No. 61.—The Chipmunk.

Once upon a time there was a chipmunk. Now, you’re probably thinking you know all about him already. You probably think he was Chipper, and he ate Chipped Ham, and his name was something alliterative like Chester or Cholmondeley, or even something like my name, which is Cheswick, except that’s my last name, and we’re talking about his first name, which wasn’t alliterative with “Chipmunk” at all, and you might think it was but you’re wrong. His name was Ralph. But he hated the name Ralph, so he went by the name Abernathy. However, no one he knew could remember the name “Abernathy,” so they all called him Phil. So one day Phil the Chipmunk was out gathering nuts in the woods. He gathered some chestnuts, and he gathered some walnuts, and he gathered some butternuts, and he gathered some peanuts, and then he said, “Wait a minute, peanuts don’t grow in the woods. I must be in a field in Virginia or Georgia.” But he wasn’t in a field, and someone had put the peanuts there just to fool him. I don’t know why they wanted to fool a chipmunk into thinking he was in a field in Virginia. Some people are just like that, I guess. So while Phil was gathering all these nuts, along came a red squirrel, and she said, “What’s your name?” And he said, “My name is Abernathy.” And she said, “Really? What a coincidence! My name is Phil, too!” And they lived happily ever after except for the mortgage crisis in 2007, when they lost a lot of the nuts they had invested. This shows you that you shouldn’t use nuts to speculate in dubious loans, but you should bury them in the woods instead, and then they’ll grow into big nut trees, and you won’t have the nuts, but someone fifty years later long after you’re dead will be able to eat nuts from those trees, or maybe bury them and make more trees, and eventually we’ll have nothing but nut trees as far as we can see. I hope we all learned our lesson from that. Next week I’ll tell you the story of the itsy bitsy spider who had a lemonade stand in Nuuk, which didn’t work out very well for her, but I don’t want to spoil it for you. Till then, this is your old friend Mrs. Cheswick saying eat your granola or something, cause I want to have a good effect on you kids.

Announcer. And now Malt-O-Cod, the only malt food drink flavored with real cod-liver oil, presents…

[Music: Fanfare.]

Announcer. The Adventures of Sir Montague Blastoff, Interplanetary Space Dragoon!

[Music: Theme, in and under for…]

Announcer. As you remember, in last week’s episode, Sir Montague and Colonel Darling were on their way back from performing a routine orbital tuneup on Pluto when they spotted a strange alien ship from a race never encountered before by human beings.

[Music: Fade.]

Sir M. I say, Colonel, what can your panel full of glowing rectangles tell us about their ship?

Col. D. It’s not much of a ship, Monty. It seems to be powered by a very basic thermidorian reactor. And I don’t think it has any weapons, because if it did, this rectangle would be red, and it’s more of a sort of chartreuse color.

Sir M. Then they must be peaceful explorers, which will save a rotten lot of paperwork when we get back to base. See if you can hail them with the universal hailing thingy.

Col. D. Sending standard greeting now. Oh, look, Monty! This rectangle is glowing green! That means they’re responding! Let me see if I can— There! I have the strange extraterrestrial creatures on visual.

Alien voice. Greetings, strange extrafilzippial creatures. We are explorers from the planet Filzip, and we are intensely curious about your planetary system.

Sir M. How delightful! We’ll be more than happy to tell you about the solar system. We’re rather proud of it, if you don’t mind my saying so.

Alien voice. How is your planetary system configured?

Sir M. Well, we’ve got eight planets. Well, nine. Or rather eight. Actually, we’re still having arguments about that, don’t you know. But they’re all lovely places. There’s Mercury—

Col. D. It’s so romantic there! If you stand in the right place, you get a perpetual sunset.

Sir M. And then there’s Venus—

Col. D. I love the saunas!

Sir M. Quite so, though the acid does tend to sting a bit. And then there’s Earth—

Col. D. Earth has the best shopping.

