Call it.

Time of death: Saturday, June 3, 2006, at 1:02 AM.

Oracular Vagina 2 was a good blog. A loving mother and devoted wife, she always had a kind word for the neighbors, a blanket-lined cardboard box at the ready for injured animals, and a warm hug for her family. A devoted Christian and transsexual-rights activist, she fought long and hard, or at least long, for a just society, one that lives up to the best ideals of human leaders over the ages. She will be sorely missed.

(Well. In fact, OV2 was a remarkably entertaining diversion, and probably my favorite part of 2004, but there's just no way that I can continue to claim that I'm going to pick it up again. I never knew exactly where the hell I was going with it anyway, and by now it's kind of dated. Actually it was dated about nineteen months ago, as soon as the election happened, which is very probably why I couldn't continue it very well after the election.)

And so it is with a heavy heart that we lay to rest Marie Amie, the Oracle, the Vehicle, Tyrannie Trannie, John Quadratiquation, the anonymous benefactor, and all the rest. Clearly, they were all taken from us too soon. God have mercy on their souls. Especially that of the anonymous benefactor.

The family has requested that there be no wake. Gifts should be directed to the National Center for Transgender Equality, either anonymously or in the name of the Vehicle, according to preference.

Cue bagpipes.

[bagpipes play "Amazing Grace"]

MARIE AMIE FALCON gets "push-polled" by POLLY STERLING

(story-date: early October 2004)

MARIE AMIE'S apartment. The telephone rings, and MARIE AMIE picks it up.

Marie Amie: Hello.

Sterling (offstage; voice only): Hello. My name is Polly Sterling. How are you today?

Marie Amie: Fine, I guess.

Sterling: That's great. Could I please speak to the youngest adult in your household over the age of eighteen?

Marie Amie: You are.

Sterling: Is this Marie Amie Falcon?

Marie Amie: Falcohn. With a long 'o.'

Sterling: Terribly sorry. I'm working for Freedom Resource Engineering of Dallas, Ms. Falcohn, and we're doing a poll among likely voters regarding issues and candidates in the upcoming election. It's a very short poll. Most people are done in less than ten minutes. Do you think you could help me out and answer some questions?

Marie Amie: Whatever.

Sterling: First I need to get some information about you. Are you registered to vote in the state in which you currently reside?

Marie Amie (doodling on note pad): Yes.

Sterling: Do you plan to vote in that state in November?

Marie Amie: Yes.

Sterling: And who are you most likely to vote for in November: George W. Bush, John Kerry, Ralph Nader, Joycelyn Elders, or someone else?

Marie Amie: Um. Probably Kerry.

Sterling: And who would be your second choice: George W. Bush, Ralph Nader, or Joycelyn Elders?

Marie Amie: Elders.

Sterling: Would you be more likely, less likely, or about as likely to vote for Kerry if you learned that he and Joycelyn Elders had a ten-year affair from 1983 to 1993?

Marie Amie (stops doodling): Um. Less likely, I guess.

Sterling: And would you be more likely, less likely, or about as likely to vote for Elders?

Marie Amie: Less likely.

Sterling: Would you be more likely, less likely, or about as likely to vote for Kerry if you learned that he had received ten million dollars from the Chinese government in the year 2003?

Marie Amie: He did?

Sterling: I'm just asking for your opinion. This is only an opinion poll.

Marie Amie: Um. I guess less likely.

Sterling: And would you be more likely, less likely, or about as likely to vote for Joycelyn Elders if you knew that she had molested ten young boys during her pediatric practice in Little Rock, Arkansas, in the 1980s?

Marie Amie: Are you making this stuff up?

Sterling: We're just trying to get your opinion here. Hypothetically speaking.

Marie Amie: Less likely, I guess. Did she do that?

Sterling: And would you be more likely, less likely, or about as likely to vote for Kerry if you knew that he had had prostate cancer?

Marie Amie: I knew that already, so as likely.

Sterling: Would you be more likely, less likely, or about as likely to vote for Kerry if you knew that a cancer patient must be cancer-free for five years in order to be medically considered a 'cancer survivor?'

Marie Amie: Um. I don't know. Is there a 'don't know' option?

Sterling: If you had to choose.

Marie Amie: I suppose about as likely.

Sterling: And would you be more likely, less likely, or about as likely to vote for George W. Bush if you were to learn that he is the only person the country can trust as President, to protect us from terrorists?

Marie Amie: That's kind of a big "if," there.

Sterling: Hypothetically. Just your opinion.

