Posts by Dr. Boli
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THE MONKEYS AND THE BOAT.
From Dr. Boli’s Fables for Children Who Are Too Old to Believe in Fables.
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In honor of the seventh anniversary of his Magazine’s appearance on the World-Wide Web, Dr. Boli is reprinting a few notable items from the past seven years.
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Once there was a small island in the middle of a great river, and on this little island lived a tribe of monkeys. At first they lived very happily, for the island produced fruit in abundance. But as time went on, the monkeys multiplied faster than the fruit did, so that the whole tribe was hungry and miserable.
Now, one day it happened that the monkeys saw a boat full of intrepid explorers drifting down the river. They had never seen a boat before, and they were filled with wonder; but they were clever monkeys, and soon grasped the purpose of the thing.
“Behold,” said one especially bright young monkey: “those odd but obviously intelligent bald monkeys have hit on the simple and obvious solution to our food problem. If we were to build such a floating island as they have, we could all float downstream to a place of abundance, where we need never be hungry again.”
All the monkeys agreed that this was a capital idea—all but one, that is. She was an old grump who had never had a good idea in her life, and she never had a kind word for anybody.
“It’ll never work,” she said in a loud and grating screech. “No one can build a floating island.”
Here the chief of the monkeys spoke up. He was a wise and kindly monkey, always ready to acknowledge and reward a good idea when he heard one.
“On the contrary,” said the chief, “we have just seen it done: the bald monkeys have done it, and done it successfully. I decree, therefore, that a floating island shall be built, and that all monkeys of the tribe shall contribute to the building of it.”
All the monkeys cheered—all except the old grump.
“You’re all fools!” she screeched. “You’ll all drown in the river. No one can build a floating island.”
The others ignored her, for they had become accustomed to her outbursts and had learned to ignore them.
Immediately the whole tribe set to work. Some used sharp rocks to cut down small saplings; some cut the saplings into equal lengths; some gathered strong vines to lash them together. Everyone worked merrily—everyone, that is, except the old grump, who refused to have anything to do with the project. “You’ll all drown,” she told anyone who would listen, and anyone who would not listen as well. “No one can build a floating island.” The other monkeys began to find her quite annoying, but the wise and kindly chief advised them merely to ignore her and keep working. Success, he said, would be the best retort.
With all the monkeys working, a large raft quickly took shape; and when they pushed it into the water and saw that it floated, the whole tribe cried out with a triumphant cheer.
“And now,” said the chief when the cheering had died down, “we have but to float to our new home, where there will be fruit in abundance for all.” Then he turned to the old grump. “But you, old one, shall not accompany us. Since you took no part in the effort of the whole tribe, you shall not share in its success.”
The monkeys all nodded and murmured their approval at the chief’s wise and just decision.
“For the rest of us, let us leap to our floating island and float to the land of plenty!”
With a mighty cheer, all the monkeys leapt at once to the raft they had constructed. Immediately it broke apart and sank under their weight, and the monkeys were carried away by the swift current and never heard from again.
The old grump, however, had the island to herself, with all the fruit she could want, and she lived out the rest of her days in peace and plenty.
MORAL: There’s a reason why so many grumps are old.
YOUR CALL IS IMPORTANT TO US.
In honor of the seventh anniversary of his Magazine’s appearance on the World-Wide Web, Dr. Boli is reprinting a few notable items from the past seven years.
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Thank you for calling the 911 Emergency Services Hotline. All our operators are busy at the moment, but your call is very important to us. Please stay on the line and your call will be answered in the order in which it was received.
Did you know that the 911 Emergency Services Hotline is now a county-wide service? All our operations have been streamlined for maximum efficiency to better serve you, our customers. Your county government cares about you.
All our operators are still busy at the moment, but your call is very important to us. Please stay on the line and your call will be answered in the order in which it was received.
The Yohogania County 911 Emergency Services Hotline utilizes the latest in emergency-response telephony to improve your 911 service experience. Your tax dollars have been wisely invested in the most modern computerized switching and call-transfer equipment. Your county government works hard to make the best use of the money you entrust to us.
All our operators are still busy at the moment, but your call is very important to us. Please stay on the line and your call will be answered in the order in which it was received.
On-hold music for the 911 Emergency Services Hotline has been provided for your listening pleasure by Acoustic Relaxations, Inc., a Yohogania-County-based service providing fine unchallenging solo guitar music for background purposes to businesses and institutions for over fifteen years. Your county government supports the arts.
All our operators are still busy at the moment, but your call is very important to us. Please stay on the line and your call will be answered in the order in which it was received.
Your Yohogania County 911 Emergency Services Hotline is supported in part by a grant from FEMA, the Federal Emergency Medley Administration, which promulgates standards for on-hold music for emergency hotlines nationwide. You may be assured that the on-hold music you are enjoying right now meets the strictest federal standards.
Due to unforeseen circumstances, the 911 Emergency Services Hotline is experiencing a heavier-than-normal call volume at this time. Please hang up now and call back at a less congested time. We apologize for any inconvenience. Thank you.