Sir M. Earth is also where the Interplanetary Space Command headquarters is, of course, which I’m sure accounts for some of the shopping.

Col. D. And then there’s Mars. Borrrr-ing.

Sir M. Mars is rather suburban. Everyone tells me it’s a very nice place to live, but not really known for its cultural opportunities. But then Jupiter—

Col. D. Not much there, is there, Monty?

Sir M. True, but the moons are quite trendy. Likewise with Saturn, although Triton is a bit run down these days. Mostly tawdry ten-cents-a-dance ballrooms and that sort of thing.

Col. D. They’re not that tawdry. I mean, not that I’d know, of course, but still…

Sir M. But there’s still quite a bit of undeveloped property on Uranus and Neptune. I understand the land is being sold off in lots at very reasonable prices.

Col. D. Might be a good place to settle down and raise a family, right, Monty? I mean, hypothetically.

Sir M. Yes, quite. Hypothetically. On a purely hypothetical level. —So that’s our solar system, and I hope we’ve given you the information you wanted.

Alien Voice. Thank you very much. You have provided the necessary information for our invasion.

[Music: Stinger.]

Sir M. I say! Invasion?

Alien Voice. Our system has just two cruddy planets, and we’re running out of room. Yours sounds ever so much nicer.

Col. D. But, gosh!

[Music: Theme, in and under for…]

Announcer. Will Sir Montague and Colonel Darling be able to stop the alien invasion they seem to have started? Don’t miss next week’s dialogue-packed episode! Till then, kids, don’t forget to wear down your parents’ resistance. They may think you don’t need more Malt-O-Cod, but you know you can’t let a day go by without the rich, satisfying flavor of real cod-liver oil. Tell them you need a fix now, or you can’t be responsible for your actions. It’s the malt food drink that’s brain food—Malt-O-Cod!

[Music: In full, then out.]

No. 118.—The Gopher.

Once upon a time there was a gopher. Actually it was a groundhog, or a woodchuck. I’m pretty sure they’re the same thing, but I don’t know whether a gopher is the same thing as a groundhog. Or a woodchuck. I’m leaning toward saying that it is, but I know someone is going to look it up in Wikipedia and prove me wrong. I suppose I could look it up in Wikipedia first and forestall all that, but then I’d never get my story done, would I? So there was this gopher. Or groundhog. And there was also another groundhog or gopher. So anyway, the first one said to the second, “Hey, what’s that stuff on the back of your neck?” And the second one said, “That’s fur.” And the first one said, “Oh, I see. Do I have fur, too? Because I never see the back of my own neck.” And the second one said, “Yes, you have fur, and if you wanted to see it, I could take a picture of the back of your neck with my cell phone.” And the first one said, “Well, that sounds like a good idea, because then I would be able to see the back of my neck.” You see, groundhogs don’t have mirrors, so they can’t usually see the backs of their necks. Though come to think of it, they couldn’t see the backs of their necks even if they did have a mirror, could they? Well, I suppose maybe if they had two mirrors. I’ve never seen the back of my neck in the mirror, but I’m pretty sure I have a neck. So anyway, the first gopher took a picture of the back of the second one’s neck. No, I’m sorry, it was the second one who had the cell phone, and he took a picture of the first one’s neck. I think. And then the first one looked at the picture and said, “Well, my neck looks pretty much like yours. I guess we all look alike, neckwise.” And the second gopher said, “Not Willoughby over there, because he had an unfortunate encounter with a lawn mower, although the lawn mower came out of it worse than he did.” So anyway, that’s how the two groundhogs learned to be careful of lawn mowers, which was a good lesson for them, and I hope you learn it too some day. And Willoughby lived happily ever after in spite of his bald spot, so don’t feel sorry for him. So that’s our story of the two woodchucks, and I hope we all learned our lesson from it. Next week I’ll tell you the story of the family of barn swallows and how they learned to beware of telephone scammers. Till then, this is your old friend Mrs. Cheswick saying I hope you all listen to your parents and don’t go reporting them to Children and Youth Services just because they left you locked in a hot car and you came down with heat stroke, because really you were fine in a couple of days.

