Why there's so much activity in the village today, you'd think this was a hornet's nest!Parson Wythe and the orphans are buying chips and dip! James the Cobbler has set aside his hammer and nails and is running numbers! Marrakesh the Beet-Blacker and Stimpson the Magic Marker are dancing 'round the May pole! (and it's only February!)
Has the village gone mad? Today is the Lord's Day! A day of rest and catatonia. A day of intravenous feeding and being excused from making any major decisions involving the use of the human body. Why all this walking and talking and buzzery-hoo?
It must be the day of The Big Game of Football. Well, I can proudly say that I'll be one villager who won't be attending! Call me an old spinster, but I still believe baseball is God's sport. Football is for Hindus.
Over the past few years, I have seen this beloved village beset by dangerous Oriental influences like American football and the new AT&T/Cingular. Our children are at stake. The burning one!
I hope you will do as I have done and write a petition. Not sign a petition, but write one. If every one of us would write our own petition, that would mean more than a bunch of signatures on a single petition.
The petition can be about anything you'd like. Mine is about the growing dangers facing our young children. It's shaped like a giant football. It's called "You Men and Your Superbowls!" and it begins with a blast from Gabriel's horn:
[TRUMPET BLAST]
You men and your Superbowls! If you expect me to be a silenced voice in the kitchen, preparing gingerbread salsa and mutton-cakes, while in the next room, belligerent with mead and ale, you berate our precious television for not making a catch, you'll just have to expect something less non-different! As a woman, that's not the way I operate. I operate on two D-cell batteries called ovaries. And you're making them hurt with your excessive fraternization and your military conquests and your beards! I've seen the writing on the wall. I've read the comic strip "Cathy". You won't put me in a burqa!
Oh, look. It's already 3 in the afternoon. Time for bed. I have to get up early tomorrow morning and go to myspace to milk the chickens.
Goodnight. Sleep tight.
Mrs. Barbara Lynne Deborah-Anne Linda Susan Hollingsholy