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COOKING FOR ONE.
In honor of the seventh anniversary of his Magazine’s appearance on the World-Wide Web, Dr. Boli is reprinting a few notable items from the past seven years.
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Well, here we are again with Herb’s Cooking for One, the show where we cook things guys like to eat. I’m Al, filling in for Herb, who’d sure rather be here than hooked up to that stomach pump where he is now.
Today we’re going to do a typical guy breakfast. It’s called Corn Flakes, and it’s really not so hard once you get the hang of it.
The first thing you need to do is get the ingredients together, which is what we always do. If you don’t have your ingredients, you can’t cook worth beans. That’s what Herb always says, or at least he did when he could still talk. In this case, our ingredients are the corn flakes themselves, which come in a big cardboard box that looks like this, and the milk, which you probably have in your refrigerator, and the sugar, which comes in a bowl that your wife probably left in the china cupboard somewhere. This is like the one time in your life you’re ever going to see the inside of that china cupboard, guys, so make the most of it. Have a party or something.
Now, the first thing to do is get the box. And you’ll discover right away that the box has all sorts of interesting things to read on it. Like here on the back, it says what to do to have a healthy lifestyle. Guys, your box of corn flakes isn’t just food, it’s like the only medical encyclopedia you’ll ever need. Like here it says that walking is good exercise. Well, I walked from the parking lot into the studio today, so I don’t need any more exercise. Now, you see, I wouldn’t have known that if I hadn’t read the back of the box of corn flakes.
And over here in the stuff they call “Nutrition Information,” you can see that this has 25% of about a billion different kinds of vitamins. So it stands to reason that all you have to eat is four bowls of corn flakes a day, and you’ll get all the nutrition you need. Of course, you’ll probably still want a pizza or two. Now, up here it says that the corn flakes are “part of a nutritious breakfast.” Remember, the corn flakes by themselves aren’t enough. That’s why you have to add the milk and the sugar.
But anyway, you have to stop reading sometime and actually open the box. If you look at the top, you can see there’s this little tab you’re supposed to lift up, and the box just sort of magically opens. That never works. Besides, what they never tell you is that there’s a sealed plastic bag inside there, so you still wouldn’t have your corn flakes even if you did get that stupid tab open. That’s why I have this circular saw. I just put the box on its side like this, and then I turn on the [—–inaudible—–] like that. And you see? Cut right across the top, nice and square. And I’ll screw that piece of counter back on later.
Now we dump the corn flakes into a bowl. I didn’t actually find a clean bowl, but I have this margarine tub that works just as well. I’d better take out the margarine first, though. There. Now we put the corn flakes in the bowl, and now we have to get the milk. I’ve already opened the milk carton—see that nice square cut?—so I don’t have to do that now, but the technique is just like with the cornflakes box. This is brand-new milk, so it’s still in liquid form, which is the best kind. Don’t use that chunky stuff in the back of your refrigerator unless you can’t get the new stuff. So just pour that over the corn flakes like this. That was easy, wasn’t it?
Now comes the sugar. As far as I can tell, most sugar bowls were designed to hold one serving of sugar, which is really convenient. So just turn it over and pour. If it overflows the bowl a bit and spills on the floor, don’t worry. As I always say, that’s why you have a dog.
And there you are. Now all you need is a spoon, or if you can’t find one you need to be kind of quick with a fork to get the milk. Never tried it with chopsticks, but maybe some of my Asian viewers could write in and tell me how it’s done.
Well, it looks like we’re all done here. Don’t forget to tell your wife you need a new sugar bowl, ’cause the old one’s empty. And that’s it for this week’s show.
Herb is still out of commission, but you can see him later tonight in that documentary about food safety they’ve been advertising all week. Till next week, I’m Al, saying what Herb always says, which is, Remember, cooking is for guys, too.
THE SINGULAR ASPECT.
As he has done every year, Dr. Boli celebrates the anniversary of his migration to the World-Wide Web by reprinting the first story he ever published in electrical form.
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A man walked into Abelard’s office the other day and announced that he had a singular case. Our morning had begun with tea, as usual, but I had hardly poured the first cup when the office door opened and the man with the singular case walked in.
It is well known by now that Magnus Abelard deals only with singular cases, so everyone who walks through the door announces that he has a singular case. Nevertheless, the door is, by Abelard’s explicit command, never locked; and this case really did turn out to be singular. I have taken the trouble, therefore, to record it among Abelard’s most remarkable achievements, in the hope that the record will serve as an imperishable monument to Abelard’s genius.
We began with the usual formalities. I informed our visitor that he would have ten minutes to convince Abelard of the singularity of his case. I also explained the payment schedule in the unlikely event that Abelard did pronounce his case singular. Abelard did not speak during the proceedings; he never does speak until some singular aspect of the case has caught his attention.