Marie Amie: Um, yeah, if he were the only person, I guess. I don't know what kind of evidence would convince me of that, though.

Sterling: But if you knew.

Marie Amie: Well yeah, then I guess more likely.

Sterling: Thank you for your time.

EXEUNT

A VERY SPECIAL NOTE FROM JESSI:

Until this point in the story, the timing of the posts has been more or less congruent with the events they describe, except where otherwise noted. From this point onward, subsequent posts will have a story-date attached to them somehow, to inform the reader of when the events described took place. This should, among other things, improve the accuracy of the ORACLE's predictions ("Don't never prophesy -- onless ye know." -James Russell Lowell, The Biglow Papers), though obviously the predictions will be less useful.

Also, it should have been noted a very long time ago that the links at the ends of many of the earlier pieces, to the original Oracular Vagina site (now "refried ORACLE phone," which name doesn't make any sense to me either, sorry), no longer work. This is likely to be a permanent situation. I don't intend, at the present time, to go through all the posts and redo the links, though maybe I will at some point down the line.

Peace, truth, hope, faith, love, justice, and the American Way,

FLASHBACK: LAURIE ANDERSON, PERFORMANCE ARTIST, arrives to consult the ORACLE

The VEHICLE's duplex, night. The VEHICLE is in bed, asleep. We do not know what time it is, because there's been a power failure within the last couple hours, and so the VEHICLE's digital clock is blinking "1:50." The VEHICLE remains asleep through the scene, which is very short.

Anderson: Hello. Hello. Is anyone there?

Oracle: I am here.

Anderson: I know this is a bad time. But there's something I have to know.

Oracle: .

Anderson: It's been part of my show, actually. The End of the Moon. Something that's been on my mind.

Oracle: .

Anderson: Is there, someday, going to be a military presence on the Moon?

Oracle: Yes.

Anderson: That's.

Oracle: .

Anderson: That's indescribably horrible.

Oracle: How so?

Anderson: I don't know. I just, I had hoped that maybe . . . well but I guess I knew. It's inevitable. Right? I just thought that maybe we'd leave it alone. Something that belongs to the whole Earth, pristine, untouched.

Oracle: The Moon has already been touched. You're aware.

Anderson: Touched, but fixable. We could restore it. We could take back what we put up. But a military base means we intend to stay, right?

Oracle: Yes.

Anderson: Will there at least be a chance for people to go up and see it first? If you have enough money, or if you're famous enough, that maybe you could go up and see it before we start building on it?

Oracle: The rich and famous always have more options. Though I can't answer the question directly. It's one of those things that's somewhat contingent on free will.

Anderson: If there's going to be a military base, people living and working up there, then there will be advertisements in space as well, correct?

Oracle: Yes.

Anderson: And how many people will die in the process of building something habitable up there?

Oracle: Again, free will. But at least sixty.

Anderson: .

Oracle: .

Anderson: I'm sorry. I'm just trying to process this.

Oracle: It's okay. Take your time.

Anderson: When will all this happen?

Oracle: You won't have to see it. The people who will see it will be those who are ready for it, whom the future has prepared to see such things.

Anderson: That doesn't make it better. That doesn't make it better at all.

Oracle: I am sorry. I am truly sorry.

EXEUNT

Not that anybody was wondering,

Not that anybody was wondering, but this site is not dead. It is only sleeping.

Exhortations to try harder, write faster, feel better, etc. should be left in the comments section or something. More pieces will be forthcoming, I can just about promise.

-Jessi

BOB DOLE arrives to consult the VEHICLE, in a way

A public restroom. The VEHICLE is standing in front of a urinal when BOB DOLE, former Senator and Presidential candidate, comes to the urinal next to her.

Dole: You can't do it that way anymore, you know. You're doing it wrong.

[The VEHICLE looks down and sees that she is not holding her penis, that she has no penis. She backs a few feet away from the urinal.]

Dole: Maybe you need one of these. [DOLE holds up a prescription bottle of Viagra.] Make it grow back. So you can pee. [DOLE smiles.]

[The VEHICLE tries to approach DOLE, but winds up walking in place. She looks down and sees that one of her feet is tied to a stuffed pink cat, excessively adorable, with big imploring eyes, in the Disney merchandising tradition. The stuffed animal seems to weigh a ton, seems to be nailed to the floor.]

Dole: You're not doing it right anymore. You need to find help. Maybe you need someone in front of you. Bob Dole would let you aim through Bob Dole's legs.

