The Butcher
Judge Butcher kicked open the side door to the bench area and walked stridently to his throne. He gazed into, no, he glared toward his captive audience. First to the new jurors, then . . . with disdain . . ., to the pro-bono counselors . . . and finally, . . . with a knowing smile . . . to the district attorney, almost daring anyone to speak. He stood there interminably motionless waiting for the bailiff; who finally shouted, “All rise.” Butcher’s hawk-like head swiveled, and he looked for prey as he adjusted his black robe.
All of the weasels leapt to their hind legs; both public defenders wishing to be invisible. They could have seen the book in his hand. But all were concerned with survival. Some held their breath. The bravest remained motionless except for their eyes which glanced from one fellow weasel to another.
Lungs were about to burst when the judge scowled “Sit.” His misanthropic character finally escaped from his brain only to be betrayed by his lungs. “Do you know why I am here?”
Lungs froze and brains remained in limbo.
Justice” the raptor shouted. “I am the master of justice!”
None responded.
“Do you know the meaning of that?” he asked the potential jurists.
The meek did not respond.
“Come now, it has a meaning” he cajoled.
A single hand went up from an, indeed, brave man who was dressed in denim clothing. The judge acknowledged the raised hand and demanded “Go ahead. Tell us the meaning.”
The man’s throat seized up and his voice approached the squeal of a caught pig. “Justice is a means of” – – – but he was cut off by the black robed master of prey.
“Idiot! I know what justice is. Out, . . . .out of my courtroom. Bailiff, escort this ignorant citizen to the courthouse door.” Fifty pairs of eyes watched as the hawk disemboweled the weasel.
“Now, for the rest of you, I want to know if you can conceive what I mean by justice.”
No response came from the quivering weasels.
“I can jail every last one of you if you do not respond” said the un-sated hawk.
Their whiskers twitched but none responded.
“Vengeance, that is what it justice means. You can obtain revenge on anyone and everyone; except lawyers. We are protected by the law. No longer are you the weak and selfless. You can use a system that will make fools of your lenders. You can scour your employer’s pocket for its last dime. You will be free of the panoptic stares of the sheriff. Finance charges are a thing of the past. We will have a system that will support you in your weaknesses.” A sly grin was cast at his audience.
“Tell them how, tell them how” called the enthusiastic lone voice of the assistant D.A..
The hawk smiled. His beak contorted; . . . reprehensibly.
“By the kindness of hearts?” called an obviously effete rodent.
“No” screeched the bird of prey.
“By an obscure law?” called another.
“No” again was the answer; the bird’s dart-like tongue oscillating to and fro.
“By theological decree?” asked a third.
“Heavens no” replied the falconoid, pleased with his reverse pun, yet with talons bared.
“By a version of philosophy’s great truths?” cried an exceptionally disheveled vermin.
“No – no – no – and no” the answer came from the bench. The bird ruffled his feathers so as to enhance his stature. And then he announced :
“It is my brain – – my thoughts – – my brilliance. All those things that you wish for but will never understand.”
“But how – – – – -?” came an incredulous beseechment from the nest of furry ones who were in search of truth.
“I have written an amalgamation of the best laws. I have built a dictionary of all the laws known to man; – – – – in all languages. I have compiled the translation in an appendix. It reads like a novel but looks like a saga. My unique intelligence, if you will – – which can, once again, see beyond all that you may imagine. And it will be the basis of a new culture.”
“Show us – – show us – -” came the squeaks from the rodent palace.
The raptor opened the book, licked his index talon, and flipped the pages to a specific selection.
Fur stood up on their necks and incisors clicked away as all the pointy little ears captured the truth. They followed the sequence of ideas being spoken. Some were in rapture with the elegant simplicity of it. Some were in awe of the birdbrain that held such profound thoughts. A few remained somewhat skeptical, but, they accepted the results in trade for a, hopefully, favorable judgment.