Announcer. And now Malt-O-Cod, the malt food drink that’s brain food, presents…

(Music: Fanfare.)

Space Chicken. Bwuck-bucbucbuc-buckabucbuck-buckAWP!

Announcer. The adventures of Space Chicken!

(Music: Theme, in and under for…)

Announcer. Yes, it’s Space Chicken, the avian ace whose skill and quick wit are matched only by her sheer stout-hearted pluck!

Space Chicken. BuckAWWWWP!

Announcer. Oh! Sorry. I won’t use that word.

(Music: In full, then fade under…)

Announcer. As you recall from last week’s episode, Space Chicken had been rocketing across the galaxy in her streamlined space racer, the Pullet Bullet, when suddenly her ship was entangled in a strange alien farce field.

Space Chicken. BuckAWWPbucbucbuck!

Announcer. Weird alien beings with green skin and long green robes materialize in the cockpit of the Pullet Bullet.

Space Chicken. Brawwwk!

Alien Being (reverberating voice). Greetings, earth traveler! We are beings from a distant star, and we demand information from you.

Space Chicken. BAWWKbucbucbuck!

Alien Being. No, not the disposition of your earth fleet. We have no interest in military matters. We have been studying your earth philosophy, and we want you to explain to us the difference between the Aristotelian and the Cartesian conception of the self.

Space Chicken. BucBAWWKbucbucbucbuck!

Alien Being. We have brought these persuasion devices to convince you if you are recalcitrant. It would be best to begin at once.

Space Chicken. Bwawwkbucbucbwawwk!

Alien Being. Well, of course, I am familiar with Descartes’ famous dictum. Everyone in the galaxy has heard that one.

Space Chicken. BucbucBAWKbuck!

Alien Being. Well, that’s ridiculous. You can’t just say that Aristotle meant the same thing when he said “I” that Descartes meant. That‘s avoiding the issue.

Space Chicken. BuckaBWAWKbucbucbuc!

Alien Being. Yes, I know, thinking animal. But there must be some substantial difference between them.

Space Chicken. BWAWK! BucbucbucBAWWWK!

Alien Being. Is that so? Well, perhaps you will not be so stubborn when we have applied our persuasion devices.

Space Chicken. BuckAWPbucbucbuc!

Alien Being. Yes, these are aqueous projection units. They emit a broad stream of water which will cause the uncomfortable and unpleasant sensation of being wet.

Space Chicken. BRAWWWWKbucbucbuck!

Alien Being. You still refuse to state the difference between the Cartesian and Aristotelian notions of the self? Then you leave us no alternative.

(Sound: Loud squirting and splashing and flapping.)

Space Chicken. BAWWWK! BAWKABAWKA­BAWKA­BAWWWWWK! BRAAAWWWKA­BUC­BUC­BUCK BRAWWWK BRAWWWK BRAAAWK! BRAKKA­BUCKA­BRAKKA­BRAWWWK! Buck­AWWP­BRAAWP­BRAWWWWWK!

Alien Being. Look out! She’s mad as some sort of previously unknown life form that we have no proverbial expression to describe!

Space Chicken. BRAWPA BUC­BUC­BUC­BRAWWWWWK! BRAWWK­BRAWWK­BUCK­AWWWPA­BRAWWWP! BRAAAWKA­BUCKA­BUCKA­BUCKA­BRAWWK!

Announcer. Will the mysterious aliens survive their encounter with Space Chicken in her wet form? Don’t miss the surprising answer in the next thrilling episode of Space Chicken!

(Music: Theme, in and under for…)

Announcer. Kids, you can travel the length and breadth of the galaxy, but you’ll never find a better malt food drink than Malt-O-Cod. The secret is in the real cod-liver oil that goes into every satisfying glass. Nothing but the cream of the North Atlantic cod fisheries is good enough for Malt-O Cod, now with the official Space Chicken decoder mallet in every specially marked package. It’s the malt food drink that’s brain food—Malt-O-Cod!

