A.P. Lawrence Home

More Humor

The Warden and the Weasel

It was a warm August afternoon in Usenet Forest. The Electronic Sun tickled the virtual leaves of the virtual trees, a virtual breeze whispered happy electronic thoughts, and the Warden and the Weasel were lolling about in a clearing, happily engaged in a game of checkers. Weasel had just made a Clever Move, and was jumping up and down, chattering his teeth and making little noises, which is something some Weasels do when they feel they have been Clever.

At that moment, over the virtual tops of the virtual trees, came sailing a cylindrical piece of virtual wood, and it landed perilously near the Warden and the Weasel and their checker board. The loud thump it made upon landing caused Weasel to jump straight up and yell "Liar!", which, while not something all Weasels do when surprised, is something that this particular Weasel is apt to do.

"What is that?", exclaimed Weasel, upon recovering some of his composure and having smoothed down some fur on his back that had inexplicably stood straight up. "What is that?".

"It's a Post, of course", explained the Warden, "and, on closer examination, I believe it is a Cross Post. It may have landed here by accident."

The Weasel circled the Post warily, patted it with his little Weasel paws, and sniffed at it suspiciously. "It has writing on it!", he announced, with some obvious trace of anger that this Post had disturbed a game in which he had just made a Clever Move.

"Indeed," said the Warden, "and it is quite scurrilous writing. It is, in fact, a vicious attack on Cerebral Simon."

The Weasel examined the Post more closely. "Warden! Warden!", he yipped excitedly, "It's signed by an Atheist!!!!"

"Atheist or not, Weasel, our call is clear". The Warden had read the entire Post by now, though the Weasel was still clambering all over it, running up and down its length, sniffing suspiciously at some of the larger words.

The Warden straightened up and gazed down Newsgroup Path. His back stiffened, and he inhaled a long breath of Usenet Forest air. "Saddle up, Weasel. The checkers will have to wait, for the Brahms Gang must ride again. I will pack some provisions, and we will go have a word with this Atheist!"

At this point, you might wish to know that neither the Warden nor the Weasel actually owned any horses. You may have had a momentary vision of strong white steeds, with fine leather saddles and flowing silk with perhaps a medallion here and there. While totally untrue, it is good if you can hold such an image in your mind, and imagine such beautiful beasts tethered in the clearing, grazing on virtual grass, and blowing steamy blasts from their equine nostrils. For that is what the Warden and the Weasel imagined, alomg with shiny armor, and damsels in distress, and perhaps the odd dragon or two.

Anyway, the Warden packed a small pouch full of snacks and other things they would need for the virtual journey, and all the while he packed the Weasel scampered about chattering his teeth and yipping "Liar! Liar! Liar!" for no apparent reason, but eventually they mounted their steeds and charged down Newsgroup Path, or at least that's what they imagined, and even though you and I both know that they were quite foot-bound, we should try very hard to imagine them gloriously mounted and silk streamers billowing behind, with clods of earth being thrown about and the thunder of hooves and all. On no account should you visualize the Warden and the Weasel just walking down the path, with Weasel running off into the woods to investigate a Sound, then scampering back, and getting almost tangled up in the Warden's feet, and the Warden trying to swat him with his walking stick. That is not at all the picture they wanted you to have, so please try very hard to ignore reality and think about the magnificent horses, instead.

Newsgroup Path is very long, and very windy, but the Encampment of the Evil Atheists happened to be not that very virtually far away from whence the two Defenders of Justice had started, so it was but a very few minutes before they had to pull back on their imaginary reins and stop. For they had come to a rather large sign. It read:

------------------------------------------ | Evil Atheist Conspiracy. Keep Out! | | | | We eat children! Keep Out! | | | ------------------------------------------

and beside it was a smaller sign that said "O'Hare Lane", but someone had knocked that down, and tacked up a rotting old shingle upon which clumsy block letters proclaimed "ATHIeSts -->". The Warden studied all the signs very carefully. You mustn't think that the time he spent carefully reading all three signs should be attributed to any implied lack of mental capability. Such is not the case. The Warden merely suspected a Trick, and was not about to be easily led Down the Wrong Path. The Weasel, meanwhile, ferretted about at the edge of the Path, and gave quite a fright to a Squirrel who had been busily collecting nuts and had not noticed our Heroes.

"This is the Way, Weasel", the Warden finally announced. "We ride!"

But of course in reality he just trudged down the lane, with Weasel hopping about behind him, chattering at birds and sometimes getting so worked up that an involuntary "Liar! Liar! Liar!" would escape him. But you, the reader, should still imagine powerful horses pounding along a forest path, with brave knights astride, and appropriately stirring music as accompaniment.