The ideas became clear and focused . . . . . . And finally coalesced:
LET THE FOLLOWING BE TRUE!
ALL LAWYERS, SQUIRES AND JUDGES ARE PROTECTED
{A ONE DAY STATUTE OF LIMITATIONS IS ON ALL THEIR WORK}
ALL OTHER PROFESSIONALS WILL BE OBLIGATED
{TO PURCHASE MALPRACTICE INSURANCE}
THE PLAINTIFF’S LAWYER MAY
{INSULT THE DEFENDANT’S LAWYER WITHOUT REPURCUSSION}
THE JUDGE MAY USE THE LEGAL MANUEVER OF
{YADDA – YADDA – YADDA}
THE PLAINTIFF MAY INTERSPERSE DEPOSITIONS WITH THE TERMS
{MALPRACTICE, QUACK, AND DEPRAVED CARLESSNESS}
PLAINTIFF’S LEGAL COUNSEL MAY DESTROY EVIDENCE FOUND IN SUPPORT OF
{CULPABILITY and RESPONSIBILITY OF PLAINTIFF}
AND DISPLAY RENDERINGS OF THE DEFENDANT’S WRETCHED FAMILY
{USE BACKLIT SCREEN BEHIND JUDGE}
AND CREATE SUBTLE THREAT TO JURYMEN
{BAILIFF WILL TAKE NAMES OF THOSE WHO ASK QUESTIONS}
********************************************
The Baker
The Professor from Baker University kicked open the side door of the stage area and walked stridently to the podium. He gazed up, no, he glared upward into the tiered student area of the lecture hall, . . . with disdain . . ., almost daring anyone to speak. He stood there; interminably motionless; except for the hawk-like head which swiveled, looking for prey.
None of the mice wandered from their holes, all wishing to be invisible. They could have seen the CD in his hand. But all were concerned with survival. Some held their breath. The bravest remained motionless except for their eyes; which glanced from one fellow mouse to another.
Lungs were about to burst when the professor held the CD aloft. The madman finally escaped from his brain only to be betrayed by his lungs. “Capitalism” he shouted. “I have captured the essence of capitalism!”
None responded.
“Do you know the meaning of that?” he asked of his general audience.
None responded
“Come now, it has a meaning” he cajoled.
A single hand went up from an, indeed, brave young man. The professor acknowledged the raised hand and demanded “Go ahead. Tell us the meaning of that.”
The young man’s throat seized up and his voice approached the squeal of a caught pig. “Capitalism is a means of” – – – but he was cut off by the professor.
“Idiot! I know what capitalism is. Out, . . . .out of the classroom. Do not return. You will receive a failing grade for the course.” Two hundred and fifty pairs of beady little eyes watched as the hawk disemboweled the mouse.
“Now, for the rest of you, I want to know if you can conceive what I have discovered by capturing the essence of capitalism.”
No response came from the frozen mice.
“I can fail every one of you if you do not respond” said the un-sated hawk.
Their whiskers twitched but none responded.
“You are free. That is what it means. You are free from the gleaners. No longer are you the dupes of a system that molds you into the fools and tools of capitalism. No longer will you have your pocket scoured for its last dime. You will be free of the panoptic stares of management. Wages and personal taxes are a thing of the past. We will have a system that will support each other.” He stared once more at the lecture hall in general.
“Tell us, tell us” called an enthusiastic lone voice from the crowd.
The hawk smiled. His beak contorted; . . . reprehensibly.
“Is it a treatise?” called an obviously effete rodent.
“No” screeched the bird of prey.
“Is it a computer model?” called another.
“No” again was the answer; his dart like tongue oscillating to and fro.
“Is it theological?” asked a third.
“Heavens no” replied the falconoid, this time with talons bared.
“Is it an edited version of philosophy’s great truths?” cried an exceptionally dishelved vermin.
