This is something I knocked up a while back, just for fun. I decided it was time to release it into the wild. Allat has given it her stamp of approval, so it's gotta be cool.
It's a short story about the writing and release of
The God Delusion. Since various people periodically grumble about how it only deals with one sort of god, and since Dawkins made it bloody obvious that was what he was doing and why he was doing it, I figure that the problem might be that some people are a bit hard of thinking and need it explained in really simple terms. So, I've written it up in the form of a children's story.
And yes, I did like
Foucault's Pendulum and
Wind in the Willows.
The Story of Tricky Dicky and the Woomongers
(a story for children, or for childlike minds which have yet to grasp the bleeding obvious)
Once upon a time, not that long ago, in a grey and dismal land far, far away from nice places like Australia, there lived a man named Tricky Dicky and his rather charming wife. Of course, Tricky Dicky and his wife were not the only people living in that grey and dismal land. There were many other people living there too. There were also various sundry
Woomongers, for it was indeed a grey and dismal land, so you have to expect things like that.
Now the Woomongers were people too, of sorts, but they tended to think of themselves as rather more special than others. The Woomongers liked to think that they Knew Things, but really they didn't actually
know all that much more than other people. What they were mainly good at was Making Stuff Up and Pretending It Was Important. They really were very good at this. Nobody was better at Pretending To Be Important than a Woomonger. They were so good at this that they had convinced many people that Woomongers really were important, because the Woomongers knew all about
mustelids. People were so happy to have Woomongers to go to for advice that they would do nice things for them. They would happily polish the nice brass knobs on the Woomongers' front doors. The Woomongers had become used to having their knobs polished on a regular basis. It suited them very well indeed, and they were content with their lot.
Now Tricky Dicky was a rather clever chap, and he had written several books. He had written books about wombats and about warthogs. He had written books about toucans and tigers and turtles. He had even written a book about aardvarks. However, Tricky Dicky had never written a book about mustelids. He was thinking that perhaps it was time that he did this, for mustelids seemed to him to be a bit of a worry. He wasn't that worried about all mustelids, just mainly about weasels.
Of course, Tricky Dicky knew that strictly speaking weasels were only one species in the Mustelidae family, but there were hardly any ferrets and stoats in the country at all. Ferrets and stoats were so rare that hardly any people had even heard of them, let alone seen one. The ones that were around also seemed to be rather better behaved than the weasels. They were also much harder to catch. Tricky Dicky had a strong suspicion that the Woomongers specially trained their ferrets and stoats to be as evasive as possible, just so people couldn't catch them. Anyway, stoats and ferrets weren't much of a problem. Weasels were.
Tricky Dicky didn't really like weasels at all. He had had a few spots of bother with them in the past, and had seen the problems they could cause other people, and he somehow felt that perhaps the world might be a better place if more people were alerted to the pitfalls of associating with weasels. He hadn't written a book for a while, and weasels seemed to be a very good thing to write a book about. Tricky Dicky had decided! His new book would be about weasels. He announced his intention to the world:
I'm gonna write me a book about weasels. 
This was duly noted across the land, with varying degrees of enthusiasm from various people.
Onya, Dicky. 
Have a go, ya mug. 
So Tricky Dicky set about writing his new book. He had to decide what to call it, and after a lot of thought he had a name. He decided to call it
The Mustelid Delusion. Of course, Tricky Dicky knew that strictly speaking weasels were only one species in the Mustelidae family, but with ferrets and stoats being so rare and almost unheard of, most people just thought that weasels were mustelids and mustelids were weasels. If you said "mustelid" it would usually be assumed that a weasel was what you meant.
Still, it did pay to be clear, for Tricky Dicky didn't want to mislead anybody. He decided to explain that this book was about weasels, and he put the explanation right in the front of the book where nobody could miss it. He explained that weasels were what he knew most about, and what everyone usually ran into, and that he would leave other mustelids for other people to write about. Then he started on the rest of the book. There really was an awful lot of writing to do.
*sounds of writing*
*writing writing*
*writing writing writing*
Of course, Tricky Dicky couldn't keep writing all the time. He had to take a break occasionally.
*sounds of bonking*
Ooooooooooo, Dicky! 
*back to writing*
*writing writing*
*lots and lots of writing*
Then one day there was no more writing to do. Tricky Dicky had finished his book! He was ever so chuffed about this, and he announced it to the world with great satisfaction:
I have finished me book! This was duly noted across the land, with varying degrees of enthusiasm from various people.
Onya, Dicky. Righto. Let's have a squizz. 
The Woomongers didn't like Tricky Dicky's new book. They liked their mustelids a lot more than they liked Tricky Dicky, and he was not being nice to mustelids in his brand new book. The Woomongers were rather annoyed about this, and they were also a bit worried. They were worried because if people thought Tricky Dicky was making sense in his new book, then people might decide that they didn't need Woomongers so much. They might even decide that they didn't need Woomongers at all, and the Woomongers could be reduced to polishing their own knobs on a regular basis, and that would never do.
He hasn't mentioned ferrets in this bloody book, and no stoats either! The whole damned thing is about weasels! 
Bloody 'ell, so he hasn't! Our mate Bert wont be happy about! Bert'll have Dicky's guts for garters! 
