Questions

1

         Few and far between are the days I’m not asked lotsa’ questions. The interrogations come not in sporadic bursts, but in steady and non-stop streams. Like the incessant downpour of tropical rains pelting down on rainforests to make those woody areas flourish even more, the grilling never slows. Yeah old buddy, like grapes and bananas questions come my way in bunches.

         I find this a quite perturbing puzzle, an enigma I can’t unravel, a riddle completely beyond my scant ability to comprehend. In other words, I can’t fathom why folks pose important questions to morons of the woodenhead category.

         Then again, maybe I do understand. From birth til the tender age of six years I was guilty of uttering those three most despicable words in the English language: “I don’t know.”  Repeated at least 90 times per day, “I don’t know.”

         Well, I blew out them there 6 candles and made a solemn vow: “Never again will that foul trio of words escape my mouth.” That pledge made in 1935 has been honored, and is considered sacred even unto this day.

         Folks who ask questions ain’t necessarily inquisitive types. Noy always are they nosey gossipers seeking out the latest “dirt” in town…”how long has it been goin’on, and how’d those two lousy rascals keep it a secret for such an extensive period of time?” ( “Lady, it’s been goin’ on fer 27 years, 5 months and 4 days. Their fling remained hidden for so long because this sneaky pair of  scumbags  rendezvoused only on the darkest nights with no moon in the sky.” Answers…one must always have answers. Otherwise you’re of little or no help to your fellow man.

         My studies have shown that people who ask questions are, generally speaking, desperate types in dire need of help. If you fit into this category , heed some timely advice. Don’t pose your questions to clams, or non-talkative humans who mutter evasive mumbo-jumbo in whispering fashion.

         Questions and answers are often set in “life or death” situations. Listen to me pal, don’t rely on  clams in such scenarios, put not your trust in “a man of few words!”

         A booming voice is what you want to hear in times of peril, a thunderous voice offering clear, concise and straight-to-the-point answers.

         Lately, for reasons unknown to me, I’ve been fielding a whole raft of questions about rocks (“We’ve got plenty of ‘em in Hungry Hollow. How many trainloads do you need, or want? There’s no charge.”). Every interrogator has departed from our little sessions in a happy mood. He’s departed with his head crammed full of useful information concerning rocks. Not since the age of 6 have I said, “I don’t know.”

         These next few pages will find us examining some of the questions I’ve been asked over a vast span of time. They run the gamut from A to Z, a wide variety indeed. Questions are asked about strange mutant life-forms that dwell on the ocean floors, and the possible existence of intelligent life beyond the clouds. My responses to these queries will, of course, be aired and made available for the public record.

         Every now and then, not often but occasionally, I’m asked a sensible question. The majority, however, fall into the “stupid” category. Podnuh, weird questions I’ve been asked. Accusations abound, false of course, that

 I’ve responded with even weirder answers. 

         Not since that sixth birthday has this person muttered, “I don’t

know”…

2

         This so-called “age of enlightenment” in which we live is a deep mystery to me. One would think truckloads of  emphatic statements, pounded home with great vim and vigor, might be in evidence.

         And yet that’s not the case. What we hear instead are questions being asked by the billions. Surely someone out there, an “enlightened” human of course, can take an authoritative step forward and explain this strange enigma.

         Let’s see now. We’re all enlightened. And excited. And full of that warm-glow feeling! Our football savvy is first-rate, our rap-music artists second to none. Congress keeps us out of debt, our nation is completely free of crime ( the latest FBI report says violence is down, but murders are up. So help me Hannah, CNN just aired that tidbit ). Sixty percent of high-school graduates can sign their name and count to forty, our dope epidemic has been conquered. Pilgrim, we’re enlightened! Why this widespread need fer questions?

         Sophisticated computers with their amazing memory-banks fer stashin’ away valuable data are found in every American household. Everybody, Wall Street investors and small businessmen, paupers and panhandlers, owns one or more of the infernal contraptions. All the more reason I don’t understand this national obsession with interrogation.

         We have “super information highways” running in every direction …east to west, north to south, diagonally from Bangor to San Diego, from Miami to Seattle. Al Gore assures me all is hunky-dory, milk and sweet honey are flowing our way. I believe the questioning oughta’ stop.

