THE RETURN OF ESKIMO-PITHECUS
[a fictional analogy for the children of God]
THE RETURN OF ESKIMO-PITHECUS
[a fictional analogy for the children of God]
Once upon a time in Northern Alaska in a small British Petroleum (BP-US) oil-drilling town there arrived a stranger.
He was 3 feet tall, and almost as round as a bowling ball. His face was ruddy like a chimp, he sported a mop of wavy black hair with brown eyes that were almost black. He was covered with seal skins from head to foot.
He walked into the drilling foreman’s office and introduced himself.
“I am Shloloman Goldigger, duly elected chief of the ancient Eskimo-pithecus tribe and this is our ancient homeland you are drilling on.”
“What?” Said the Clem Mountbatten, the foreman.
“You heard me. This is our ancient homeland. This town is sitting right on the ancient city my ancestors were born in, its name is Jurooshalim. In fact, your oil rig is set up on the very spot my greatest grandmother was born 6000 years ago.”
Clem was stunned at this odd twist in an otherwise normal day. “6000 years ago?” he asked. “Where have you been?”
“We were stranded in Siberia. We were hunting and decided to stay a while to visit relatives. Then we had to wait for the land bridge to freeze over so we could walk back. You folks started all that global warming with your machinery so we had to wait a long time before we could get back here. And now look what you’ve done to the place!”
Clem blushed, “Gee, I’m sorry Mr. Shloloman. We didn’t know.”
“Call me Shlomo. It’s been a long walk, mind if my tribe and I make ourselves comfortable, rest our feet and such?”
“Sure, coffee?”
“No time. The rest of my tribe is waiting outside, women and children; since you parked your town on top of ours we will be needing a place to stay. Mind if we share your quarters? We won’t take up much space.”
“How many of you are there?”
“Hard to tell. We are like the sands of the sea. More are on their way. Since I am the chief I led the way, naturally.”
“You say you are Eskimo-pithecus?” inquired Clem.
“That’s right.”
Zeke turned to his crew chief Otto Beerwarmer, “Do you know anything about this?”
Otto replied, “A little. I remember that there were these –pithecus people long ago. They found their skulls now and then. I remember one named ‘Australio.’ But I didn’t know they were here too. I thought they were long gone. I feel a little guilty now.”
“You should feel guilty. How would you like it if you went on vacation and found a family of squatters in your house with an oil derrick drilling through your family cemetery? This is holy land given to us by our god himself!” exclaimed Shloloman.
“I do feel terrible.” said Clem vaguely recalling previous lawsuits filed by Indians that made it all the way to the Supreme Court. Due to the bitter winter conditions the drilling operation was going to be incommunicado with BP corporate for several weeks. “Tell me what I can do for you. Anything at all. We will make it right.”
Chapter 2: The Plague of Eskimo-pithecus
THE PLAGUE OF THE ESKIMO-PITHECUS
part 2 of 3
Over the next few weeks the Eskimo-pithecus tribe kept rolling into town. Sometimes a dozen, sometimes a hundred in a day.
Strangely, they didn’t all look the same. Some had blonde hair and blue eyes. Some were almost 5 feet tall. While others almost looked like Mexicans and spoke fluent Spanish.
Clem noticed that they spoke different languages and many did not seem to understand each other. Still, they must have all been Eskimo-pithecus since no one in their right mind would want to come way out here to this wasteland in Northern Alaska unless it was their homeland promised to them by their god.
Clem figured they must simply have a diverse phenotype expression. This must be a genetic variation common among the very ancient peoples. Not being an archeologist or geneticist he put it out of his mind for now. He had bigger issues to worry about.
For one, he had to keep them happy, otherwise, he found out, they might fly into fits of rage and try to kill his crewmen or sabotage his equipment.
He kept them busy by making his men train them with on-the-job training. He hired all of them on as workers –even though they didn’t work much. They mostly got in the way. Pretty soon tools and equipment started disappearing. He usually found his tools down at the pawnshop in town and had to buy them back.
A week later one of the Eskimo-pithecus was running the pawnshop and cashing payday loan checks at 600% interest.
The Eskimo-pithecus had one particular vice: fudge-packing.
Shloloman introduced him to it. They would take a bucket of fudge out of the commissary, heat it up until it was warm and flowed, then they would pour it into a can and punch it down with their fists to remove the air bubbles until it couldn’t be packed any tighter. They did this buck-naked. Shlomo showed Clem how to do it one day.
“There, now doesn’t that feel good?” he asked Clem as he was elbows deep in fudge.
Clem had to admit after a few days that maybe, in a dirty way, it did feel good. Kind of messy but it broke up the monotony of the Arctic day.
