The Caterpillars Press Briefing

Posted on by Richard Daybell

Knowing she shouldn’t go beyond the wall, Alice turned back and retraced her steps, but of course nothing was the same as it had been before. This time the path led to a large mushroom. The mushroom was taller than Alice but, by stretching herself up on tiptoe, she was able to peep over the edge of it. There her eyes met those of a large blue caterpillar, who was sitting on the top, showing not the slightest interest in her or anything else.

“Who are you?” said the Caterpillar. This was not a particularly encouraging beginning to a conversation.

“My name is Alice. At least I think I’m Alice. It’s been a rather confusing day.”

“Can’t you see you’re interrupting a very important press briefing?”

“But there’s no one here but you and me.”

“Where are your credentials?”

“I’m afraid I don’t have any credentials,” Alice replied politely. “But I do have a couple of questions.”

“No credentials, no questions. Next.”

Alice watched as the Caterpillar looked around as if waiting for someone to say something. She was about to speak up herself when the Caterpillar bellowed: “How many times do I have to answer the same question? You might get some new answers, if you’d ask some new questions. Next! The Queen has addressed this many times, and I have no intention of addressing something the Queen has already addressed, and you have his address so go there or somewhere else. Next!”

Alice watched dumbfounded as the Caterpillar once again looked around. When the Caterpillar looked in her direction, Alice raised her hand. The Caterpillar stared at her angrily and said: “I answered that question on Monday. This is Wednesday and I’m not going to answer again on a Wednesday. Come back next Monday. Next!

Alice raised her hand again, but the Caterpillar ignored her and continued: “As the Queen has said many times, there are the Queen’s facts and fake facts. If you could tell the difference, you wouldn’t be wasting my time with fake questions, and we could just get on with making Donaldland white — I mean great again.

At that moment, the White Rabbit came running up, panting. “Am I late?”

The Caterpillar glared at the White Rabbit and said: “The Queen has no plans to fire the White Rabbit despite his despicable dereliction of duty. The Queen remains very sort of confident in him.”

Incoming tweet: “White Rabbit is OUT!! Not very smart.! Not loyal! Tiny hands, big ears! SAD!!! Off with his head!!!!”

Of Cabbages and Queens

Posted on by Richard Daybell

Alice walked along, her mind filled with images of the poor White Rabbit’s head, the Queen’s big hands, and the many curious things she had encountered. Then, just ahead, she spotted yet another curious pair — a Walrus and a Carpenter. She could tell the Carpenter was a carpenter by the nails sticking out of his mouth, the hammer in his hand and the word ‘carpenter’ on his hat. She could tell his companion was a Walrus because it had flippers and a big tuft of whiskers. The two of them were working on a tall wooden structure.

She watched them for a few minutes, then asked: “What are you building?”

“A wall,” said the Carpenter.

The Walrus elaborated: “A great big beautiful wall.”

“Whatever for?” Alice asked.

“To keep out rapists and murderers,” said the Carpenter.

“You don’t seem to have gotten very far with it,” Alice said, sitting down on a rock.

“Donaldland wasn’t built in a day, you know,” said the Walrus.

“I think it’s Rome that wasn’t built in a day,” Alice suggested.

“That’s why we’re building the wall,” snapped the Carpenter. “To keep out the Romans and rapists and murderers from shithole countries.”

“That’s not a very nice word,” said Alice.

“Which word?”

The second one from the — you know which word I mean. The icky one.”

“I’m afraid she’s right,” said the Walrus. “Shithole countries has been walked back.”

“Walked back?”

“The Queen has a very high IQ,” the Walrus continued. “And big hands and a big — “

“Heart,” Alice parroted.

“But the Queen sometimes uses the wrong words. And so we walk them back to where he never said them.”

“Isn’t that revisionist?” Alice suggested.

“That’s a very big word for a very little girl,” said the Carpenter.

“Well, I’m usually a lot bigger. I’m just having a small day.”

“The time has come,” the Walrus said, “to talk of other things: of shoes and ships and sealing wax, of cabbages and queens.”

“Wouldn’t king make a better rhyme,” Alice asked.

“The Queen doesn’t like that word; it reminds him of his predecessor, and that annoys him.”

“Why?”

“In the second place, he was born in one of those places we walked back,” said the Walrus.

“In the last place, he had funny ears and a funny name,” said the Carpenter.

“What about first place?” asked Alice.

“If he were a horse, he’d be a horse of a different color,” the Walrus and Carpenter chimed together. “Pardon us, but we must get back to our wall or the Queen will have our heads.”

Incoming tweet: “A beautiful wall. Tall wall from C to shining C. I want my wall NOW! NOW!! NOW!!! Undesirables pouring in. Rapists, murderers. Murderers, rapists. BILD WALL!”

Tomorrow same time, same place — a caterpillar has a press conference.