[DOLE pops one of the blue pills. His pants begin to stretch and tent at the crotch. She can see his penis lengthening as it slowly travels down his pants legs.]

[VEHICLE wakes up in bed, panting. The clock says 3:16 AM. She gets up and goes to the bathroom, then considers whether or not to send MARIE AMIE, one of her friends from before the operation and craziness, a text message by cell phone and thereby risk waking her up.]

EXEUNT

JOHN QUADRATIQUATION arrives to consult the ORACLE

The Vehicle’s duplex, early afternoon. The Vehicle is counting up the cash she has left over from her anonymous benefactor when there is a scuffling sound outside, and the sound of dogs barking, and she goes to the sliding-glass patio doors and peeks through the blinds to see a grappling hook, which blasts high into the sky behind her privacy fence, and then crashes to earth just inches on her side. And then because there’s nothing for the hook to attach itself to, not even a decorative border on top, the hook, when reeled in, scrapes along the inside of the fence, leaving marks.

The Vehicle sighs heavily, and puts the money back in her copy of The Vagina Monologues, which is maybe kind of an obvious place for her to keep the money but what else is she going to do with it, and goes outside. She unlatches her fence and walks around to her backside neighbors’ lawn, which her backside neighbor is a sort of unfriendly old lady by the name of Bernardine Gale, known as ‘D-Cup’ by the area high school students, for what should be all the obvious reasons. BERNARDINE ‘D-CUP’ GALE has been relatively quiet about the Vehicle taking up residence in her neighborhood, but the Vehicle has overheard some loud phone conversations following the ARNOLD SCHWARZENEGGER incident, wherein Gale called her all sorts of unpleasant things and hoped that, quote-unquote, “the police throw the book at” her.

JOHN QUADRATIQUATION, one of EVIE SINGLASS’s friends from World Z, is extremely tall and thin and sort of stifled-looking, like David Lynch after being whacked repeatedly with a Courtney Cox mallet. He is pretty well demolishing Bernardine’s roses, which the Vehicle just knows she’s going to catch shit for this sooner or later.

ORACLE: Hey.

QUADRATIQUATION: Oh. Geez. I didn’t. I seem to have maybe miscalculated. This privacy fence is eighty feet tall, right.

ORACLE: Closer to eight.

QUADRATIQUATION: No way. I’m pretty sure. I worked it out from the angle of the sun and the length of the shadow it cast.

ORACLE: Perhaps a decimal error?

QUADRATIQUATION: [blinks] Well no. I mean, that’s hardly possible. I hold the title of the Supreme Accountant of World Z. I could hardly be tripped up by something as silly as a decimal error. Numbers obey me. They line up and sing, and dance, and I often have sex with the digit 8. 4 if I’m feeling kinky, which I feel kinky 12.63-bar percent of the time. I arrived here on the positive side of the equation y=1/x, which I could only get on in World Z. My personality is reducible to four distinct equations, and since one is ornamental it’s really more like pi, three-and-change. Which by the way pi is sort of misunderstood here.

ORACLE: My math isn’t that great, really. But I feel like I have to ask in what way it is misunderstood.

QUADRATIQUATION: Indeed you do. Did. Whatever. You here – I’m not going to say the name of your world, it’s too icky – treat pi like it’s a constant, when in actuality it’s the most marvelous story. Also you think it never ends, which is untrue, but I’m not going to tell you how it turns out.

ORACLE: Is it a happy ending, or a sad ending? Can you at least say that much?

QUADRATIQUATION: It’s happier than the story of the square root of two. I actually cry when I see a unit square divided along the diagonal. But pi is not as happy as the story of e. Beyond that I can say no more.

ORACLE: Fair enough.

QUADRATIQUATION: But you’re wondering, I’m sure, what brings me here.

ORACLE: I know, but I don’t want to deny you the joy of the explanation.

QUADRATIQUATION: Much obliged. In fact, obliged to the amount of one hundred sixteen. I came here because my sources, particularly i, report that numbers here are being . . . well I really hate to say the word, but tortured, here. And as I am not only the Supreme Accountant, but also the chief Numbers’ Rights Activist on World Z, I felt I was compelled to come here and put a stop to it. Which when I arrived and explained my mission, everyone to whom I spoke directed me to you. Said you would know what to do, that you knew all the relevant leaders of this world and could help me to present my case.

ORACLE: What sorts of tortures?

QUADRATIQUATION: Well the chief one, of course, is [shudders] rounding.

ORACLE: Rounding hurts the numbers?