These people were obsessed with fudge packing. Soon they had taken over the communications shack, set up a camera and started broadcasting home made shows about fudge packing to all the houses in town. They would cut into movies like Die Hard and insert 20 minute segues of fudge packing. Sometimes they would have a whole group of men packing fudge.
After a while the minds of Clem’s crew must have snapped because all they seemed to want to do all day is pack fudge. He couldn’t get them to stop!
They stopped going to work entirely. They just stayed home all day. Sometimes they would go to the local bathhouse and every man in town would be packing fudge until the wee hours of the morning. Clem found them the next day all lying around hung-over and exhausted.
Then his men began to die. Apparently it was from packing too much fudge.
But that was not Clem’s only problem.
Conclusion: The Curse of the Eskimo-pithecus
THE CURSE OF THE ESKIMO-PITHECUS
page 3 of 3
The Eskimo-pithecus had filled almost every last living space in the town. They were living in closets, attics, everywhere.
When they ran out of room they started to displace the local Inuit Eskimos that lived on the outskirts of town.
They told them, “This is our land, get out!” then they would drag them out of their igloos and crawl inside refusing to leave.
The Eskimos came to Clem to find out what was going on but all Clem could do was explain the best he could.
The Eskimos weren’t buying it and they returned with clubs and spears the next day.
Outside their former igloos they were met with automatic gunfire from weapons the Eskimo-pithecus had gotten from Clem’s town. Earlier, during better times, the Eskimo-pithecus had begged Clem for some guns for defense in case a Polar Bear tried to sneak up on them. Out of guilt Clem complied.
The Eskimo-pithecus kept expanding their territory until all the Inuits were living in cardboard boxes in the alleys of the Clem’s town.
Finally, Clem could stand it no more. He called Shlomo to his office for a meeting.
Shlomo came in carrying a box, which he laid down next to Clem’s desk. He sat down in a chair and, in a perturbed way, he asked, “Yes? What is it now?”
“I need you all to get back to work.” Clem said sharply.
“But that is impossible.”
“Curse you all! Then just leave here!”
“We can do neither.”
“Why not?”
“Don’t you know? It is written, as a promise from our god that 'anyone who blesses us will be blessed and whoever curses us will be cursed.'” Said Shlomo.
“We are already cursed by you!” yelled Clem at the top of his lungs. “We have pumped no oil for 6 weeks! The infrastructure is falling apart. No one is working! The Inuits are living in squalor outside. We are running out of food and everybody is obsessed with fudge packing! What could be a worse curse than that?”
Shlomo shrugged, “The oil tanks and the town could be on fire and all of you could be dead. The Sampson option is ours. We have the means now.” He got up and left.
Clem called for Otto. “They are the curse. Evict them!”
Otto looked away sheepishly, “I can’t. You see, they filmed me packing fudge. They filmed everybody doing it. If my family back home ever saw that… I’d be done for.”
Just then the door opened and Shlomo walked in. He grabbed the box he had carried in earlier, “Almost forgot my fudge!” He smiled devilishly.
Just then the door opened again. This time is was Clem’s manager, Chuck Windsor followed by his attorney Bob Turk, anthropologist Herb Souza and 3 heavily armed security guards.
“Our chopper just landed on the field at the far end of town.” Said Chuck Windsor. “We’ve been trying to reach you for days, what is going on here? Why has the oil stopped flowing? Why are your radios turned off? And why are you broadcasting fudge packing videos all day?”
Clem told them the whirlwind version of the story while everybody listened slack-jawed at the ludicrousness of it.
“Wait a minute,” interrupted Herb Souza turning to Shlomo, “you say this hodge podge of people as well as all these Mestizos are your relatives? That’s nuts! That’s not how genetics works: especially with in-breeding!”
He continued, “You see all those Inuits out there? Notice how they all look alike? I can barely tell them apart!”
Astonished, lawyer Bob Turk turned to Shlomo, “You mean to tell me you have an ancient claim to this land after 6000 years?”
Shlomo nodded.
“Can you prove it? Let’s see your title papers!”
“I, uh, left them in the car.”
Before anyone could react Shlomo ran out the door into the cold Alaskan wind never to be seen again. Only a trail of fudge stained footprints faded into the snowdrifts…
“Was it all a bad dream?” thought Clem to himself. “Why didn’t I ask to see his ID?”
Just then the door opened again.
With a blast of freezing wind and snowflakes a six-foot tall blonde haired blue-eyed man built like a CGI rendered Viking entered the office.
“My name is Thor Icewalker. I am from the tribe called Lost-Ten. This land where you now stand is my ancient homeland. We were punished by the Most High God for our disobedience but have learned our lesson. We have been away too long but now have returned to claim what is ours.”
He added, “And who was that silly little round man running outside with the fudge on his feet?”
#GhostOfPKD #Hypnofiction #RemovingParasites
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