Zorkophsky’s “The Life Cycle of the American Male” (RR)


by OPOVV, ©2019

Photo: Free-Photos at Pixabay

(Nov. 7, 2019) — “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, and a hearty welcome to ‘The Pulse of the Nation,’ a place where the truth is presented boldly and without reservation. Hello, my name is Roving, as in Roving Reporter (RR), and, as you can see, we’re back in Professor Zorkophsky’s office that now encompasses a whole building here at our university. Welcome to the show, Professor Zorkophsky. Now, before we begin hawking your new bestseller, I noticed that the lawn was all dug-up next to the building, and I further noticed a lattice of pipes; what’s that all about?”

“Oh, nothing drastic, just having a croquet court installed. And you should know by now, Roving, call me ‘Zork’ as long as we’re in my home away from home but, come to think of it, it’s recently my full-time abode: mi casa su casa, or something like that.”

“And the pipes?”

“Well, now, think about it: what if it’s winter and it just happens to snow, what then? How would you expect to play croquet in the snow, tell me that, if you could. Heat, think heat: heating pipes to melt the snow. And those concrete pads at each corner? For the mercury vapor light towers so the setting sun doesn’t have to interrupt play.”

“My fault; sorry. I should have known. Now, about your new book, ‘The Life Cycle of the American Male.’”

“What about it?”

“You tell me. Like, how’s it broken down? How does it start?”

“It starts when boys begin to notice girls as another living being sharing the same area, like in a room or on a playground, but separate, like when you go to the zoo type of thing.”

“You mean when boys look at girls as something different, but with the arms and legs?”

“You’re getting the idea. Now, we here in the United States instruct our young men to treat girls with respect, so between the ages of six and eighteen it’s a hands-off approach so as not to get the young lady with child, you follow?”

“Oh, sure I follow, but the message isn’t getting to a heck of a lot of today’s young men in America; now that’s a fact.”

“It is indeed a fact, sad to say, since the Teachers’ Union no longer instructs our kids how to read and comprehend birth control instructions.”

“Are you going to make a stork joke?”

“Abortion is no joke, Roving.”

“Of course not; sorry. So, what was that, Phase One?”

“Yes, and now we’re introduced to Phase Two, and that’s when a young man’s fate is umbilically tied to the health of his automobile. If he can keep the gas tank filled and the retreads patched — heck, let’s include the spare — he’ll make it to his thirtieth birthday in reasonably good order, but that’s pretty rare.”

“Yes, you’re right about that.”

Image: OpenClipart-Vectors at Pixabay

Phase Three in an American male’s life when the automobile takes over 100%. This is when he freaks when the gas gauge reaches half and there’s no gas station in sight. It’s the time when he becomes an expert on shines and carnauba waxes. It’s when he has a digital tire pressure gauge that reads to the tenth. And then comes Phase Four.”

“What happens in that phase?”

“The world stops, is what happens. It’s when the mechanicals take over; when the electrons rule; when a half of degree out is too much to handle.”

“Now this time say it so we can all understand.”

“It just means it all comes together; to be one with the machine: whatever can be balanced is balanced; ignition timing exact; and the alignment precise. This phase can last for a year or a lifetime, but most grow out of it only to reach Phase Five.”

“This ought to be good.”

“And it is. All the previous phases come together to produce a ride that has good mechanicals, excellent tires and is reliable.”

“No custom car-show waxes?”

“And no loud exhaust. No attention-getter. No squealing from light to light.”

“And that’s your book?”

Image: ArtTower at Pixabay

“With appropriate photos of my rides traveling through life.”

“So it’s an autobiography*?”

“But of course.”

“You’re a funny guy, Zork. And so, on behalf of the crew, we’ll be wishing you all smooth rides while we say goodnight: Goodnight.

“Good show. Burger time: my treat.”

[*autobiography: congratulations, you just read the longest pun ever written.]

You’re Sixteen” (2:49)



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