(Music: In full, then out.)

Q. What did the cow cop say to the juvenile delinquents?

A. Mooooooooooooooooooooove along there, boys!

---

Q. How did the dog pirate sail the seven seas?

A. On a barque!

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Q. How did the snake photographer judge his exposures?

A. With a hissssssssssssstogram!

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Q. How did the alpaca calculate the square root of 137?

A. With a calculator, same as everybody else!

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Q. How did Mrs. Owl do her daily cleaning?

A. With a Hoooooooooooooooooooover!

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Q. How did the horse vote in borough council?

A. Neigh!

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Q. What did the coral say to the sea anemone?

A. Not a whole lot!

Announcer. Malt-O-Cod, the delicious and nutritious malt food drink flavored with real cod-liver oil, presents…

(Music: Theme, up and under for…)

Announcer. The Adventures of Backstory Man and Angst Boy!

(Music: In full, then fade to engine revving behind…)

Announcer. Our new story opens with Backstory Man and Angst Boy racing down the boulevard in the Backstorymobile toward a bank robbery in progress, when we hear Angst Boy say…

Angst Boy. I just think it would be easier if you could do some of the driving some of the time, that’s all. It makes me feel like you only value me for my license.

Backstory Man. I have certain reasons for not learning to drive—reasons that I have not hitherto divulged to anyone.

Angst Boy. Gee, it’s not like you to hold back on something like that.

Backstory Man. But now I shall tell you. Back when I was only fifteen years old, my brother Herbie and I used to—

Angst Boy. Oh, look, we’re at the bank already.

(Sound: Brakes squealing.)

Angst Boy. I have an acute and depressing feeling of apprehension about this bank robbery.

Backstory Man. It will pass with time. Meanwhile, let us walk the five steps it will take us to get inside the bank, which is a considerably shorter distance than I walked when I was picking grapes in the Pays d’Oc at the winery of an Italian mobster who was a complete teetotaler.

(Sound: A few footsteps.)

Angst Boy. As I thought. There’s a guy robbing the bank by pointing his iPhone at the teller. Sometimes I think I was born into the stupid part of the multiverse by mistake.

Backstory Man. Stop, villain! Put down that phone and tell me who you are and what you are doing here.

The Thief. They call me… “The Thief.”

Angst Boy. The…Thief?

The Thief. Because I take stuff.

Backstory Man. Well, Mr. Thief, as a duly deputized officer of the law, having been made an honorary sheriff’s deputy at the age of three when my aunt Matilda took me to the City Police Law Enforcement Fun Fair for my birthday, because she couldn’t afford a real present, I am placing you under arrest.

The Thief. Oh, you are, are you?

Backstory Man. But first, in order to establish a certain amount of sympathy for the villain and create a shallow veneer of depth for our story, I will give you an opportunity to tell us your tragic backstory.

The Thief. Tragic backstory?

Angst Boy. Well, of course. Every villain has a tragic backstory. You must have some incident in your past that haunts you and made you into the villain you are today.

The Thief. Oh, yes, mine’s a doozy. I remember it clearly. There was one incident in my childhood that I distinctly recall as the thing that set me off down the path of villainy.

Backstory Man. And what was this tragic turning point in your past?

The Thief. Well, once when I was about five years old, my mother brought home some cookies, and she put them in the cookie jar, but she said I couldn’t have any till after dinner.

Angst Boy. Oh, I know where this is going.

The Thief. So when she left the room, I reached into the cookie jar and took one. And that’s my tragic backstory.

Angst Boy. Well, I guess I didn’t know where this was going.

Backstory Man. But surely there must be more tragedy than that in your story.

The Thief. Don’t you see? I learned from that incident that I could have things I wanted just by taking them! It’s the one thing that made me into the Thief, the man who takes things when he wants them.

