The Fellowship
of the Bring is in dire peril of mortal boredom, hemmed in a cave
with a phalanx of un-sheep-like at the entrance, and All Bore in the
cave’s bowels. Read on to find what crap proceeds.
I had no idea why Jonma Carry stopped digging. It was still early
but it looked like people were settling in to spend the night in the
cave with All Bore. It wasn’t because anyone wanted to be around
the man, but because a phalanx of sheep formed and blocked the
entrance.
“That’s very un-sheep-like,” said Lustavious.
“I don’t like caves,” said Mage-e-not.
“No showers,” said Lip Ton Tease.
“You may as well get used to it,” said All Bore. “We’ll all
be living in caves soon.”
“Why?”
All Bore must have studied with the same teacher that taught
Uriculous, because the look of disdain he gave me was first rate.
“Global swarming,” he said.
“Global swarming?”
“That’s right,” said All Bore, “but don’t say it again
without permission. I already have the copyright on it.”
As I thought about it, it made sense. “So you’re saying that the
swarms of sheep covering the earth eating everything that grows
except tobacco, is a threat to the livability of our planet?”
“Sacrilege,” sputtered Jonma Claim.
The dull face of All Bore stared at me with slack mouth. “I had
never thought,” he drawled, “that I would ever hear something so
stupid in my life.”
“Global swarming isn’t about the sheep?” I asked.
“Of course not – it’s about the honey bee.”
I scratched my head and tried to understand how the honey bee was a
threat to the planet. It’s true that bees might sting you if
you’re stupid enough to bother them, but I could think of nothing
more innocuous than honey bees. They helped plants grow, and the
planet Two was in desperate need of plants.
What could be wrong with honey bees? I thought.
So I asked, “What could be wrong with honey bees?”
“Nothing,” said All Bore, “if they were left in the natural
balance. The problem is man-tended honey bees.”
“But,” said Mage-e-not, “there are maybe a hundred wild honey
bee hives for every tended one.”
“But that’s enough,” said All Bore. “That extra one percent
has thrown off the whole balance of nature, all because of mankind’s
greed, and desire for honey.”
It occurred to me that a man who was patenting and copyrighting
things he didn’t invent just to gain wealth might lack the moral
standing to preach against greed. I kept that particular thought to
myself.
“But what about the sheep?” I asked, and pointed at the hundred
or so sheep soldiers keeping us shut in.
“Sheep are natural,” said All Bore, “don’t worry about them.”
“Wolves were natural too,” I said, “but humans wiped them out
because they were eating sheep. We used to eat sheep as well.”
“Vicious rumor,” said Jonma Claim. “It never happened.”
“I was there!” I said. “So were you. That RunPol fellow is
probably eating sheep right now.”
“I wonder,” said Mage-e-not, “if I turned invisible, I might be
able to get by the sheep and have a chop… I mean get us help.”
All Bore shook his head in a paternalistic derisive way that
strangely did not make me like him much. “It’s all about
man-tended honey bees,” he said. “Consider the plight of the
pola-beers.”
“Pola-beers,” squeaked Ono. “Uncle Sudsy was snatched and
squished splat by a Pola-beer.”
Pola-beers were the most vicious, carnivorous, dangerous trees in the
world. A single pola-beer sprout immediately destroys all vegetation
growing within its reach, and establishes a hard cap of ground where
nothing can grow. As it matures, the pola-beer produces sap that
smells like the most enticing brew you can imagine. Anyone unaware,
drunk, or too stupid to notice the hard cap of earth surrounding a
pola-beer is seized by its branches and slowly consumed. The victim
frequently lives for hours once it is trapped, which sometimes allows
the pola-beer to grab fellow drunks and stupid people who come to
attempt a rescue, or who come to see what all the noise was about.
There are those who claim that the pola-beer perform a public
service. I might agree except pola-beers don’t eat sheep.
All Bore went on with his monotone lecture. My mind wandered as
words like the pola caps, and hockey stick – whatever that was –
vibrated in my ears.
“I like honey,” I heard Mage-e-not say at one point, but the
drone went on. Jonma Claim was blinking like he was trying to stay
awake. Lustavious was staring at Ono’s butt. Jonma Carry was
leaning stiffly against the wall of dirt he’d excavated. With his
stone-like features, it was hard to tell if he was awake or asleep.
Lip Ton Tease looked like he was meditating – until I heard him
snore.
All Bore didn’t seem to care if people were conscious. He just
went on in a monotone drawl.
I looked in my fanny-pack and saw a single match. I considered
asking Lustavious for a light, but I didn’t figure there was much
hope there. There wasn’t any wood in the cave, so we didn’t have
a fire going. I wandered out towards the sheep to light a cigar with
my last match. The sheep held their formation as I approached, and
didn’t say a bah. There was a nice rock ledge one rank in. It
would be simple to brush past the corner ram and sit up there.
The corner ram glared at me in a fashion not much different that
Uriculous Wisehind’s look of derision.
I sighed and sat on the loose soil.
The cigar almost didn’t catch. That would have been upsetting, but
not unexpected considering how my life was proceeding. I took a deep
draw on my cigar and wondered if they had tobacco in oblivion.
Speaking of things that might drone you to death.
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