“No – no – no – and no” the answer came from the podium as the bird ruffled his feathers so as to enhance his stature. And then he announced:
“It is my brain – – my thoughts – – my brilliance. All those things that you wish for – – – – but will never receive”
“But how – – – – -?” came an incredulous beseechment from the nest of furry ones who were in search of truth.
“I have written an algorithm that converts my logic to programmable text. I have built a database of all the nouns known to man; – – – – in all languages. I have link-edited a translation program into the overall memory load. It runs error free and builds logical additions – – artificial intelligence if you will – – which can, once again, be converted into programmable text and new nouns are added to the database.”
“Show us – – show us – -” came the squeals from the rodent palace.
The raptor inserted the CD, set up the back-lit screen from his laptop, and pressed “ENTER.”
Fur stood up on their necks and incisors clicked away as all the beady little eyes captured the truth. They followed the sequence of images on the screen. Some were in rapture with the elegant simplicity of it. Some were in awe of the great mind that had such profound thoughts. A few remained somewhat skeptical, but, they accepted the results as quid-pro-quo for a decent grade.
The screen blinked and whirled and finally came into focus:
START OF PROGRAM
LOAD REGISTER TWO WITH THE CONTENTS OF LOCATION
“COLONIALISM”
LOAD REGISTER THREE WITH THE CONTENTS OF LOCATION
“CAPITALISM”
ADD REGISTER TWO TO REGISTER THREE, SAVE IN LOCATION
“WICKEDNESS”
STORE CONTENTS OF REGISTER FOUR IN LOCATION
“ALL TEXTBOOKS”
MULTIPLY CONTENTS OF TEXTBOOK BY CONTENTS OF LOCATION
“YADDA – YADDA-YADDA”
INTERSPERSE TEXTBOOK CONTENTS WITH TERMS
“SOCIALISM, HOUSEWIFERY, PETIT BOURGUOIS AND CHRISTIANITY”
DESTROY GRAPHICS FOUND IN LOCATIONS
“NEWT GINGRICH & RONALD REAGAN”
SUBLIMINALLY DISPLAY GRAPHIC FOUND IN LOCATION
STARVING CHILDREN & DYING SENIORS
BRANCH TO START OF PROGRAM
REPEAT UNTIL ALL BELIEVE
*******************************
The Candle Stick Maker
The CEO of Candlesticks, Inc. kicked open the door that adjoined his office and the large conference room. He walked confidently and stridently to his reserved position at the head of the long Brazilian Rosewood table. He plopped his bloated body into the high-backed chair and gazed around, no, he glared around the walnut paneled room, . . . with disdain . . ., almost daring any one of the sheep at the table to speak. He sat there; interminably motionless; except for the vulture-like head which swiveled, its flapping jowls anticipating the carrion soon to be savored.
None of the ewe’s milksops raised their eyes. Thoughts were hidden in their skeletal minds; all wishing to be invisible. They could have seen the papers listing the “low performers” in his stubby taloned hand. But all were concerned with survival. Some held their breath. The bravest remained motionless except for their eyes; which glanced from one mental skeleton to another.
Lungs were about to burst when the demented CEO held several celluloid transparencies aloft. The insanity finally escaped from his brain only to be betrayed by his lungs. “Cost Savings” he shouted. “I have captured the essence of profitability!”
None of the cloven-hoofed responded.
“Do you know the meaning of that?” he asked of his employees.
None responded audibly but a few light “baaaahhs” were heard.
“Come now, it has a meaning” he cajoled.
A single hand went up from an, indeed, brave young mid-manager. The CEO acknowledged the raised hand and demanded “Go ahead. Tell us the meaning of that.”
The young man’s throat seized up and his voice approached the squeal of a wounded sheep. “Profitability is a means of” – – – but he was cut off by the CEO.
“Idiot! I know what profitability is. Out, . . . .get out of my company. Do not return. You will receive a week’s pay for your years of un-loyal service.” Twenty pairs of eyes watched as the vulture tore a hunk of flesh from the collective and tasty “carrion of lamb” seated in front of him.