“Mine is a singular case,” the visitor began as I took notes. “Indeed, it is so singular that I have not spoken with anyone about it until now. I have lived for ten years in fear for my life—a fear all the worse for being secret. I have not dared reveal it to anyone, and yet it eats at me, day after day, hour after hour, like a kind of parasitic creature that gnaws but cannot consume.”
“You have nine and a half minutes,” I reminded him.
“Ten years ago, my wife, to whom I had been married only a month, announced that she had a few purchases to make, and declared her intention to walk to the drug store on Murray Avenue. She would be gone for about an hour, she said. I bid her farewell; she walked out the door; and that, Mr. Abelard, was the last time I ever saw her.
“I shall not weary you with the details of my inquiries. Over the years, I have found opportunities to interrogate our neighbors and the clerks at the drug store. From their statements, I have discovered that my wife did indeed reach the drug store; that she left and turned right on Murray Avenue; that she was last seen walking on Phillips, the very street on which we lived, in the direction of our house. But she never arrived.”
Here the visitor stopped; and, as Abelard was still silent, I knew the narration had not interested him enough for him to take the case. It was therefore incumbent upon me to disappoint our visitor.
“Disappearances such as the one you describe,” I told him, “while exceedingly regrettable, are not extraordinarily uncommon. Perhaps the city police, or a less specialized private agency, might be able to render you some assistance.”
Our visitor sat back in his chair and sighed. “I have not yet revealed to you,” he said slowly and quietly, “the singular aspect of the case.”
Abelard leaned forward. This statement had at least caught his attention.
The visitor took a deep breath, appeared to think for a moment, and then continued, picking his words with care and deliberation.
“About an hour after my wife left, a woman entered my house by the front door. She entered boldly—as if she owned the place, you might say. Now here is the singular and remarkable thing: in every particular, this woman was the exact image of my missing wife. Even her clothes were the same as the ones my wife had been wearing when she left. She proceeded to make herself quite at home; she treated me as though she were actually my wife.”
Here the visitor leaned forward and lowered his voice about a fifth. “For ten years, Mr. Abelard, that woman has inhabited my house, living in every respect as though she were my wife. For ten long years, I have lived in fear, utterly convinced that this woman in my house is somehow deeply involved in the mystery, and afraid even to sleep at night—afraid I might fall prey to the same sinister forces that took my beloved wife from me. The fear is tearing at my soul, sir, and I have at last resolved that, whatever the cost to myself, I must unravel this mystery.”
A moment of silence followed; then Abelard spoke for the first time.
“And how exactly was it that you knew this woman was not really your wife, returned from her shopping trip?”
The visitor started forward; then he sank slowly back in his chair, staring straight ahead.
“Good lord,” he whispered hoarsely.
Abelard observed him closely.
“Good lord,” the visitor said again, somewhat louder this time. “I never thought of that.”
He sat upright in his chair with a new air of confidence. “Well, sir, you certainly have earned your reputation. I never would have imagined that a mystery of such devilish complexity could be unraveled in such a short time. I shall certainly be recommending your agency. You may expect a check from me in the morning, although you must be aware that no remuneration could ever express my profound gratitude. I bid you good day, and once again I thank you from the bottom of my heart.”
Abelard watched him walk out of the office with a jaunty confidence that had been completely foreign to him only minutes before.
For some time after, Abelard was silent, as though lost in thought. At last he turned to address me.
“Perhaps,” he said, “we ought to reconsider the idea of locking the door.”
FROM THE ILLUSTRATED EDITION.
WHY MODERNISM HAD TO HAPPEN IN ART.
Modernism was necessary because this painting—“Blanchette’s Wedding,” by Edmond van der Meulen—was accepted for a place in the Paris Salon of 1896, the world’s most prestigious annual exhibition, conferring on it the seal of the art establishment’s approval as a work of enduring merit. (Dr. Boli regrets that he has not been able to find a color reproduction, in spite of thirty-five seconds of earnest searching.) Perhaps we may judge great art by the questions it provokes in the mind of the viewer. In this case, the question we must ask ourselves is this: Do you suppose the bride and groom met while playing poker?
UNEXPLAINED PHENOMENA.
Prof. von Drizzel’s inexplicable wheelless snow vehicle.
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The average human can hold his breath under water for no more than four minutes, yet many species of fish can stay under water for years at a time without drowning.
The process by which heat turns dough into bread is regarded by most competent chemists as a variety of magic.
Considerable progress has been made in reducing magnetic phenomena to scientific laws, yet no one knows where magnetism comes from.
A rolling stone in Somerset, Penna., briefly gathered moss before rolling into a storm sewer.
Prof. Ernst von Drizzel of Leipzig has created a vehicle that moves on snow or ice entirely without the use of wheels, but cannot explain the principle behind it.
Experiments at the top of the U. S. Steel Tower have shown that, contrary to all scientific expectation, a cape and tights are not sufficient to impart the power of flight.
With all their musical talent, song sparrows have never been known to perform medleys of Broadway standards.
FROM THE ILLUSTRATED EDITION.
