21 On Litigation

Then a lawyer said, Speak to us of litigation.
And he answered:
In distant California, one surfer sued another for stealing his perfect wave. A socialite won a two million dollar libel suit when a casual acquaintance insulted her perm. I myself have been sued.

A communal gasp escaped the people of Orphalese. The prophet nodded gravely:
Countless times.

You people are obsessed with fairness. You would fain blame each other when you have naught but yourselves to blame. And yet I would not have you blame yourselves either, for verily, blame is without meaning.

Do not be like the bankrupt broker who sued himself for greed and stupidity, and thus simultaneously regained and re-lost his fortune. Often times there is but no one to blame.

Once more No One’s head snapped to attention. He had, of course, been dozing, and was yet again relieved to conclude, with reasonable certainty, that he was not the subject of the moment. The prophet still spoke:
And if a mistake has been made, be forgiving, for accidents can and do happen. Does the river sue the beaver for negligence?

Bad things will happen to good people, just as good things happen to imperfect people. Ships will sink (the migrants avert their eyes, feeling all gazes suddenly upon them) and planes will fall. For it is just as much in their nature to fall from the sky, as it is in their nature to fly.

Shit happens.

Whereupon a meek yet firmly dissenting voice cried out:
But isn’t all of this obvious?

But the prophet was on a roll. He continued, beginning to foam at the mouth as he spoke:
You bet your sweet candy-coated ass, it’s obvious. All things are obvious. And yet, for all that I know, some twit with a loud voice will hold the opposite to be true. And to strengthen his defense, he will deem it obvious.

I look around and I get angry.

By now the prophet was truly off his rocker. He was stomping his feet like a spoiled child, and in a booming voice he began to sing:

I read a film review oh boy
About three lucky teenagers who made the grave
And though the review was rather bad
I just had laugh
And now we know what happens when someone forgets to turn it off
I’d - love - to - shut - it - off.

And I wrote a letter to the editor demanding the reviewer be fired, but it was never published, and the reviewer never fired. Another day I rode the bus and saw an ad. The ad was for a support group. And again I found that I had a clever opinion on the matter.

If you were to add up all the two-cents worth of opinions and advice I’d like to bestow upon my people, you could all buy yourselves a nice soothing almond milk steamer.

But where is my forum? My voice is being drowned out by lesser people, with lesser opinions.

And then I crossed the oceans in a rickety ship, loaded with two hundred migrants who listened but who did not understand. And now the government wishes to send us back (a gasp of horror), for we have no documents and the government is not getting any softer.

Sometimes, dear lord, I want to scream but I just can’t seem to do-diddley-do it.

How to vent this frustration? I’m just about ready to burst. (At this point nobody in the audience No One doubted the truth of this). How is one to let off all this steam?

This, dear people of Orphalese, is why I speak to you now, from atop this rusty oil drum.

20 On Debt

And a systems analyst said, Speak to us of fiscally irresponsible government borne of an electorate that cannot control it’s plastic.

The prophet was about to answer, but the young fellow who had regained his will to live now commanded the floor. In a bout of life-affirming enthusiasm he took it upon himself to answer the question.

When I fly with our national airline I receive frequent flyer points.
And when I pay with my credit card, I am collecting towards the purchase of a new car.
And I carry these plastic cards like talismen in my wallet, with me at all times.

Here he held up his wallet and took out his Airmiles card for all to see. A murmur of deep understanding arose from the people of Orphalese. Emboldened, the young man continued:
And the other day, I was about to pay for my groceries, and the glamorous girl behind the counter said to me, “Do you have a points card?”
And I handed it to her. And she held up a jar of peanut butter, and said, “Are you gonna redeem your points for this?”

And not being able to read the magnetic strip on the card, I asked her how many points I had.
“Six hundred thousand,” she replied. That sounded like a lot to me, and so I decided to hang on to them. And she smiled, and said:
“Duh, like you better not redeem them.”

And here the young man paused and surveyed his attentive audience in awe, for it was clear that he had won their hearts. But after a while they grew restless once again and weary of the silence. And someone finally spoke:
And?
And the young man said:
And, like what’s up with that?