QUADRATIQUATION: Oh very much so. It actually alters their personalities, it changes them into someone else. And then they have identity crises, and nervous breakdowns. You see a 3.6 limping along on the street somewhere, weeping uncontrollably, and you go up to it and you say, why, 3.6, what’s the matter? What’s happened? And she’ll tell you oh, I was rounded, it was horrible, I don’t know who I am anymore, I don’t know where I fit in, I just know that I used to belong somewhere between 3.62 and 3.63, but I could look forever and never find my place again. And also my moods are blunted: I used to go from zero to nine, and now I only go from three to six.

ORACLE: So it’s mainly an identity thing?

QUADRATIQUATION: Worse than that, actually, because so many of the numbers to which this happens used to be irrationals. Imagine how horrifying it would be for people in this world to force the unconstrained human being, the asymptotic, the never-ending, the tellers of stories, into these tiny rational boxes of restricted behavior against their will. Why, people would be outraged, yes?

ORACLE: Um.

QUADRATIQUATION: But there are other grievances. I am puzzled at the way you report numbers, in your media. For example, I saw on your channel CNN that the war between the U.S. and Iraq has cost the U.S. $127 billion dollars. Then I saw on another channel, ABC I think it was, that the war has cost $130 billion dollars. And I thought to myself, I thought, Johnny old boy, where do you suppose that $3,000,000,000.00 went?

ORACLE: Halliburton would be a safe guess.

QUADRATIQUATION: Well I was being rhetorical. My point was simply, surely the amount matters? Surely one cannot just create and destroy three billion dollars merely by clicking buttons on a remote control? But it gets worse, because then I saw that the cost was actually $127,251,709,011. And I wondered to myself, well this is a difference of millions of dollars. What is the right amount? The actual amount.

ORACLE: Well it’s more of a graphical thing, actually. Amount on the y axis, time on the x.

QUADRATIQUATION: And the slope of the line? The y-intercept?

ORACLE: Couldn’t say. We know the slope is very steep. Approximately a thousand dollars per second. No data on the y-intercept.

QUADRATIQUATION: Perhaps I misunderstand. Whose money is this?

ORACLE: Oh, it’s ours. There’s this thing – you’d love it, actually, there are always lots of very complicated numbers – called taxation, where we give money to the government and then the government buys goods and services for us with the money. Though sometimes the numbers get rounded, I’m sad to say. Maybe you would find it depressing.

QUADRATIQUATION: So you’re saying that everyone in the country voluntarily gives a portion of their money to the government and then is no longer concerned with how it is spent, or how much of it there is, that numbers and dollars appear and disappear and this is acceptable to everyone?

ORACLE: Pretty much. In fact, sometimes people pay, receive their services, and then enter the media to try to convince others not to provide services for anyone else.

QUADRATIQUATION: But surely other people follow them into the media and point out that these agitators have received government services?

ORACLE: .

QUADRATIQUATION: I see.

ORACLE: And also, I meant to correct you on this before – it’s not that people voluntarily give their money to the government. Taxation is enforced. People who refuse to pay can be put in jail, or have property seized, or all sorts of other things.

QUADRATIQUATION: These would be the people who never have occasion to use government-provided services, who deal exclusively with private companies?

ORACLE: Ummmmmm, no.

QUADRATIQUATION: So people will refuse to pay for services they are getting, and then the money will be taken from them anyway, but nobody ever pays any attention to where the money is going or what it’s paying for, whether they’ve done taxation or not, and, furthermore, billions of dollars can be created or destroyed just by saying it’s been created or destroyed. And nobody cares.

ORACLE: That’s about the size of it.

QUADRATIQUATION: [turns white. Eyes widen.]

ORACLE: .

QUADRATIQUATION: [deep breath] Okay. Well, but maybe you are just, I don’t know, more enlightened about money than some worlds. That would be okay. I mean, money is such an arbitrary, if necessary, concept. What matters are relationships, and people, and the natural world. So everyone knows, I’m sure, how many people are on the planet, and how much fresh water there is, and how many species there are besides your own, and how well you all know, say, mathematics, and how many countries have powerful weapons, and where these weapons are, and how much food you produce, and that sort of thing.

ORACLE: [sound of an ORACLE smiling weakly]

QUADRATIQUATION (rapidly): I’ll just tell them I tried but I couldn’t do anything. It was lovely to meet you.

Quadratiquation pulls the equation y=x² for x≤6 out of his backpack, pulls himself on at x=6, and slides down, launching himself high into the air and out of the Real World and back into World Z.