“Now, for the rest of you. I want to know if you can conceive what I have discovered by capturing the essence of profitability.”
No response came from the meat that was putryfying in front of him..
“I can fire everyone of you if you do not respond” said the un-sated raptor of flesh.
Their muscles twitched but none appeared to chance a voluntary movement.
“You are rich. That is what it means. You are rich beyond your wildest dreams. No longer are you the dupes of a system that favors the weak. No longer will you have your pocket scoured for its last dime by those who do not produce. You will be free of the teary eyed wimps who do not respect management. Cost-of-living pay raises and personal time off are a thing of the past. We will have a system that will support our life styles.” He stared once more at the blob of silence in front of him.
“Tell us, tell us” called an enthusiastic lone voice from the herd of sheep.
The vulture smiled. His beak contorted; . . . reprehensibly.
“Is it a corporate guideline?” called an obviously effete rodent.
“No” screeched the bird of prey.
“Is it a mandate from the comptroller?” called another.
“No” again was the answer; remnants of recently devoured carrion gracing his goatee.
“Is it a proposal to reduce the pay for the factory workers?” asked a third.
“Does that make any cents?” chuckled the vulture; quite satisfied with his pun.
“Is it an edited version of OSHA’s great truths?” cried a greasy bag of wool.
“No – no – no – and no” the answer came from the throne as the bird ruffled his feathers so as to enhance his stature. And then he announced:
“It is Human Resource’s plan for – – exercising my thoughts – – my brilliance. All those things that you wish for but will never obtain.”
“But how – – – – -?” came an incredulous beseechment from a pretty ewe, batting her eyelashes. She had already made her promotion decisions.
“I have a plan for right-sizing. I have built a database of all the employees; – – – – of all sizes, colors, ages, religions and ethnic backgrounds. I have reviewed it with Human Resources and legal. All the actions will be error free and without legal contention – – a very intelligent piece of work if I do say so myself, . . . . and I do. We can, once again, at a later date, take the same actions as we work our way down the list.”
“Show us – – show us – -” came the mumbles from the wool-wimps.
The raptor laid the first transparency on the overhead projector and turned on its bright light. He called “Lights” and the promotion prone ewe jumped up to dim the fluorescents.
The curls in their wool seemed to get tighter as all the wondering little eyes captured the great plan. They followed the sequence of images on the screen. Some were in rapture with the elegant simplicity of it. Some were in awe of the great mind that had such profound thoughts. A few remained somewhat skeptical, but, they accepted the results in trade for holding on to their jobs.
The pheromone emitting ewe adjusted the projector into focus while smiling at the raptor.
LIST OF THOSE ELEGIBLE FOR SEPERATON RIGHT SIZING:
PHASE I:
First wave: The Caucasian elderly males.
Second wave: The infirm with a history of health care problems.
Third wave: Those who have openly questioned management.
PHASE II:
First wave: The African-American elderly
Second wave: The infirm recommended by our HMO
Third wave: Those who appear to be thinking on their own
Phase III:
First wave: Those who have collected workman’s compensation
Second wave: Those who have been exposed to chemicals on the job
Third wave: Those with no relatives in executive positions.
Phase IV:
First wave: Those who have refused to work on my summer cabin
Second wave: Those who have refused to tithe to my political party.
Third wave: Those who do not drive Mercedes or Volvos.
Phase V:
First wave: 1st level managers
Second wave: 2nd level managers
Third wave: 3rd level managers
Phase VI:
First wave: My nieces and nephews
Second wave: My cousins
Third wave: My brothers and sisters
Phase VII:
First wave: Judge Butcher’s wife
Second wave: Baker University Professor’s wife
Third wave: The Congressman’s concubines
*****************************
AND THE WORLD WENT AROUND AND AROUND WITH NEW BUTCHERS, BAKERS, AND CANDLESTICK MAKERS.
The Short Stories of Waldo 