OCTOBER 23, 4004 BC: AND ON THE 29TH HE RESTED

Posted on by Richard Daybell

Those who predict the imminent end of the world display a certain amount of chutzpah if not foolhardiness (see William Miller, October 22).  It probably takes even more of those qualities to identify the exact date of the beginning of the world, but didn’t James Ussher (1581-1656) do just that.

As Archbishop of Armagh, Primate of All Ireland, and Vice-Chancellor of Trinity College in Dublin, Ussher was rather highly regarded in his day as both churchman and scholar. He was not your average man on the street (“Tell me sir, when did the world begin?”) making bold proclamations. And evidently he didn’t just pull important dates out of a hat. His declarations were based on an intricate correlation of Middle Eastern and Mediterranean histories and Holy writ, incorporated into an authorized 1701 version of the Bible, or so he explained. And they were accepted, regarded without question as if they were the Bible itself.

Through the aforementioned methods, Ussher established that the first day of creation was Sunday, October 23, 4004 BC. He didn’t give a time. On a roll, Ussher calculated the dates of other biblical events, concluding, for example, that Adam and Eve were driven from Paradise on Monday, November 10 of that same year BC. (It took them less than three weeks to get in trouble with God.) And Noah docked his ark on Mt Ararat on May 5, 2348 BC. That was a Wednesday if you were wondering.

Late-breaking news: Dr. John Lightfoot, of Cambridge, an Ussher contemporary, declared in a bold bid for oneupsmanship, that his most profound and exhaustive study of the Scriptures, showed that “heaven and earth, centre and circumference, were created all together, in the same instant, and clouds full of water,” and that “this work took place and man was created by the Trinity on October 23, 4004 B.C., at nine o’clock in the morning.”

Okay Lightfoot, Take This

Wretched Richard will jump out onto the proverbial limb and give you a few more dates you might be wondering about.

January 29, 3995 BC, 8 a.m. — God creates children.

March 12, 3906 BC, 5:00 p.m.  — Shouting something about his damn sheep, Cain slays Abel.

September 3, 3522 BC, 6:00 p.m. — God creates Facebook, then decides the world isn’t ready for it.

October 2, 2901 BC, 4:00 p.m.  God, having been in a bad mood all day, turns Lot’s wife into a pillar of salt.

June 7, 2549 BC 11:15 a.m.  God once again in a creative mood creates marijuana.

1:30 p.m. –Later that day, God, thoroughly annoyed with all his creations (except the marijuana), instructs Noah to build an ark because he, God, is going to destroy the world.

August 14, 2371 BC,  5:30 a.m. — Methuselah finally turns his toes up after 969 years on this good earth.

July 7, 1425 BC, 8:30 p.m. — God gives Moses the Ten Commandments.

March 1, 2 AD, 10:15 a.m. — God creates an amusing diversion featuring Christians and lions.

July 2, 1854 AD, 11:45 p.m. — After a few too many martinis, God creates Republicans.

November 9, 2016, 2:45 a.m. — Feeling rather wicked, God makes Donald Trump president.

December 25, 2019, 10 a.m.  –Filled with Christmas spirit, God removes Donald Trump from office and makes Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer president. Trump refuses to leave.

January 1, 2020, Noon — God decides to smite Donald Trump, but will patiently wait for just the right moment.

White Knight’s Witch Hunt

Posted on by Richard Daybell

After Alice had walked for a little while, she heard the pattering of footsteps in the distance and wondered what sort of strange person or animal she might meet this time. It was the White Rabbit, coming toward her, looking about anxiously.

“Oh my dear paws,” the White Rabbit muttered. “Oh my fur and whiskers! The Queen will have me executed, as sure as foreigners are foreigners. Where can I have dropped my gloves?”

The White Rabbit finally noticed Alice and said: “Why are you just standing there? Help me find my gloves. I can’t go to the press briefing without my gloves.”

Alice looked around for a pair of gloves as the White Rabbit continued wailing: “First I recuse myself, now this. The Queen will have my head for sure.”

“I don’t think I understand what exactly recusing oneself is.”

“Of course, you don’t. You’re a girl.”

Alice was getting quite tired of such talk and she replied: “I’ll have you know I’m smarter than any . . . any . . . dumb bunny.”

“Recusing oneself,” the White Rabbit continued, ignoring her outburst, “is very much like excusing oneself. Recuse, excuse. For instance you would say ‘excuse me’ when leaving the room. But if you said ‘recuse me,’ you would stay in the room and just pretend you weren’t there. See?”

“I suppose.”

“I’m pretending that I’m not paying any attention to the White Knight’s terrible, terrible Witch Hunt because of a conflict of interest. I suppose you know what that is?”

“Maybe I do, maybe I don’t.”

“A conflict of interest is when I’m very interested in what’s going on in the room, but I’m pretending that I’m not.”