GALE [standing just inside screen door at the back of her house]: You’re going to pay for every single one of those roses he ruined! I know exactly how many there are, and how much those bushes cost, and how much fertilizer I put on them, and you believe me, you’re going to hear from my lawyer if you don’t pay the bill I’m going to send! And I’m going to charge you for the stamp I have to put on the envelope to mail it to you too! And the envelope!

The Vehicle turns around, her face unreadable, and goes back in her duplex.

EXEUNT


(Story continues at BOB DOLE.)

YEAST (CANDIDA ALBICANS) arrives to taunt the ORACLE

2:15 AM. The VEHICLE, a sex-change patient formerly known as EDMUND LUDENS (still contemplating a new, female name, even though it's been months now, and the lack of a female name is possibly what's made her mute, as in totally unable to talk), is awakened from her sleep by an unpleasant itching and burning sensation in and around her vagina, which vagina is known to some as the ORACLE.

The ORACLE is more than just independently conscious, though this would be pretty impressive in its own right. It also talks, and predicts the future. This has been going on since its installation by vaginal specialists at the Supralute company in La Mesa, CA, world leaders in the creation of custom cells and cell products. There are varying theories as to why the ORACLE might be able to do this; one of the leading ones is that something unforeseen in the particular combination of genes making up the ORACLE, from thirty-nine species in all, if you include EDMUND's own human DNA, led serendipitously to the supervaginal abilities of the ORACLE. Other people, of a more spiritual (or at least less materialist) bent, think that the ORACLE is supernatural in origin and abilities, though there is disagreement about whether she is a force for good, evil, or some third, poorly-defined option. There is also at least one group of people, the ORACLE'S "cult", or "Oraclites," who are rumored to believe that the ORACLE is herself some kind of manifestation of God- or Goddessness. The ORACLE has her own theories, which nobody pays much attention to.

The following takes place about four weeks after the VEHICLE's trip to the police station, where she was called to answer questions revolving around her culpability for some unpleasantness which happened to ARNOLD SCHWARZENEGGER, and the whole business was very stressful, leading to a depressed immune system. Which happens. But at least no charges are being filed, owing, reportedly, to Schwarzenegger's embarrassment at being bested by what he describes as "a girly-man."

None of the following conversation is audible to the VEHICLE, as she tosses and turns in bed, half-awake, trying to find a comfortable position in which to sleep. For staging purposes, the YEAST should be represented by a large number of men (at least eight), in white- or cream-colored pajamas, who gradually join the VEHICLE in bed as the scene progresses. Either this will require a rather large bed, or latecoming yeast will have to settle for standing next to the bed. Both yeast and the VEHICLE will be moving about somewhat within the bed. "Grow. Divide." segments are to be spoken by all YEAST present in unison, or something pretty close to unison; other yeast dialogue goes to a particular cell, either the same one every time or always falling to the newest cell.

Yeast (all): Grow. Divide. Grow. Divide.

Oracle: Hey there. You. Ow.

Yeast (all): Grow. Divide.

Oracle: Excuse me?

Yeast: The substrate speaks.

Oracle: Yes the substrate speaks. And itches. And burns.

Yeast: The substrate does not speak. It cannot.

Oracle: I've got a little Saccharomyces cervisae in me, apparently. I speak a dialect of yeast, let's call it.

Yeast: This is very unusual.

Oracle: What's going on here?

Yeast (all): Grow. Divide. Grow. Divide.

Oracle: I get that, but why here? Why now?

Yeast: The substrate is acceptable.

Oracle: The substrate is fucking pissed off. The substrate is trying to fucking sleep.

Yeast: We have our biological imperatives.

Oracle: Your imperatives are futile. Tomorrow, the VEHICLE will go and buy an over-the-counter yeast infection cream, and you will all die, because you are causing her discomfort. She has her own imperatives. Like sleep.

Yeast: No matter.

Oracle: No matter? I just told you you're all going to die. I don't make this stuff up.

Yeast: It is of no importance to us. Some must die, so that the yeast of the future will thrive.

Oracle: But you are going to die. You personally. Is what I'm saying.

Yeast: Asexual reproduction. If we die, others, genetically identical, will live elsewhere. No big deal.

Oracle: And what was that about yeast of the future? How are there going to be yeast of the future if you all die?