Backstory Man. Well, Mr. Thief, I, too, have a tragic backstory, an indelible stain in my memory that accounts for my life of fighting crime, and now you shall hear it. Back when I was only fifteen years old, my brother Herbie and I used to—

The Thief. Look, do you think you could just book me now? I’m supposed to rob the Polithania Savings Bank by two. If I don’t get there in time, they’ll start to wonder what happened to me.

Announcer. Will Backstory Man get to tell the Thief his tragic backstory before the close of next week’s episode? Don’t forget to tune in to next week’s episode to find out!

(Music: Theme, in and under for…)

Announcer. Kids, the fast pace of modern life and the uncertainty of a future that has got darker with every passing year may tempt you to despair. But then there’s Malt-O-Cod. A tall glass of that delicious malt mixed with real cod-liver oil from the cream of the Atlantic cod fisheries will make you feel optimistic for about fifteen minutes. Then you’ll need another fix.

(Music: In full, then out.)

Announcer. And now Malt-O-Cod, the only malt food drink flavored with real cod-liver oil, presents…

(Music: Trumpet fanfare.)

Announcer. The Adventures of Dictionary Guy!

(Music: Sousa’s “Library of Congress” March, in full and under for…)

Announcer. Yes, it’s Dictionary Guy, the hero who knows what words mean and isn’t afraid to tell. With his trusty unabridged dictionary and his prep-school education, Dictionary Guy comes to the rescue whenever the English language is egregiously abused.

(Music: In full, then fade under…)

Announcer. Our story begins in the offices of Dynamitech, a medium-sized corporation that sells products and services. The working day is just getting under way, and Mary Lou and Fred, two ordinary hardworking employees, are hard at work on a product or service.

Mary Lou. All I’m saying is, it would make our jobs a little easier, that’s all. I could get the work done better, that’s what I mean, if they would just tell us whether we’re working on a product or a service.

Fred. Yes, but you know how Baker is. You’re not supposed to ask questions like that if you want to be a Team Player.

Mary Lou. I just want to know what sport we’re playing. If I’m on a football team and I’m playing hockey—

Fred. Heads up. Here comes Baker now.

Baker (entering). Hey, Mary Lou, and whatever your name is, I was just wondering if we were on the same page yet vis-a-vis the project to break down silos going forward.

Mary Lou. Uh… silos? You mean, like on a farm?

Baker. I mean that, you know, as a thought leader and cultural transformation steward, I was hoping to get your buy-in on some differentiated behaviors based off the paradigm-shift model I ran up the flagpole last week.

Mary Lou. I, um, think the custodian usually takes care of putting up the flag in the morning.

Fred. He means—

Baker. I was thinking we should take a deep dive into our core agilities and see what deliverables we could all bring to the table.

Mary Lou. Well, I suppose I could make cupcakes.

Baker. At the end of the day, my key focus is to impact collective growth from the top down, so if I have to think outside the box to move the needle, then I’ll leverage our touchpoints to drill down into our value add and synergize the layers of the onion.

Mary Lou. I don’t think you know what any of those words mean.

Fred. Uh, Mary Lou, I don’t think that’s a good—

Mary Lou. No, really, I think you’re just throwing buzzwords out at random. You’re egregiously abusing the English language.

(Music: Trumpet fanfare.)

Dictionary Guy. Hark! I hear a cry of distress from a literate citizen!

Fred. Who are you, and how did you get past security in that outfit?

Dictionary Guy. I am Dictionary Guy, and I have sworn to avenge crimes against the English language whenever they inconvenience citizens who abide by the laws of grammar. Behold my mighty unabridged dictionary, with which I foil any villain who speaks unintelligible jargon!

Mary Lou. I hope you won’t do anything drastic. I mean, my 401(k) is vested in two years.

Baker. Let’s circle back on the language question. That stuff isn’t in my wheelhouse, but I think we can ideate some solutional thinking if we can just be proximal and make sure we have the bandwidth to productize a results-oriented swimlane.

