May 5, 2003

  • Rocks.  I had a little rock in my right shoe the other day that was driving me crazy while running.  I tried to keep it localized in the spare space at the tip of my toes, but it kept shifting around.  “Don’t move!”, I said, “Stay still.”  But the damn little bastard wouldn’t listen.   Rocks are like that.  They don’t listen, little fuckers.  I had to stop running just to pull off my shoe and fling the thing.  Oh, the trial of being me!  But, rocks, yeah, well, they’re another thing…



    How about that boulder that fell on that guy’s arm in the Canyonlands National Park, Utah?  That boulder clearly was an awaiting assassin.  And the climber would have died except he cut off his arm with a pocketknife (three blind mice, three blind, mice, see how they run, see how they run, they all ran after the farmer's wife, she cut off their tails with a carving knife, did you ever see such a sight in your life…).  Actually, I think she must have stabbed them in the eyes and that’s why they were blind. 



    Then there’s this new pile of rocks that used to be called the Old Man of the Mountain in New Hampshire.  Apparently, New Hampshire had thrived, but has now died, along with the collapsing demise of this landmarked, symbolic, monumental expression of an overhanging rock cliff that many once described as the Old Man. 



    *neanderthal*     *pre-hominid*
    We are Devo!


    Well, old it was—nearly 200 million years.  But now people are saying the fallen debris is "merely a pile of rocks” (duh—and what was it when it was *up there* except a ‘pile of rocks’ waiting to fall?). 

    So a pile of rocks collapses and what is the reaction of New Hampshire’s governor?  “We shall reconstruct it—bar no expense.”  Like tribal islanders, Newhampshirites dread the prospect of life without their larger-than-life mojo rock icon.  And, in truth, the loss of millions of dollars in tourism to see the Old Man could threaten New Hampshire’s economy.  So we now have the spectacle of a State mourning, and possibly itself dying, over the repositioning of a pile of rocks.  Crock of the rock!



    But most worrisome of all to me is the fact that there is now an asteroid in our vicinity with the name of ‘Misterrogers’.  Yes, ‘Misterrogers’, formerly known as asteroid No. 26858, honors Fred Rogers, creator and host of PBS’s Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood. Rogers died Feb. 27 at age 74. 


    You all know, of course, what this means?  This  Misterrogers asteroid will undoubtedly become the killer asteroid to slam into Earth and do us all in.  Last Days, my friends, Last Days.  And I’ve even heard that the collapsing Old Man in the Mountain, with his last dying breath, ordained it so.  I can see the headlines that will never be now:


    Mister Rogers Destroys The Earth



    Yeah, I always knew nobody could be that nice without having the grimmest of dark sides.

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