         We have ourselves all these here “think-tanks,” most of ‘em on campus at Ivy League universities or in  downtown Washington. These organizations are staffed by smart-alecky whiz-kids who know everything. Boy wonders from Yale…wonder women from Harvard. Why this constant bombardment of questions?

         America has thousands of colleges dotting the landscape from coast to coast. Many offer business courses, which is another oddity I don’t understand. Not one among them could survive except for ridiculous tuition fees and government subsidies. These nuts are tellin’ students how to operate a business?! Don’t question…just accept.

         I walked down town just an hour ago and ran into a chap I hadn’t seen in quite a spell. He is a good illustration of the questions folks are asking: “I’m planning a hunting trip tomorrow, What about the weather?”

         We’ll  more’n  likely have some.” When questions are posed, I answer’em. However, never with great detail.

         A gentle old lady asked me this only yesterday: “What did the latest census reveal about the vampire population of Giles County?”

         Now ladies and gentlemen, there you have an example of the very few sensible questions I hear. I thought the answer to that one was obvious and a matter of common knowledge. Nonetheless the charming lady had asked and deserved a thoughtful response: “Well madam, as you’re no doubt aware, about 3 years ago our Board of Supervisors declared open season on those  cute little creatures of the night. All residents of Giles immediately armed themselves with wooden stakes and mallets, the result being a sharp downward trend in our vampire population. It’d be a shame to lose completely these creatures with the amazing ability to metamorphose from human to bat…and vice-versa.”

         “What a shame! Is there anything I can do to help stop the senseless carnage?”

         “Indeed maam you can. Attend the next Board of Supervisors meeting and invite all your neighbors to tag along. Demand these local officials place an immediate ban on the impaling of vampires. Insist on strict enforcement. We must all stand together during this crisis or find our vampires added to the endangered species list.”

         Never, never be guilty of that most unspeakable of sins, saying “I don’t know.”

         When interrogated, I give answers…

3 

         One should carry an ample supply of answers with him at all times. No matter where he travels, rural areas or urban, questioners are waiting in every cornfield, and in Times Square too. He finds inquiring males in subway tunnels, and inquisitive females at 30,000 feet during transcontinental flights. Don’t expect respite from folks seeking answers, you’ll find none. Be available, be of service, do your civic duty…give ‘em answers! 

         Quality in answering questions has never been a prerequisite for me, is not a major concern to fret about. Quanity…that’s what I’ve always stressed. I firmly believe one should have answers as fast as the questions come. Therefore speed is a factor…accuracy ain’t. Never, never sacrifice volume fer accuracy!

         I tote along 6 sturdy burlap sacks with me wherever I go. Somewhat bulky they are, filled with answers for every conceivable subject under the sun. Twenty additional sacks are always nearby in reserve, ready for instant use. Generally speaking, these are volume answers, not the quality type ( the reader is respectfully requested to keep mum about this ).

         Answers of good quality require extensive “research,” meaning a lotta’ time is involved…i.e., wasted. A person following that route is a “researcher” instead of  “an answerer of questions.” He’ll be of service to a laboratory, but useless to a general public desperately seeking answers. I’m content to leave research to trained technicians…I answer questions. I can’t go runnin’ off to a lab every time an inquiry comes my way!

         Can you imagine relying on researchers in life-or-death situations?

 They’d call in four teams of lawyers, want to “consult” with 6 consulting firms, bring in seers and soothsayers, and acquire the services of 15 committees. The poor questioner, meanwhile, has either choked to death or met his demise by the slashing hooves of stampeding wild mustangs ( a wee percentage of wild horses have been shod ). Don’t be a researcher…be rapid-fire with answers!

         ( let’s inject a word here about committees. Since the dawn of time on planet Earth at least 3 billion of ‘em have been organized, chartered, and by various other means came into being. Now pilgrim, let’s be perfectly frank about this matter, openness is sorely needed here. Mankind has not derived a great abundance of benefits from committees. The whole 3 billion of those groups have reached agreement in only one instance. Just think…billions of committees meeting for billions of years. And harmony only once! They’ve all agreed to meet again next month, same time, same place. That same place is the most luxurious eating establishment in town, with taxpayers footing the bill ).