Whereupon the crowd fell into disorder in an instant and utter pandemonium was upon them. People began shouting out their questions at random, not waiting for answers, and a full-blown riot was not far off. The keeper of the Orphalese compost heap said:
Speak to us of the overeducated and under employed.
And someone else said:
Speak to us of diminishing native languages and the death of all pure sounds.
The loss of bio-diversity.
Speak to us of hurried recreation.
Parlez a nous de notre pays bilangue.
Speak to us of information politics, and information overload.
Silence!, shouted a chaos theorist.
And the chaos theorist said, Speak to us of law and order.

And the prophet responded in saying:
Surely order cannot be overrated, even as I fear for my own life, perilously perched on this rusty old drum.

For emphasis he stomped his feet which made a gruesome booming noise that carried far out over the waves. And the sound of this loosened the crowd a little, as it had been beginning to fuse, pulling ever tighter and tighter around the oil drum with the prophet on top.

It was now dark, save for the pale moonlight that had begun to filter through the parting clouds, for the rain had finally abated. The prophet resumed in a quieter tone:
Order is good.
I would hate to see this crowd get out of control.

And yet I would also hate for you to confuse order with beauty.
For sometimes there is true beauty in chaos, even though chaos itself can never be called beauty.
And of law I can only hope that it may preserve the public order and restrain you from pushing and shoving so close to my oil drum. For the ocean behind me is vast and I’m not much of a swimmer.

19 On Apathy

Then a career councilor said, Speak to us of apathy.
And he answered:
Later.

And the councilor said, Speak to us of apathy, not of procrastination.
And he said:
Don’t want to. Don’t care.

And a heckler spoke:
That’s lame.

And someone else shouted:
I think you’re the one who’s lame.
Whereupon a scuffle began to erupt. Someone pulled someone’s ear and another began to tug at her neighbor’s hair.

And the heckler heckled:
Come on. You gotta say this is lame.

And an honest soul now replied in place of the prophet:
What would you say, if I told you that through this, which you call lame, I have just now regained my will to live?

This silenced the stunned crowd, and those who had been tugging at hair and ears bowed their heads in shame. And quietly, under his breath, the heckler mumbled:
Will you listen to this pap?
But he did not leave.

18 On Gambling

And a young bookie said, Speak to us of gambling.
And he answered.

The lottery is good, for it pays for hospitals and schools and public washrooms. And bingo is good, for even political parties must needs be supported.

But what is a lottery ticket, but a passport to a dream? And whither would the dreamer escape?

For if he can afford to pay for the ticket, then he is not in need. And if he be in need, then he would be more prudent to save his money and to search the gutters for a discarded winner. For the odds of winning are the same, whether you choose to buy a ticket or not.

One final word of caution, dear people of Orphalese. Leave the ostrich races alone. I do not recommend them at all.

17 On Charity

Then a google plexillonaire said, Speak to us of charity.
And he answered, saying dreamily:
Oh young virgins who do make much of time. Don’t let purity of soul hinder you from knowing true sexual fulfillment.

And the rich man, impatient (for time is money) said:
Not chastity. Charity.

And the prophet began anew. And he said:
Oh.

One day the “Save the Whales” campaign made a pit-stop at my door, and I gave what I could. And then the “Save the Whale Hunt” people dropped in, and I did not shun them.

I gave to the environmental protection fund, and I gave to the urban development fund also. I like to give. Sometimes it’s good to give to both sides for it will keep them going. But I never give to the government if I can help it, for the government needs only deceit, bingo games and a barrel of pork, to keep itself going.

Taxes are the only charity I do not believe in.

Fortunately the old tax collector, still slowly fighting his way to the front, was spared this part of the discourse, for his fading ears transmitted naught but static.

16 On Originality

Then a writer said, Speak to us of originality.
And he answered and said:

Originality is the “original state or quality.”

Or so the Webster would have us believe, though I have never held the Webster to be a highly original work. And of “original”, the Webster says, “that from which anything is copied”. But did I not just now copy from the Webster? Is the Webster not then an original work?

Would you dishonour the copy and not tarnish the original as well? How can one shame the son, and not sully the father? And how can one shame the father, and not sully the son?

Much of what you see or hear may be derivative. As a very wise ass once said: “Some works are more original than others.”

But was not The Godfather Part II just as exciting as Part I, which did precede it?
There are some pretty darn good sequels in this world.