foolometer, n
by Norman Douglas
foolometer, n
A standard or device for the measurement of foolishness or folly.
dead at last, i packed the hoopty, headed south. uniforms waited at the river, weapons ready. a short one strolled by the passenger side, peered in. a big dark burly no-neck in wide eyes stood on my side, looked at me like i knew what to do. it knocked on the door. i opened it up. i got out and stood before it.
“what the hell you doin?” it asked.
“i dunno. ya knocked on my door so i got out. ya want me to get back in?”
“freeze!” hollered the other one, running my way all crazy legs, heavy and loud. i didn’t move.
““wtf? that guy says freeze. you say get in. if neither of ya’s wanna be in charge, i’ll take over.””
a salamander skittered just out of sight to the water. a crane soared high, followed fluxes. chipmunks yelled at us from a giant woodpile. i heard fish jump after dragonflies hunting skeeters.
“get back in the ride!” hooted no-neck.
“wtf? that guy says freeze. you say get in. if neither of ya’s wanna be in charge, i’ll take over.”
“get some ID!” shorty shouted at the big. “they got animals!!”
“what’s goin’ on? it’s hot as hell! we’re late!” the chimp riding shotgun piped in.
“turn the car on,” i said “if ya really wanna fuk up the ozone some more.”
“that monkey talked!” said no-neck.
“what are you a scientist?” wondered the black cat seated on the seatback.
“i told you they got animals!”
“SARGE!” howled no-neck. “we need metrics.”
“nobody move,” ordered shorty, weapon pointed square at me.
sarge appeared twirling his mustache next to a woman in a tight pink dress and heels carrying a black plastic box with wires. “come here, you!” sarge snarled.
“yessir, sarge!” i obeyed. no-neck and shorty marched on either side. a committee of vultures steadily grew in number atop the official architecture.
“if you hurt daddy, we’ll bite and scratch ya’s all silly,” screamed the redcoat lab in the back seat of my ride.
“wtf was that?” sarge squealed.
“he has animals!” shorty ratted on me to its boss.
“they talk!” added no-neck.
“plug him in!” sarge ordered the woman.
“only if i get to plug back when your foolish metrics fail,” i warned.
she plugged. i felt a pinch. the whole kaboodle sizzled, sparkled, backfired loud af, then blew the uniforms sky high. the sweet pink lady aka the silent boatman bit into my flesh and invited the menagerie and me to sing and dance on their yacht.