Begging in all seasons
The bowls and the tins used to appear only around Christmas. Nowadays they chime at any time in the calendar year.
To save the world is no mean task. Ask Noah. No wonder the old boy took to the juice. Imagine the responsibility to save the species and start a dynasty out of his own tribe. Those offspring were not of top quality either but fortunately Noah was not particularly fussy and if the god he tried to believe in was not too concerned about standards then who was he, Noah, to get worried? He got sloshed instead and tried to forget about all those animals down below. Well, forget is not the word. The humans had to eat. That is something that had not been mentioned from the top commander. One of Noah’s wives got fed up with munching grass day in and day out and mysteriously one of the unicorns disappeared. What was the use of only one unicorn? So the other one went as well.
Better fed, Noah’s wives started to produce more children. The animals held a summit meeting in the hull. It was decided that none of the females was going to give milk to Noah’s children. They would keep themselves chaste until they hit firm land again. If ever. No copulation, no milk. The camel remarked that Noah was a very poor navigator as well as a drunk and they could be on the water for eternity. The cow looked distressed and the bull was definitely gloomy. An eternity of celibacy was a poor card to play. The stallion said that under no circumstances he was letting his mare produce milk that might help carrying on the human race. Soberly and chastely he retired on his allotted straw.
Noah opened another skin of wine, ordered one of his sons to kill the simians for diner and proceeded to father another human being.
“Save the children” begged Noah’s wives and concubines to the animals down the steerage.
Obviously the animals’ conclave did not work very well because in our 21st century we are still begged to “Save the Children “. Where do those children come from? Mainly from developing countries that should be hard at work developing other skills instead of developing their reproduction organs and rely on the West to provide education, medical care and the rest for children that are not wanted on the voyage.
Children are not responsible to be thrown into this very sorry world of ours. It takes two to tango and in our old days in the elders used to call that “the coffee of the poor”. Coffee was out of most people’s reach so a romp in between the sheets or on the straw provided, basically for the male only, a sort of round up for the evening. Never mind the consequences.
I remember a TV interview in a few years ago when a man was asked why he had 10 children. “ I always wanted a big family!” was the reply. He had never worked in his life, kept on bonking, producing children, collecting the State benefits, enjoying a five bedrooms council house, adding washing-machines/driers/food processors/ TV and so on at the tax payer’s expenses.
The children born in various so-called third world countries are produced like other countries produce coffee beans or bananas: for export. I would rather save the bananas. We do enough through taxes to help any of those pitiful countries’ progeny. Come to think of it every bag of flour or rice loaded on those charity trucks should carry a supply of contraceptive pills.
But Noah, even in his inebriated state knew that. This is why he threw a few of his unwanted sons overboard. They could not swim. That was an oversight from the top management and the whales, who were just overlooking the navigation blunders of the humans survivors, had such a laugh that they blew their top off with jets of water ever since. Only the whales could not imagine that millenniums later they would be hunted mostly for their fat to provide beauty creams for human females who believed that their scrawny skins would be saved by the whales.
“Save the whales!” screams the tins whilst the beggars with the blue rinse rub their chaffed hands with a cream they don’t know the origin of.
One night Noah was restless. He wanted a bit of “coffee” but could not find the energy. He went down steerage and in the dark he caught the tip of his “follow me in the desert my children’s” type of sandals on a plank that the woodpecker said he was going to fix and never did. The old soak crashed onto the white rhinoceros. Now, this is not an animal to be taken for a fool or for a stepping stone. The rhino was sea sick and in a foul mood. He heaved himself on all four and kicked Noah’s in the backside with its nose horn. Noah started to think about reprisal but suddenly he felt better and a sudden warmth spread right into his loins. He was ready for coffee. The tins, many millenniums later, were ready for the “Save the Rhinos” campaign.
Lost cause. As long as some human males in some parts of the world want their coffee on demand the rhinos have no chance to roam the bush safely.
The commander in chief never mentioned to Noah that water was to be saved. After all it was a surplus of water that created an awful lot of hassle for everyone. The birds in the air (it had not occurred to the old slush to include them in the saving scheme) were growing funny skins between their claws and the sea elephants were amazed to find little protuberances on their undersides.
“Save the water” begs the adverts in our daily papers. What water? It is but gone. The planet is getting drier and drier and my neighbours are still washing their pavements with a pressure jet. I have pasted notices in our bathroom and kitchen urging visitors to SAVE water. It is not received kindly.” Do you think it would be possible at all to have a shower this morning?” asked a rather snooty guest. “You can turn the tap on if you like but there is no certainty that anything but rat shit will come out of it.”
“Save Energy”. All very well if you have any to save. Whatever you use these days consume energy one way or the other. Gone were the days when you could do basically everything by hand and a home made tool. It is very sad that most people think that “energy” is like the State coffers: it comes naturally from somewhere unknown and not wanted to be known.
There will be a time when there will be a tin, rattling sadly and lonely on a street corner, begging to “Save Our Souls”.
S.O.S. It might be too late. The second ark left the station a minute ago. But there is still a glimmer of hope. A couple of years ago the
If ever that guy navigates an ark in the future I shall beg to be on board. Any season. And I bet he would not land on top of a mountain either.
Jocelyne
p.s. My Mister Bear stories and drawings are on www.spanglefish.com/MisterBear