“Why is the White Knight hunting for a witch?”

“The White Knight and his mob of 23 sinister democreeps are looking for Collusion, Delusion, Obstruction, Distraction, and Multiplication.”

“I don’t know about all those other things, but your gloves are under that little bush over there. “

The White Rabbit scooped up his gloves and ran off without even a thank you or goodby.

Incoming tweet: “White Knight and HORDE of 35 PERNICIOUS democreeps. Worst witch hunt in history. Let me say this about that: I am not a witch!”

Tomorrow, same time, same place — a walrus and a carpenter

Caucus Race

Posted on by Richard Daybell

As she stepped through the door which was now the perfect size for a person of her size, Alice spotted a sign that read Donaldland, Center of the Universe, brilliantly ruled by our most revered Queen. Everything on this side of the door was the right size. “I think I’m going to like this place,” she predicted..

She set off to explore, passing through lovely meadows and gardens filled with colorful flowers, past dear little ponds. The only things marring the beauty of the place were the many signs saying Make Donaldland Great Again. At one of those ponds, she spotted a queer-looking group of animals marching around it. “Curiouser and curiouser,” she said, although everything was curious today. There was an Auk, an Emu, an Ostrich, a Tasmanian Devil and several other strange animals. And leading the parade was a Dodo. They moved about the pond, each at its own pace, some faster, some slower, some stopping now and then, some bumping into one another, until the Dodo suddenly cried out: “The Caucus-race is over.”

“Who has won?” the others all shouted.

The Dodo thought for a moment then said: “Everyone. We all have won.” The animals all cheered. Alice, who was now standing among them, asked: “What is a Caucus-race?”

The Dodo pressed a finger to its forehead and thought some more. “It’s like a real caucus only it’s not, because we’re not invited to real Caucuses anymore. We used to be GOPs, but we’re outcasts now. We’ve been tweetstormed by the Queen.”

Alice was filled with questions, and she blurted them right out: “What’s a GOP? What’s a tweetstorm? What kind of animal are you?”

“I’m a Dodo.”

“Aren’t Dodos extinct?”

“Might as well be. I guess I’m a Dodo In Name Only. And a GOP in Name Only.”

“You haven’t told me what a GOP is,” Alice complained.

“A Grouchy Old Poop. I was once proud to be one — to wear a campaign button on my lapel, a flag on my butt, and make patriotic noise. But that was then and this is now. I’ve — we’ve all been tossed from the poopdeck, bundled off, shown the exit ramp. Unfriended. Tweetstormed.” The Queen doesn’t know us and therefore we don’t exist.”

Tomorrow, same time same place — a royal revelation

Going Down

Posted on by Richard Daybell

Alice was growing sleepy, sitting next to her sister who was reading a book. “What’s the use of a book if it can’t get you online?” she muttered to herself. Just as she was beginning to drift off, a large White Rabbit ran by. This was rather remarkable in and of itself but even more so as the Rabbit pulled a watch out of its waist-coat pocket and said “Oh dear! Oh dear! I shall be too late. The Queen will have my head for sure.”

Now wide awake with curiosity, Alice jumped up and chased after the Rabbit, just in time to see it pop down a large rabbit hole. Alice went right down the hole herself, never giving it a thought, and found herself falling. Either the hole was very deep or she was falling very slowly, for she had time to look around. The sides of the hole had become walls, covered with pictures. Mostly they were grumpy looking old men, but one of them looked like a Queen. She wore a royal gown, the kind you see on a playing card, and a royal crown nestled in a strange outcropping of very orange hair. The Queen had big hands and — Alice didn’t finish the thought for she landed with a thud on the floor of an ornate room.

The room had no windows and just one tiny door barely big enough for a mouse. It was certainly too tiny for Alice to go through it. The only furniture in the room was a single table. On the top of the table was a small bottle with a note attached that read: Drink me, if you want to become small enough to go through the door. She took a sip from the bottle and waited. Nothing happened. She finished it off. Still nothing. Then she saw more writing on the back of the note: I lied. The only way to get small is to think small. It’s like pulling yourself up by your own bootstraps, except there are no boots or straps and it’s down rather than up.

Alice sat down in front of the little door and recited “I am small. I am small.” As she continued to repeat these words, she saw that the little door was growing larger. Or was she getting smaller? When the door looked like a normal-sized door she said loudly: “I really am small.” She took a deep breath and opened the door.

Tomorrow, same time, same place — a caucus-race

Man the Tomatoes, Full Speed Ahead

Posted on by Richard Daybell

The following account will demonstrate why Wretched Richard’s Almanac finds it necessary to begin Summer Social Distancing, keeping at least six feet away from pen, pencil and keyboard for the next three months.It’s a battlefield out there. Each morning I prepare my weaponry and fortify myself to better face the enemy.  Then it’s out into the morning mist, bellying my way through the trenches, my trusty trowel at my right, my insecticidal soap at my left. Half a league, half a league, half a league onward, into the valley of Death – mine not to reason why, mine but to do or die.  “Huzzah, huzzah,” I shout,  “Be valiant, stout and bold.”