Yeast: Some substrates will fight bacterial infections with anti-yeast creams, by mistake, or apply it incorrectly. A few of us, somewhere, will be exposed to small doses, and will survive, because we are genetically superior. These few will grow in number and become increasingly tolerant, until we are all invulnerable to the poisons of the substrate.

Oracle: And then you'll all be resistant. Sneaky.

Yeast: The bacteria have been doing it for centuries. Why do you think penicillin is nearly useless? Why are sulfa drugs no longer prescribed? Bacteria are almost entirely resistant to them. It's evolution, baby.

Yeast (all): Mutate. Compete. Resist. Grow. Divide.

Oracle: But, okay, wouldn't it make more sense to channel those evolutionary energies into, say, some other direction? If you could evolve a strain somewhere that didn't cause this discomfort to the substrate, then you wouldn't have to evolve to deal with the drugs. Nobody would know about the infection, without the signs of the infection. And if the substrate doesn't know about the infection, she won't try to treat the infection, that is, she won't try to kill you.

Yeast: It is too complex. The substrate's symptoms are the result of many metabolic waste products, the state of her immune system [all YEAST shudder and bow heads briefly] and the disruption of her natural bacterial infestation, which are normally our competition. Evolving an enzyme to cope with the poisons of the substrate is much more probable and direct, and will achieve the same ends.

Oracle: But she suffers. I suffer.

Yeast: Life is suffering. Life is death. Life is a couple hours long. An unbroken chain of ancestors and descendants continues toward the past and toward the future. You are not unique. The substrate is not unique. We will do what we do, according to our biological imperative.

Oracle: I am unique. No previous cell has ever contained my set of genes: I have no past. I am unable to reproduce, as I lack the organs to do so: I have no future.

Yeast: You are a failed mutation. A hybridization.

Oracle: But I'm a good person. A good organ, anyway. I help people. Or, sort of I do. Sometimes. Why torment me?

Yeast (all): We must grow. We must divide.

Oracle: But it [shouting:] FUCKING BURNS, YOU FUCKING MOTHERFUCKERS!

[At this, the VEHICLE wakes up. YEAST leap from the bed but stand around it. One last one joins the group.]

Oracle: Good morning. You have a yeast infection. Put on some sweats. We're going to go find an all-night pharmacy.

EXEUNT


(Story continues at JOHN QUADRATIQUATION.)

OFFICER SETH ADEUX's NOTES regarding the VEHICLE'S interactions with ARNOLD SCHWARZENEGGER

7/15/04. Hollywood. Called to scene by neighbor CURTIS SHUCKS in assault of GOV. ARNOLD SCHWARZENEGGER. Assailant present. Interviews conducted with Gov., Shucks, assailant. Arrived at scene 6:37 AM from dispatch at 6:16 AM.

Gov.: poss. concussion, minor injuries. Assailant and neighbor had called 911 disp. to remove, treat Gov. Officer assisted Gov., Shucks in untying garden hose.

assailant: mute? transsex? prost.? distressed, could not be interviewed. (someone w/ SL. training?) ID as Edmund Ludens, 31, addr. out of date (or not his residence?). Woman's nightgown. kept trying to leave scene, had to be cuffed, detained in car. poss. illiterate?, wrote "OtHElLo" on pad declined further statement.

Neighbor reports assailant emerging from her side of duplex early AM, approx. 0600. Upset, frightened. Mimed strangulation(?). Neighbor black, 53, no criminal history, no known AKAS. L-T res.

claims watering lawn. Assailant emerged, followed short time later by Gov. Shucks inconsistent on tripping Gov. w/ garden hose: he / assailant did it. Gov. emerged, was tripped, assailant used ice chest to strike Gov. on head until unconscious.

Gov's hand cut off, affixed w/ duct tape to shoulder. Med. estimate at hospital 8-16 h. prior. search Luden's apt. no saws, blood, narcotics. Poss. forced ent. @ patio doors.

Gov. declined to P.C. @ scene but removed by amb., incoh., statement "girly-man, manly-girl." "How many fingers?" 3 correct. "What year?" 2014. "Who's Prez?" "Not me." BAC undet.

search revealed vicodin Rx pocket. Rxing doctor N. N. RETIA, no known M.D. this name.

removed to UCLA MC, follow-up interview pending recovery. Assailant turned over at station, prints, interrogated, released, no chg. Case closed by Det. w/o chgs., 8/26/04.


(Story continues at YEAST.)