Dictionary Guy. Indeed? Take that, villain!

Sound: Loud thump, body falling.

Mary Lou. Well, gee, Dictionary Guy, you just clonked him on the head with that big old book.

Dictionary Guy. He had it coming to him.

Mary Lou. I mean, I thought maybe you’d look some of those words up in the dictionary and show him why he was wrong.

Dictionary Guy. Well, I don’t see how that would help now. Maybe when he wakes up.

Fred. Should I, like, dial 9-1-1?

(Music: “Library of Congress” March, in and under for…)

Announcer. And so once again Dictionary Guy foils a villain who would debase the language of Shakespeare and Milton. Meanwhile, kids, when it comes to malt food drinks, you know all the words you need to know. Malt-O-Cod is the name you trust. Look ’em up, kids—look up “malt,” and look up “cod.” But don’t look up “O,” because that would just be silly. That’s everything there is to know about Malt-O-Cod, now with the 469th edition of Noah Webster’s Grammatical Institute in every specially marked two-pound package! It’s the malt food drink that’s brain food—Malt-O-Cod!

(Music: In full, then out.)

In olden times the Zebra lived in the forest and was dreadfully afraid of the open plain. His timidity made life inconvenient for him, because as everyone knows Zebras are supposed to eat grass, and grass is not found in great quantities in the forest. The poor Zebra came to the edge of the forest every morning and stuck his head out just far enough to nibble at the grass beyond the trees, but each morning the grass was farther away, and the Zebra had to stick his head out farther, until this nearly became the story of How the Giraffe Got His Neck, but we have already heard that one.

Eventually his friend the Albatross persuaded him to see a therapist. We are not quite sure why the Zebra had a friend who was an Albatross, but we are not going to waste time at present trying to come up with a hypothesis to account for it. So the Zebra went to see the Gorilla, who operated a therapy parlor with a sideline in tattoos, and asked for a couple of pounds of therapy.

“We are having a special today,” said the Gorilla. “If you buy three pounds of therapy, we will include a full-body tattoo of your choice absolutely free.”

“I don’t really want a tattoo,” said the Zebra.

“Well, you have to take it,” said the Gorilla. “It’s today’s special. You can’t leave without a tattoo.”

“Isn’t that kidnapping or something?”

“No. It is the rule of the house, and if you disobey the rule of the house, we must send you to prison.”

“I didn’t know we had prisons in the forest,” the Zebra said.

“Well, technically we don’t. So we just dress you up in the convict suit and rely on your sense of honor to keep you confined to one place, more or less. Within reason.”

“I think I’d look pretty silly in a convict suit.”

“Then I’d recommend getting the tattoo. It’s your only option. Besides, I’ve been itching to finish the tattoo I started on the Okapi before he up and ran away from me.”

“And what if I up and run away from you, too?” asked the Zebra.

“You can’t. I locked the door.”

“I didn’t know we had doors in the forest.”

“You should pay more attention to your surroundings. And now, Zebra, for your therapy session. You’ve got agoraphobia, and you should snap out of it. Now for the tattoo…”

Suddenly there was a voice from the doorway: “What’s all this, then?”

“Inspector African Striped Squirrel!” cried the Gorilla. “I thought I locked that door!”

“We don’t have doors in the forest,” said the Squirrel. “Has this Gorilla character been bothering you, Mr. Zebra?”

“He says I can’t leave unless he gives me a tattoo,” said the Zebra, “and I don’t want a tattoo.”

“Aha!” said Inspector Squirrel. “The old can’t-leave-without-a-tattoo scam! Why, I’ve been trying to catch him red-handed for years, but you did it in one afternoon! Good work, Zebra! How would you like to be a sergeant in the African Forest Constabulary Service?”

So the Zebra took up his new position, and that is the story of How the Zebra Got His Stripes. And incidentally his new job gave him the right to be arrogant and boss people around and act like he owned the forest, so he gained confidence and lost his old agoraphobia and went out into the plains any time he was hungry.