHenry is the diabolical and anarchic terrorist whose design it is to utterly decimate commerce as we know it.”
“How so?” Ward yawns, dubious at best of the truthfulness of Warble's assertion.
“Cloaking himself in a mantle of innocence, McHank (I'll call him McHank from now on, to save a syllable each time I mention his name (and simultaneously slyly indicate my disdain--or at least lack of respect--for him), which will eventually really add up and save a lot of precious time) claims to help the poor, but in reality he is waging war against all the hard-working, selfless, red-blooded grocery store CEOs of this great nation,” Warble begins. “McHank heads up a secret terrorist organization, S.T.O. ...”
“What does it stand for?” Mary wonders, a little curious in spite of herself.
“Secret Terrorist Organization, what do you think?” Warble replies, frowning, angry at being interrupted (and sounding, truth be told, uncannily similar to Napoleon Dynamite in the eponymously titled documentary). “Anyway, McHank uses S.T.O. as a front, as a cover-up. By day (when he, like a vampire bat, mostly sleeps, having been busy wreaking havoc and causing mayhem at night) he pretends to be the mild-mannered leader of the group “Food Not Bombs” (not to mention “Homes Not Jails”), which carries out the real work of S.T.O.”
“Which is?” Ward asks.
“Ruining our economy by giving away free food!” Warble quickly and breathlessly answers. “It is an attack on commerce! And an attack on commerce is an attack on the corporations of this hallowed land! And as the corporations go, so the country goes,” Warble asserts.
“How so?” Jacques questions, inadvertently sort-of rhyming with Warble.
“When corporations are hurt, the military suffers, as they are—rightfully so--like two peas in a pod,” Warble explains. “The military protects the corporations, the corporations support the military. And so, if the corporations suffer, so does the military, and so does the government. Because without the military, how would the government be able to enforce its will?
Warble only sees blank faces staring back at him, so he continues. “It couldn't, of course. And so, you see, we must nip this cancerous tendency in the butt, before our country is ruined and all is lost.”
“Warble, is it really as bad as you make it out to be?” Mullah ventures. “I mean, 'Food Not Bombs,' that actually sounds pretty good when you think about it.”
“Then don't think about it, Gitani! I pay you to cook, not to think! 'Sounds good,' you say?!” Warble chides. “That shows how simplistic your thinking is, you clueless hasher! Without bombs, how would we bomb anybody? Ever think about that—HUH? And giving away food—besides the fact that it is downright un-American on its face—is a transparent blow against domestic colonialism (AKA capitalism), a shot across the bow of our very way of life.”
“Just who does McHenry give this food to?” Mary wonders.
“People who are too stupid and/or lazy to work for a living, Mary! You know—poor people,” Warble answers.
“In other words,” Ward puts in, “people who couldn't afford to buy the food in the first place.”
“Exactly!” Warble beams. “People who are non-entities, really. They have no place in our society, nor do they even have any business living at all.”
Ward ignores that particular bit of WarbleLogic(™) for the moment. “So these people would not pay for the food they're receiving because they cannot—they don't have the money. So how is capitalism threatened by their receiving these allocations of foodstuffs?” Ward pursues, starting to feel like the attorney he had at one time thought he was destined to become.
“Ward, I'm beginning to question your sanity and patriotism! Did you cheat on the loyalty test I gave you? Did you sign that sheet with one hand tied behind your back?” Warble inquires, squinty-eyed.
“No, Warble, I did not cheat,” Ward answers. Refusing to be sidetracked, he goes on: “I just want to get this straight: The people who get the food are not altering the economy because they are unable to pay for the food anyway. Now: do you not agree that there is surplus food produced in this country—that if it is not distributed and allocated to the needy, it will simply go to waste? In other words,” Ward concludes, failing to wait for what he considers to be the obvious answer to his question, and poking his bony right index finger in Warble's chest, “'Food Not Bombs' is not doing any harm whatsoever to anybody. On the contrary, ...”
Warble interrupts, shoving Ward's finger away with his hand. “Now looky here, Robespierre! I'll thank you to leave the thinking to me, and keep your mind on your own business—which is to make me look fine, dapper, suave, debonair, spiffy, splendiferous, and downright stylish. You might hurt yourself...or get hurt...” Warble warns, not too subtly, “if you stick your nose--or your bony right index finger, for that matter--where it doesn't belong!”
Jaw set resolutely and eyes flashing ominously, Warble jerks his thumb at his seven companions and then towards the Arodnap. Briskly goose-stepping to the craft, Warble climbs in, and brings up the GPS/CPS.
Place: Boston, Massachusetts
Date: May 23rd, 1980
~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^
Blackbird Crow Raven’s “the Zany Time Travels of Warble McGorkle” is being serialized in this space each Sunday and Thursday; it is also available in its entirety from here.
You can listen to the recording of this excerpt, by the author’s alter ego, here: