I must say that I was
wishing that I’d followed the turkey-farmer’s advice, because there was
quite a bit of my valuable cargo blowing off and swirling around in the
air in the form of a rather thick dust, mixed with a number of smaller
turkey feathers, that settled on the cars parked along the street.
Needless to say, this
cloud was also defined by a certain olfactory element, containing, as it
did, enough ammonia to awaken a sleeping brontosaurus.
This latter condition
was of little concern to me, however, as I had the windows rolled up and
the air conditioner turned on. So rather than be particularly troubled by
the putrid stench emanating from my cargo, I was mentally calculating how
much of my precious load was going to waste on the pavement, parked
cars and innocent passers-by of downtown.
In my rear-view
mirror, I could see some of the good citizens of the town, first walking
along nonchalantly on such a gorgeous spring day.
After I’d driven
past, a look of curiosity would come across their faces, followed shortly
by expressions of disgust, repulsion and finally abject horror.
I couldn’t help but
think of how typical these folks were of modern Americans and their lack
of appreciation for the honest, simple values of a by-gone era, and the
things, like high-quality poultry feces, that so pungently represent those
values and that era.
I shook my head
silently as I watched them in the mirror, clutching their children to
their bosoms, eyes watering, gasping for breath, their faces flushed and
contorted into grimaces of terror.
How sad, I thought,
that these folks can no longer just enjoy life’s simpler beauties.
As I was leaving the
city limits, I noticed that someone had decided to test the Civil Defense
sirens. How fitting, I thought, that these poor, clueless citizens worry
about some unseen attack that may or may not happen sometime in the
distant future, when in fact they should be worrying about the quality
of life that they‘ve already lost to 21st century society.
Because the odorless,
colorless, stainless future we’ve made for ourselves just isn’t anywhere
near as healthy as a quietly curing pile of compost.
That’s when it
occurred to me that I shouldn’t just accept things this way.
I should stop
buying phony stuff… and so should you.
So the next time
someone tries to palm a phony foodstuff on me, something that’s loaded with a bunch
of ingredients that I don’t know what are, and couldn’t pronounce their
names even if I did, I’m going to say, “HAH! Get thee behind me, Satanic
charlatan sham-server!
Sodium stearol
lactylates (for example) shall never pass my lips!”
And the
next time I see where some perfectly good product has been emasculated for
the benefit of manufacturing ease or profit margin (remember when the
phone company was responsible for your phone working? Remember how
those phones ALWAYS worked?) I’m going to say, “AHA!! Flagitious,
flimsy fabricator! Never again will I purchase this demeaned product from
your evil and avaricious manufactory, nor shall any other of your gossamer
goods darken my domicile!"
From now on, I
will expect, nay demand, that the phrase, "new and
improved" be synonymous with "better", not "cheaper to
produce"!
And then
someday, if I do that, if you do that, if all God’s children start to
demand real products and real improvements, then sooner or later... we’re
going to actually get them.
Meanwhile, I’ll be industriously collecting huge, steaming piles of
various organic detritus. My wife has recanted and agreed to stay if I’ll
only move them further from the house.