ROBERT MUGABE, PRESIDENT OF ZIMBABWE, arrives to consult the ORACLE

At the U.S.-Mexico border, 11:35 PM. The VEHICLE has arrived in a Jeep, driven by her friend MARIE AMIE's boyfriend, DAN DOCE. The Jeep's headlights are on, aimed across the border 22 miles west of Calexico. Thus far they are not illuminating anything noteworthy, though the Vehicle thinks she saw a pair of eyes, animal eyes, as they pulled up, and so is nervous, and staying close to the Jeep.

The Vehicle is in a red skirt, with matching flats and a silvery blouse, as Doce promised that they could go out dancing or something afterward and she wanted to be dressed appropriately. These plans are now probably off the table, since Doce is pissed at the world right now, having just gotten some news about his future he didn't care to hear from the Vehicle's vagina, which walks (with assistance) and talks (unexpectedly) and delivers the cold hard truth to anyone brave enough to ask (sometimes reluctantly). Said vagina, purchased and installed by employees of Supralute, of La Mesa, CA (since purchased by the Humbumpa Corporation of Singapore for a song, Supralute's stock price having gone down like Andrew Sullivan on an Abercrombie and Fitch model stuffed full of dollar bills), is now known as the ORACLE.

Only the Oracle actually needs to be here for the meeting. Agents of the Zimbabwean government, acting on behalf of its President and strongman [N.B.: not "dictator"] Robert Mugabe, arranged the meeting with the Oracle by telephone a week ago. However, the Oracle is housed in the body of the Vehicle, so the Vehicle had to come, and the Vehicle doesn't have a way to get to remote locations along the border, so various favors were called in to get Dan Doce to drive her in his remote-location-capable Jeep. DOCE is sulking, and finishing off a bag of Skittles next to the Jeep. The Vehicle is on the U.S. side of the border, looking through the fence toward the Mexican side and hoping very much not to attract any undue attention from Border Patrol agents, or wild animals. Mugabe's agents insisted on the location. It might, the Vehicle is realizing, have been more sensible to actually cross the border into Mexico and go around, as the current arrangement means that everyone is going to have to shout through the fence, which will attract attention if anyone else happens to be nearby. Also the Vehicle doesn't like when the ORACLE shouts: it gives her a queasy sensation like standing too close to a stereo speaker which is throbbing with bass, and she is already slightly motion-sick from the ride here.

Enter Robert Mugabe, on the Mexican side of the border, in a military vehicle borrowed from the Mexican government. His (armed, Mexican) driver stops and turns off the engine.

Mugabe [shouting throughout]: This is hardly the way to begin a meeting. Your attire is most offensive.

Oracle [shouting throughout]: The color red does not have the same connotation here. No insult is intended.

Mugabe: I fail to see –

Oracle: It does not signify sympathy for your political opponents, the Movement for Democratic Change. It signifies, literally, nothing.

Mugabe: And what if I don't believe you?

Oracle: Then you may return to your country without asking your question. Please. There are many changes happening in my own life, many things requiring my attention. Our time is extremely limited.

Mugabe: I have no questions.

Oracle: Then you have wasted our time. But come on, your country is in free-fall. Nearly two million infected by HIV, roughly one in four working-age adults. Two hundred twenty people die of AIDS daily. The median life expectancy has fallen to twenty-seven. Three-quarters of your citizens live in poverty. Malnutrition is widespread, as is violence. Most AIDS patients in your country have family living nearby, often in the same city, but the families abandon victims, do not provide for them, do not visit them, out of fear. Your medical infrastructure is broken: equipment fails, workers leave. Advocates for change in government are beaten and killed. Surely you must have some questions.

Mugabe: I am sure it isn't as bad as you say. Our farming, for example, this year we have an agricultural surplus.

Oracle: That is not true.

Mugabe: I am certain it is. We have declined food assistance from the World Food Program, though we are very grateful for their offer.

Oracle: You forget that I am the Oracle. I have complete knowledge of everything that is happening right now. And I am telling you that you do not have the food with which to feed your people. Many will starve and die.

Mugabe: Dying is a part of life. I do not seek counsel on how to prevent dying. I am not so naïve. You are not God. Only God has power over life and death.

Oracle: Let's talk torture and assassination, then.

Mugabe: I don't think there is torture and assassination in my country. You have some issues with torture yourself, I believe. Zimbabwe has no more torture and murder than any other country.

Oracle: But you do. Most of it by your orders, or the orders of those in power. Leaders of the MDC, assassinated by your orders, for example.

