Raving Reporter files...



- is there a solace?

Mutant Pidgins are a Big Problem. Or rather their guano is. Unsuspecting passers-by, beware. They drop it everywhere, on all & sundry. They dive-bomb & strafe, & can locate the moving target of someone’s head with deadly & uncanny accuracy.

The disgusting dropping itself (let us not dignify it with the word  dung), is in appearance like a murky mixture of black ink & typex, tho it comes in other colours as well, depending on the glossolaliness of the Mutant Pidgin’s feathers. I will not attempt to transcribe its consistency or odour in case any of our Readers have a weak stomach. Their ordure is out of order.

Sometimes, if there is a whole flock of Mutant Pidgins in the locality, the effect can be like a blunderbuss, they cover a landscape page in a uniform blanket of their blunders. They aren’t fussy, any sort, shape or size of paper is considered fair game. Anything in short (or at length) is likely target for spoil & spillage.

The very Language is by no means exempt from their savage ravages. And, what makes it worse is that you can’t always tell till you have gone & trodden in it.

So, for insistence, take an innocent little phrase like ‘translated from a slightly foreign language’. This they can utterly transform, transliterate & obliterate into unsightly florid lingo, simply by opening their anal-sphincters & loosening their vowels. They are inconsonant. With these birds, wordplay is more like fowl play.

So, what if anything, can be done about it, this scourge of the modern word? What measurements can be taken to alleviate this growing menace to civilised society? And, believe me, no phrase is safe from the imprecations (damn, I meant implications). If you are worried, as any write-thinking person probably would be, my advice to you is simple: just don’t keep Mutant Pidgins. Certainly never feed them on bytes of bread broken up & dipped in Genius. It’s good for them & they’ll only be encouraged to take advantage of your generosity, come back for more, peck the hand that fondles them & foul their own next.

As they seem to be virtually immune to all known forms of poisson... poisonn... (how do you spell that stuff that kills you if you accidentally swallow it?), any humane Final Solution is as yet beyond the powers of Modern Silence. The Problem has to probed & thoroughly indeed. Obviously no quick fix exits to eradicate or even irradiate Mutant Pidgins once & for all, (though the catachresis might catch a few). For the time being at any rate, we may just have to become Mutant Pidgin-Fanciers & learn to love them, or at least put up with them & live with the public inconvenience.

There is some consolation, however. Their guano makes excellent manure if not manners. It is the champagne, the Rolls Royce of fertilizers. All sorts of bizarre hybrid Flowers-of-Rhetoric & the most fabulously unlikely Figures-of-Speech grow, nay flourish in it. Especially with all this rain.




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