by Roving Reporter, ©2022
(Oct. 17, 2022) — “My Sweet Lord” (4:41)
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to ‘The Pulse of the Nation,’ the place to hear it here first. Back by popular demand, Professor ‘Trash-the-Masks’ Zorkophsky is here to set the record straight on something. Well, now, what is it this time?”
“Thank you, Roving, for such an in-depth and accurate introduction; it’s very much appreciated, I must say. It’s always a pleasure when the stage is set so completely that I don’t have to fill in on past achievements, awards and accolades, such as stating that I’m the best-selling author of ‘The Textbook for the Armature Psychiatrist’; ‘If You Rely on Youtube to do a Brake Job on Your Pickup, Don’t’; and ‘If the Wife Commits Adultery, She Just Don’t Want You Around Anymore so Face the Music and Leave.’ And I don’t have to rehash my time ‘In Country’ when I was ‘volunteered’ to deliver ‘medical supplies’ and ended up in a firefight to save mine and others’ lives.”
“You’re entirely welcome, Professor Zorkophsky.”
“Gosh, Roving, not only are you rude, but you’re dense as well.”
“And then you got so frustrated with the VA you went out and got your college degree in ‘Really Abnormal Psychiatry for the Nuts Out There’; is that right?”
“Yes, and now that the introduction is over and done with, except for the times I worked at the VA — until they fired me for refusing to push Downers down the throats of unsuspecting patients — and when I was a university professor until I retired with full pension. And then I started my writing career and here I am, hawking yet another bestseller, this time to buy a lake on the Minnesota/Canadian boundary line.”
“Well, now that the introduction is over, what have you got for us?”
“I got this: ever notice that, in any group, there’s always someone at the top? Well, there’s always someone at the bottom, too. Take judges, for instance. I don’t know which judge is at the top, but we sure know who’s at the bottom.”
“Why, none other than Mr. Gestapo himself, Judge C. Winston Gilchrist of North Carolina, who orders jurors to wear a mask and if they don’t comply, throws them in jail.”
“But doesn’t the judge know that masks don’t work, that masks are completely useless?”
“Remember when I said somebody has to be last?”
“Yes, I remember.”
“Well, Judge C. Winston Gilchrist is at the end of the line when it comes to judges that can only be described as just plain stupid, and there’s no need to sugarcoat it any further.”
“I agree; no use kicking a dead horse. Let’s say we take a quick break. Don’t go anywhere.”
“We’ve Only Just Begun” (3:04)
“And we’re back with Professor Zorkophsky who has a poem to read; isn’t that right?”
“Please, Roving, call me ‘Zork’ because I think it makes for a more relaxing atmosphere.”
“Okay, Zork, what have you got for us?”
“Just this little ditty:
Heading down the beach in a little car at dusk as the stars and the moon came up from the East,
Heading past the lighthouse, off to the inlet to welcome the night,
We were greeted by a sudden squall that had all the trimmings: thick cloud bank obliterating the moon and the stars; fog bank obscuring any landmarks; and a cold wind kicking up ocean spray, and since I failed to call the Coast Guard for a high-tide report, we were greeted by a Spring Tide.
It was easy to get turned around, avoiding the surging waters flowing in and then flowing out, until I was lost, truly lost with no direction back to dry land and safety.
It was one of those moments that could lead to death: high tide, car washed into the inlet and two drowned beachcombers who got caught unawares.
Now I know this sounds a little made-up, but the truth of the matter is that I desperately needed to find the North Star, so I stopped the car and looked up, and up and up all around and, there it was, just for an instant, a flicker, a star.
Now I know there are billions of stars in the sky, and millions and millions on the same plane and azimuth but for some reason I had a feeling that what I saw was the one star that I needed to see.
Call it a hunch; say the heavens parted. Say what you will; all I can say is that I jumped back in the car (the tide was up to my ankles at this point, the wind was starting to howl, white froth was kicking up) and gunned it like there was no tomorrow (which there wasn’t) and headed in the direction of the star.
The time in my life when I felt relief was the time I saw dry sand, and then the road home.
Thank you, Jesus.
“So, what happened?”
“Ten years after she cheated on me, I left; heck, if she wanted to be with other men, let her, but not with me around. And a couple of years later, when I couldn’t bring myself to forgive her, I divorced her. Worst day of my life.”
“Yes, divorce is one of life’s most traumatic experiences, some say more than death because failure is hard to live with, if you know what I mean.”
“I know exactly what you mean.”
“And that’ll do it for this episode of ‘Pulse,’ the most-watched information show in its time slot. So, Jesus saved you two from drowning and then a divorce; doesn’t make any sense.”
“It does when you add a healthy dose of PTSD and drugs. Beer and cigarettes are just as much a drug as meth and whiskey or marijuana and wine.”
“I suppose so. Okay, now, this is your Roving Reporter, along with Zork, wishing each of you a goodnight: Goodnight.
“Good show. Burger time: my treat.”