#767 JANUARY 17, 2014
Copyright 2014 FRANCIS DIMENNO
He who would do good to another must do it in Minute Particulars: general Good is the plea of the scoundrel, hypocrite, and flatterer, for Art and Science cannot exist but in minutely organized Particulars.–William Blake
WHEN THIS WORLD CATCHES FIRE
BOOK THREE: SAVAGE NOXTOWN
CHAPTER EIGHT: PART TWENTY-SIX: THE FALL
If you have an eye for a colorful off-beat story (and even if you do not) you would practically know that one day the Reverend John Otis Cross was peculiarly fated to run across Jim Whitey the turfed out circus clown, who lived on the outskirts of Blowtown over an Oriental grocery with a cigar-smoking pig named Bella. Bella, what they called in those days an arithmetical pig, was very likely more intelligent than her master and was up to performing all kings of cunning stunts. Whitey would bring her to the Seven Stars Tavern only on rare occasions. Whitey had a odd-shaped doughy head as looked more like a giant white beet or rutabaga than a human skull, probably the result of having taken so many knocks about the sawdust ring where he used to ply his trade as vampo clown and general man-of-all-business. On his visits to the bar accompanied by Bella he would wear a garish white stovepipe hat, too small by far for his lumpy head, and a white flannel suit with a black checked pattern which made him resemble a flaccid tablecloth suddenly given the power of speech and locomotion. He wore his red hair sticking out from the side of his head like cotton candy spun from dried snot and he had a penchant for playing cruel practical jokes, and the two of them–he and the furry white pig–who wore a pink tutu–were a sight to behold, particularly once Whitey, as he invariably did, stood the pig upon the bar, balanced Bella on her trotters and bade her do her “Cooch Dance.” The bar-room loafers all grunted their invariable comments:
“There ought to be a law agin’ it.”
“Sure and I’ll wager that they’re lawfully wed.”
“How many ways are there to shuffle this deck of cards? A question for the ages, and well you might ask, for even as the great mystics and wise and holy men cannot count the grains of sand transported from an eagle’s claws from the top of the mountain to the depths of the shoreline, so this question is a classic example of the question which will consider here: one of infinite possibilities. What are the chances that the learned pig could pull out the black ace in a deck of 52? My gambling friends all know the odds are quite long indeed, for it must be THAT EXACT CARD and no other. Even the sacred Priests of the tribe of Melchizidek would find themselves ‘mazed with wonder at the mere evocation of this feat! This question is a classic example of a branch of prestidigitation known as magical science. There is no use in trying to figure out the dark arts behind such a dark feat–for the Pig simply KNOWS! O, is there anything that this magical, tragical, canonical and cosmological hog cannot do?”
“My friend,” said the Reverend John Otis Cross, “that poor BEAST…as clever as he mought be…has no immortal SOUL.”
UGGA UGGA BOO UGGA BOO BOO UGGA
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