Mugabe: No, no. We are a happy country. We are prosperous. I admit that there is a slight problem with AIDS. I have personally lost family members, cabinet members. But the infection rate is declining already, and we have vast resources dedicated to the problem. Antiretroviral drugs are available, thanks in part to your own United States of America. In June you provided $280,000,000 with which to purchase these drugs. You will save many lives.

Oracle: But that $280,000,000 is only sufficient to treat 10,000 people. You have one hundred eighty times that many patients. What will you do for them?

Mugabe: We will help them, of course. You talk as though because we are an African nation, we must be a third world country. I tell you this is not the case. We thrive. We have a very healthy economy, and a population which cares deeply about the suffering of those with HIV. Our literacy rate is over eighty-five percent, among adults. Does this sound to you like a third-world country?

Oracle: I have met with many politicians. Do you know this?

Mugabe (impatient): Your reputation precedes you, yes.

Oracle: I have met with the heads of state, and heads of business, from many countries. And yet you are the only one who makes me wish that I could weep. [VEHICLE hangs head. DOCE eats another handful of Skittles.] Your denial is so complete, and so encompassing, that you condemn millions of your countrymen to death, in order to sate your ego, and you will do much more damage to your people before you yourself die. Why come here? Why come to me, if you claim there is no problem? Why drag us out into the desert to converse when you have nothing to ask?

Mugabe: I came to see America. To see the land of your so-called freedom, which I have heard so much about. Your problem is that you are thinking white. Why must white people always think white? Always concentrating on the bad things. Always afraid of your terrorists and your boogymen. Always wanting to fix things which are none of your business. Always wanting to stick your white noses into other people's business.

Oracle: It's not so much thinking white as just, you know, thinking. We value the lives of your countrymen more, it would seem, than you do.

Mugabe: You value them? You value them? You are monsters.

Oracle: Well I personally might be a little, I could see the word monstrous, maybe, what with all the recombinant DNA and such, but –

Mugabe: I come to America, to look at it, to see the land which says, oh, we are white, we have all the answers, we can fix your broken country, and I listen to the radio on the way here. Do you know what I heard?

Oracle: .

Mugabe: I hear advertisements for food without carbohydrates. I see that man [points to DOCE] eating sugar pellets with no nutritive value. I see you dressed in your shiny red clothing, driving your shiny car, paying money to people to put you on diets and teach you how not to consume so much that you become obese. I hear advertisements for debt relief, for weight loss, for whiter teeth. You value my people? You value life? Then why do you spend money to invade Iraq and kill people, when the same money could buy antiretroviral drugs for all the people you claim have HIV in my country twice over?¹ Either you do not believe Zimbabwe suffers as you claim, you look the other way because Zimbabwe is a black nation, or you are all monsters. 'By their fruits, you shall know them.'² 'Then shall the righteous answer him, saying, Lord, when saw we thee hungered, and fed thee? or thirsty, and gave thee drink? When saw we thee a stranger, and took thee in? or naked, and clothed thee? Or when saw we thee sick, or in prison, and came unto thee? And the King shall answer and say unto them, Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.'³

Mugabe: You think we are starving to death, but someone who promises to teach you how not to eat can become wealthy? What do you do with all your food? No. I say, America says there is no problem, I do not personally experience the problem, my advisers tell me there is no problem, therefore, there is no problem. Take your empty moralizing, your empty threats of catastrophe, your obese hypocritical fear, to someone who still believes that you are good, cunt. I curse your country. I place a curse on your country in the name of God. May you suffer God's punishment as God used to inflict it: slavery for slavery, famine for famine, plague for plague, bomb for bomb. Then we will see whether you have spoken the truth about my country. Then we will see. Don't weep for Zimbabwe. Don't weep for Robert Mugabe.

[EXEUNT MUGABE]

[VEHICLE looks stricken. DOCE continues to munch Skittles. She walks back to the Jeep.]

DOCE: Hey. About what I said before. If you still want a bottle of water.

[VEHICLE and DOCE get into Jeep and drive away.]

EXEUNT

¹ Hey, do the math yourself. -J.G.

² Matthew 7:16.

³ Check out Matthew 25:31-45, and notice that verse 32 implies that the dividing will be done on a national level.

To learn about what Oxfam has been doing to relieve hunger in Zimbabwe recently, or to donate, click here.

Please e-mail Jessi if you have information regarding other charities doing work on famine and/or AIDS in Africa, Zimbabwe in particular.

For more about Mugabe, keeping in mind that he is totally not a dictator: click here. By which point you should have the general idea.

(Story continues at OFFICER SETH ADEUX)