A Game of Sanity

In the smallest, most nearly nonexistent, one-roomed shack that could possibly be imagined (though usually only when insane) lived an odd little man. He was kind, gentle, caring, old, generous (what else could explain the tiny shack?), and most obviously, quite inexplicably not altogether sane (see preceding comment, "what else..."). In fact, he was not-quite-sane enough to insist eagerly that not only was the world flat, but it was also most necessarily a mere game board for some strange intradimensional creatures which he was delighted to call Gor!kls.1

Curiously, even mysteriously, he also claimed that nobody was supposed to know this, since it would cause insanity--more definitely, the type of not-altogether-sane-ness that makes one disgustingly nice, senile, old, and willing to give everything (except, of course, a small hut) to your most favourite enemies.2

Fred (he preferred the name Hortence, but that had already been taken) stated that L'gr?hu (one of the best Gor!kl strategists) was planning to move the North Polar ice cap further south, perhaps around Miami or Bermuda. The general public response to this news was of extreme hysterical laughter, most especially from geologists, physics teachers, nude sunbathers, professional cheerleaders, and one highly intelligent bureaucrat (intelligent, that is, for a bureaucrat).3

The entire populace was so overly occupied that evening writhing in ridiculous pain that not one of them noticed the large white object sailing past Maine. No one realized anything was odd when it continued on past Boston, then New York (of course, who would expect them to notice?). No one saw it pass Delaware. Or Chesapeake Bay. Or Charleston. No one noticed, that is, until 500 penguins were found napping on the beach at Fort Lauderdale. Then the hysterical laughter became hysterical panic.4

One man in England simply sat down, enjoyed a nice cup of hot tea, and didn't panic. He pointed out that sea level should rise quite a bit due to the melting of the ice cap, and that this would not only make a number of nice fjords, but it would also give everyone beach-bottom property. In about twelve minutes. People looked at their digital watches, called the man a jerk ("kneebiter" was also mentioned), and went on their way.5

Ninety percent of the world was still either laughing or panicking when the waters rose (someone was heard to exclaim "grab your towels!") and the penguins floated in to Denver with the tide. Eighty percent of the populace suddenly found themselves under 5000 feet of water and having tremendous difficulty being hysterical.6

Things on dry land went pretty well for a while. The penguins had integrated themselves into society (they even taught classes on 'waddling' and penguin evolution), and Fred was made Supreme Ruler of the United Islands of the Rocky Mountains. Partly due to his overwhelmingly kind, generous, friendly nature. Mostly because he had claimed ownership to all the high ground just before the inundation of the low plains.7

Therefore, everyone who survived (or was interested in doing so) had to buy land before they were allowed on shore. By the square inch. Soon there were small one-roomed shacks all over the place, most even tinier than Fred's original shed. (He sold that to the highest bidder--his new one-roomed shack is about three thousand square feet.)8

This lasted until one day an extremely strange, overly odd item was found inside a beached whale. A nuclear powered toaster. It was still running, and the whale was, well, done. Finished, kaput, zippo, or more precisely, fried. The Colonel couldn't have done a better job. Seasoned with ocean salts, cooked in fine butter (oh, sorry--blubber), and with a sprig of kelp on the side. Delicious.9

When all was consumed (quite soon, actually--no one but Fred had eaten since "The Flood"), the toaster was found to have "North Pole--Tropical Paradise of the World" stickers all over it, and the registration tags gave ownership to none other than Fred Hortence III, wealthy eccentric millionaire.10

Although suspicious, the people didn't act. It wasn't until someone located an empty penguin costume that they caught on to Fred's scheme. They were horrified. These "penguins" that they had brought into their homes, took lessons from, fed, and even enjoyed, were nothing more than mere actors, those scum! Many of them had once been mimes in New York, until Mr. Hortence hired them for this completely ridiculous, albeit profitable, position. Dreadful!11

So the people packed Mr. Fred in a crate, tied cement-filled penguin costumes to it, and dumped it into the Gulf of Arizona. But he didn't care--it was only a game...12