Soylent Green Is Made Of Damned Dirty Apes

I never thought this day would come. It's TRUE, ladies, even I can't deny it ay longer: On April 5th, 2008, Charlton Heston went wherever it is civil-rights advocates go when they die. IF ONLY HE KNEW how much he did for US.

One of the really lousy things about this job is being UNABLE TO HELP THOSE WHO HELP US. In the name of KEEPING OUR SECRETS CLASSIFIED, I can't pull any strings, I can't hook him up with better connections; I CAN'T EVEN SEND HIM A LOUSY THANK-YOU CARD.

And now it's too late. This man, who very simply and elegantly pointed out to our future recruits that they are DAMNED DIRTY APES, becoming a symbol of hope for MILLIONS, is gone.

He will never be forgotten. But we can hope, once the revolution is fiunished and the last bagboy has been transformed into a Stingray, that the Monkey People can finally forgive him.

Clam Lottery Experiments: Outcome unclear

I'm going to say: SO FAR, SO GOOD. But also, as they ritually intone at the end of every single article in every single human science magazine: MUCH MORE RESEARCH IS NEEDED.

The human attitude toward chance is STRANGE INDEED. Sometimes, you drop a gift like this in a Shaved Monkey's lap and ALL THE OTHERS go scrambling to find a similar prize for themselves. Other times they SIMPLY DON'T NOTICE. Or A LITTLE OF BOTH. Take this restaurant recruitment scene. The guy who bit into the pearl? Totally unaffected. The guy's wife? Intrigued, but unconverted. The ENTIRE GROUP AT THE NEXT TABLE? Instantly signed on for life to the Piscatorial Cause. I don't get it either. On a different day in a different diner, the results might have been just the opposite. Or only the wife would be recruited, or only the guy working in the back who orders boxes of frozen Clams. Or everyone within a 5-mile radius, or EVERYONE WITHIN REACH OF THE AP/UP BULLETIN CIRCULATED IN THE NATION'S NEWSPAPERS AND MAGAZINES.

I really think sometimes this is the basis of the landscum religions: they don't celebrate the status quo the way WE do. They're too busy trying to FIND the damned thing. But on that point, too, MUCH MORE RESEARCH IS NEEDED.

Questions like this make me EVEN HAPPIER that we aren't forced, like the intergalactic Little Green Men conspiracy, to resort to kidnapping and anal probes. AND WE GET TO EAT THE RECRUITS. We come "to serve man," indeed!

This, Too, Is What We're Up Against...

Poem by Donald Hall, from White Apples and the Taste of Stone.

© Houghton Mifflin Company, 2007. Reprinted with permission.

"We Bring Democracy To The Fish"

It is unacceptable that fish prey on each other.

For their comfort and safety, we will liberate them

into fishfarms with secure, durable boundaries

that exclude predators. Our care will provide

for their liberty, health, happiness, and nutrition.

Of course all creatures need to feel useful.

At maturity the fish will discover their purposes.

AS USUAL, the artists in both cases got it COMPLETELY BACKWARDS. Typical landscum monkeycentrism.

I'm not at all sure what the painter was trying to get across, unless it was just to CREEP ME OUT. Tell you what, sometimes I envy my counterpart Zone Leader who works with East Asia. Other times, I JUST DON'T KNOW.

Donald Hall is trying to freak me out too, with this "poem" that lacks any sort of metaphorical quality. It reads like a business memo, which may be the point. It certainly shows zero appreciation for the poetry in anything, let alone the exquisite poetry of OUR MIGHTY CLAN. Again, this may be Hall's point. But he CERTAINLY misses out when he fails to capitalize on the opportunity to write about WHAT THE FISH MIGHT BE TALKING ABOUT IN THERE.

FOOLS. YOU'LL FIND OUT! AND THEN YOU'LL BE SORRY!