         Within this very hour a fella’ asked me: “What’s the mileage from Bluff City to Lurich?” His voice was faltering, indicating an extremely advanced age into senility. I wondered if he was a native of this area, or a stranger among us. That would remain unknown to me, because I don’t ASK questions! I ANSWER questions! Whatever, his query seemed rather odd.

         “Yessir, “ I addressed the senior citizen who seemed somewhat confused, maybe even addled. “ It’s 185 miles overland, but only 130 as the crow flies.” Be prompt when a fellowman needs help, and be concise.

         Hopefully the above answer can be instructional to those among you who aspire to become “answerers of questions.” Some additional pointers to help make that noble dream come true. Stay away from in-depth analysis. Disregard all facts known to man ( though occasionally one must be used ). Use rumors frequently, wild speculation is encouraged. Guesswork is a tremendous asset. Even irrational rantings are often justified. Resorting to sign-language is acceptable when providing answers to an “intellectual elitist,” with strong emphasis on the finger motions.

         And again this final reminder. Don’t touch detail with a pole 40 miles long…

4

         Questions, inquiries, interrogation. Like tempest ocean tides churning in front of  devastating tsunami winds they come rolling to my doorstep.

         Ponder carefully, if you will, that opening sentence. Folks, you must understand. Like B-grade movies produced in Hollywood, this saga too has been saturated heavily with high drama and theatrics. As you’ve no doubt surmised many moons ago, the melodramatic is an integral part of the printed word appearing on this newspaper page. Flair and gusto will continue to be a regular feature here, perhaps even highlighted. Hypothetics are a tool, as are “what if’s.” Daydreaming is frequently used, second and third-hand reports are commonplace.

         If moronic plots are “hatchable” in Hollywood, then we’ll hatch a few right here. Without the smut and vulgarity, minus the debauchery and paganism.

         Anyone needing filth for his story-line ain’t worth an itsy-bitsy pinch of salt. I mean , he ain’t much at plottin.’ He’s a pervert mired deep in deviate ideas!

         This summation refers, of course, to them thar satanic eggheads out yonder in Tinseltown. Watch their garbage on yer idiot-box  tonite. I believe my point will be driven home with great force. Weird, sick stuff, surely the work of diseased minds possessed by gargoyles and demons!

         This tumultuous globe whizzing thru space is a scary, scary place. A truly frightening zone in an endless universe. By comparison, the “Twilight Zone” seems a milder and more peaceful neighborhood, a more civilized place to purchase a home. I’ve already instructed my real-estate agent to shop around. I’m gittin’outta’ here if a modest bungalow is available in that place founded by Rod Serling.

         Pal, what our troubled world needs is pure minds possessed by angels. Atheists and assorted other fools will dispute that. Sensible humans, however, will be both hesitant and fearful of entertaining thoughts to the contrary. Satanism…dangerous, dangerous stuff! Devil worshipers beware; bad things loom in your future. Evil and woe will surely come your way.

         `Here’s wishing you and yours happy holidays and a banner New Year. Immediately after the Yuletide season we’ll get back to those asinine question and answer sessions.

         They will be most unusual sessions. Some of those questions deal with alien realms and other unorthodox subjects. Therefore the answers will sound unworldly , as if coming from non-terrestrial sources. Remember, I don’t say, “I don’t know.”

         A little trip has been planned. We’ll soon embark on a journey not to Smutsburg where Hollywoodites dwell, but to an unincorporated locale not found on any maps. A place called Sillyville. I’ve checked with the best travel agencies, and this itenerary is by far their most exotic offer.

         A shapeless void is Sillyville, neither round nor square. A formless mass where contradiction is found. Nightmares come unending, normalcy is unheard of. Don’t fret about driving and gasoline stops. One travels there only in his mind and imagination.

         We’ll keep our attention focused on the absurd, the bizarre, the improbable, and the “ain’t no ways.” Our companions in this unearthly place  ( a long, long way from here )  will be monsters, ghosts, ghouls and UFO’s with crews of little green men

         Answers emanating from Sillyville won’t be “quality” types, nor even the volume kind. Only unconventional answers are found in this eerie place where “high-strangeness” rules.

         So then, filth and garbage are out the window. Tomfoolery is our thing. May we remain both resolute and steadfast in our relentless pursuit of clean words.

The End

M. L. Wilkinson

September, 1987