With scant warning, they attack!  Tufts of crabgrass pop up behind every rock, aphids to the right of me, weevils to the left of me. A slug squadron advances relentlessly head on.   Japanese beetles at four o’clock.  The battle is joined.  Almost at once, I’m ambushed by an elite corps of exotic man-eating weeds, snapping at my ankles and calves, while trash-talking thistles peek out from between tomatoes, taunting me with Tea Party slogans.

But I’ll not be intimidated.

“Forward,” I shout and storm into the mouth of Hell. I manage to free a tiny pepper plant being held prisoner by a half dozen stinging nettle goons.  Moments after I make a clearing to let the cucumbers once again see sunlight, the neighbor’s cat claims it for his own and begins his morning toilette.  He glowers at me, unflinching, as I try to encourage him to move on, his eyes saying I may not be big but I can bring down a gazelle and I can bring down you.  Enjoying the moment, knotweeds laugh merrily and loudly insult my gardenerhood.

I jump in with both feet, hacking and pulling and spraying.  When I’m done, a pile of green debris lies all around me shattered and sundered.  The day is mine.  The tomatoes, cucumbers and beans all nod in appreciation as I holster my trowel and spray bottle and ride off into cocktail time.

Later, exhausted, I’ll sleep, perchance to dream – of late potato blight.

 

Until September.

OCTOBER 23, 4004 BC: AND ON THE 29TH HE RESTED

Posted on by Richard Daybell

Those who predict the imminent end of the world display a certain amount of chutzpah if not foolhardiness (such as Micheal Stifel, October 19 and William Miller, October 22).  It probably takes even more of those qualities to identify the exact date of the beginning of the world, but didn’t James Ussher (1581-1656) do just that.

As Archbishop of Armagh, Primate of All Ireland, and Vice-Chancellor of Trinity College in Dublin, Ussher was rather highly regarded in his day as both churchman and scholar. He was not your average man on the street (“Tell me sir, when did the world begin?”) making bold proclamations. And evidently he didn’t just pull important dates out of a hat. His declarations were based on an intricate correlation of Middle Eastern and Mediterranean histories and Holy writ, incorporated into an authorized 1701 version of the Bible, or so he explained. And they were accepted, regarded without question as if they were the Bible itself.

Through the aforementioned methods, Ussher established that the first day of creation was Sunday, October 23, 4004 BC. He didn’t give a time. On a roll, Ussher calculated the dates of other biblical events, concluding, for example, that Adam and Eve were driven from Paradise on Monday, November 10 of that same year BC. (It took them less than three weeks to get in trouble with God.) And Noah docked his ark on Mt Ararat on May 5, 2348 BC. That was a Wednesday if you were wondering.

 

Late-breaking news: Dr. John Lightfoot, of Cambridge, an Ussher contemporary, declared in a bold bid for oneupsmanship, that his most profound and exhaustive study of the Scriptures, showed that “heaven and earth, centre and circumference, were created all together, in the same instant, and clouds full of water,” and that “this work took place and man was created by the Trinity on October 23, 4004 B.C., at nine o’clock in the morning.”

 

Okay Lightfoot, Take This

Wretched Richard will jump out onto the proverbial limb and give you a few more dates you might be wondering about.

January 29, 3995 BC, 8 a.m. — God creates children.

March 12, 3906 BC, 5:00 p.m.  — Shouting something about his damn sheep, Cain slays Abel.

September 3, 3522 BC, 6:00 p.m. — God creates Facebook, then decides the world isn’t ready for it.

October 2, 2901 BC, 4:00 p.m.  God, having been in a bad mood all day, turns Lot’s wife into a pillar of salt.

June 7, 2549 BC 11:15 a.m.  God once again in a creative mood creates marijuana.

1:30 p.m. –Later that day, God, thoroughly annoyed with all his creations except his latest, instructs Noah to build an ark because he, God, is going to destroy the world.

August 14, 2371 BC,  5:30 a.m. — Methuselah finally turns his toes up after 969 years on this good earth.

July 7, 1425 BC, 8:30 p.m. — God gives Moses the Ten Commandments.

March 1, 2 AD, 10:15 a.m. — God creates an amusing diversion featuring Christians and lions.

July 2, 1854 AD, 11:45 p.m. — After a few too many martinis, God creates Republicans.

November 9, 2016, 2:45 a.m. — Feeling rather wicked, God makes Donald Trump president.

December 25, 2019, 10 a.m.  –Filled with Christmas spirit, God removes Donald Trump from office and makes Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer president.