bitmap@ucbtopaz.CC.Berkeley.ARPA (01/06/84)
(John, I tried sending this by mail, but the system didn't like your
address, so I put it on the net...)
Excerpt from "The Less than Noble Savage" by Le Knave
Well, Nick, here's the story as I remember it...
Jean T. Rippeur was born as the environmentalist extremist's dream
argument against mutagenic toxins. Whether or not his mother actually
thought that "Agent Orange" came from "The Florida Sunshine Tree" will
never be know for sure, but it is documented that she faithfully drank
a glass a day during her pregnancy.
After a mostly uneventful delivery (there was some confusion between
the baby and the afterbirth), his mother took one look, then fled to the
Green Valley Rest Home, where she spent the rest of her life sitting
vacant-eyed in the sun (the only time that she'd respond to the world
was when someone would mention "Halloween": she'd break out in a sweat).
Jack was left to the iron, but somewhat tender mercies of his grandmother.
This was a woman who, seeing that a normal education was beyond reason,
decided to fill his little mind with aphorisms, in the hope that they would
carry him through life (er, existence). Unfortunately, a couple of things
worked against her. Jack has always had a mind like epoxy: that is, it is
impressionable, but once it hardens, he is a man of strong convictions, and
not easily swayed by the facts. Additionally, he has a slight hearing problem.
Thus, when his grandmother cackled, "No news is good news" (the lesson for
the week), He heard it as "No nukes is good nukes", which became the logical
basis for many of his later political beliefs.
One day, instead of tying him up in the yard, she let him run loose.
He made his way to the local campus, where a representative of organized
labor collared him. Recognizing a likely convert, he filled him with all
the usual slogans, as Jack stood there and drooled. His grandmother, a
strong Yankee (New Englander) was trying to hold up Abraham Lincoln to him
as a role model (perhaps she was hoping that he'd at least try to grow a
beard when he got older--anything to help cover his face). So, later, when
his grandmother talked of "Abe Lincoln preserving the Union", Jack's lifelong
goal was set: to be a Wobbly thinker. (It's unfortunate, in a way, that
the Hare Krishnas, who usually occupied that corner of the campus, were
spending the day at the airport instead. The world might have been a more
tolerant, if less tuneful place).
Jack picked up a little Latin on the way, believing that this would make
him sound logical and educated. Unfortunately (for him), the phrases were a
bit garbled. When his opponents dismissed him as being crazy, he'd delight
in telling people that, on the contrary, he was quite "compost mentis".
Instead of "quod erat demonstrandum", he thought it was "quod idiot
demonstrandum", so (for example), when he saw (he never really read) an
article hailing the benefits of nuclear energy, he'd fire off a letter to
the editor:
"No nukes is good nukes.
q.i.d." (grin, drool)
When not working for Jimmy Hoffa, Frank Fitzsimmons, or other union
officials of high character ("you sign that contract, or we'll have Jackie
eat lunch at your restaurant" -- they'd come around), JTR worked as an
extra in Hollywood. While he liked working in high class post-nuclear war
films, such as "Damnation Alley" (remember the killer cockroaches? -- Jack
was good with animals, too), he'd take the odd horror show job, too, or
any other film which could use his unique talents (no makeup required).
And you thought Jobba the Hutt was all foam rubber and paint...
That's about all I know, Nick. I lost track of Jack after that, but
if he hasn't died of coprophagy, you should be able to find his mark
in some newspaper somewhere:
"No nukes is good nukes. Q.I.D."