The Woomongers decided that it was time to prepare a curry. They were going to confront Tricky Dicky, and for this a
Woomongers' Special Vindaloo was required, for there was nothing like a Woomongers' Special Vindaloo for putting fire in their bellies. So, the Woomongers made a nice, hot fire and put their cauldron over it. Now because it was a Woomongers' Special Vindaloo, it was made with extra woo. They added eye of newt, and toe of frog. They added wool of bat, and tongue of dog.
When the cauldron had bubbled and stewed enough, the Woomongers feasted on their vindaloo until their bellies were very fiery indeed and they were feeling ready for battle. Then it was time for the final touch, and they all put corks in their bottoms. The corks were very handy for keeping them inflated, and there was nothing quite like being inflated when a Woomonger was Pretending To Be Important. So, securely corked and fiery-tummied, the Woomongers set out.
Early one grey and dismal Sunday morning, Tricky Dicky and his rather charming wife were snuggled up on the sofa with a nice cup of tea. Despite it being rather grey and dismal, they thought it qiute a pleasant morning. They had a nice fire going, the flowers in the garden were blooming in the dim and watery sunlight, and the chirpy little birdies in the garden were not about to let being drizzled on put them off their chirping. They were stiff upper beaked chirpy birdies, and they had standards to maintain.
All of a sudden, there was a tremendously loud and impatient-sounding banging on the front door. Tricky Dicky was so startled that he almost jumped right off the sofa.
Fuck! 
Not now, dear. We have visitors. 
Tricky Dicky composed himself and went to see what all the fuss was about. Opening the door, he was met with the sight of a horde of grumpy Woomongers. In the olden days this would have been a very dangrous occasion, but in these enlightened times it was merely slightly annoying. Tricky Dicky asked the Woomongers why they were banging on his door so loudly on a very pleasant morning.
It's about this new book of yours! You didn't talk about ferrets and stoats! You should know that if you are going to wallop mustelids, you have to wallop the weasels and ferrets and stoats! And you should take off your braces and coats before commencing! 
Now of course Tricky Dicky knew that if one did want to conduct a truly thorough walloping of mustelids then it would indeed be necessary to wallop the weasels
and ferrets
and stoats. He also knew that if this were to be a literal, as opposed to metaphorical, walloping then one really should take off one's braces and coat before commencing, for nobody in their right mind would want to get nasty stoaty bits all over their nice clean braces and coat.
He hadn't thought any of this necessary though. He reminded the Woomongers that he had explained, in the front of his book, the lack of discussion regarding ferrets and stoats, just to make sure nobody got the wrong idea. He didn't see ferrets and stoats as much of a problem, and in any case hardly anybody even knew about them. The braces and coat were thoroughly irrelevant. The Woomongers were not mollified by this, and continued to make a lot of noise.
From her comfy seat on the sofa, Tricky Dicky's rather charming wife had been listening to the commotion. She was getting slightly tired of it. Every so often, she was known to take it into her head that being rather charming was perhaps not quite what the occasion called for. She was beginning to think that this might be one of those occasions, for she had discerned an inconsistency in the professed stance of the Woomongers. Deciding that she had a Serious Point To Make, she put down her tea, stood, adopted her most regal posture (which was saved for just such special occasions) and toddled off towards the front door.
Walking up beside her Dicky, and patting him on the bottom, she turned a steely gaze upon Woomonger the First.
Back the truck up, sunshine! At least my Dicky told people his book was about weasels. He said so in the front.
I've heard you banging on about mustelids before. It's just about all you bloody talk about. Now we know you're really talking about your precious ferrets, and you know the average mugs will just naturally assume you're talking about weasels, but you never bother to actually say so directly. You're all "Mustelid this" and "Mustelid that" all the bloody time.
And don't get me started on your mate Bert! What about his book then? He goes and calls it I Love Me Mustelids when the whole bloody thing is clearly about stoats. Doesn't actually say it's about stoats though does he? He just calls them mustelids all the way through.
Now if your lot can get away with things like that, what is wrong with my Dicky writing his book about weasels and calling it The Mustelid Delusion ? The Woomongers did not like this question. They did not like it at all. They felt it was rather rude. They couldn't quite say why it was rude, but they knew they didn't like it at all, so they were sure that it must be. However, they could tell that saying this would likely only result in an even more steely gaze. Woomongers had always found women rather difficult to deal with. They had found, through bitter experience, that a normally charming woman with A Serious Point to Make was a very formidable foe. Asking such a woman to calm down, even in a very nice voice, frequently resulted in entirely innappropriate suggestions regarding precisely what one could do with one's favourite ferrets and stoats.
It had been much easier in the olden days, when a Woomonger in a pickle could simply have the offending pickler burned or drowned or something. Since they weren't allowed to do such things any more, the Woomongers needed a good answer. Unfortunately, they couldn't think of one. She was right. They did indeed freely refer to mustelids, even when they were talking specifically about their ferrets and stoats.
So the Woomongers did the only thing that Woomongers could do in such situations. They tried Pretending To Be Important. They huffed and puffed, and huffed and puffed some more. They got redder and redder and bigger and bigger. They kept huffing and puffing and getting bigger and bigger until, with a terribly rude noise and a truly awful venting of Vindaloo Miasma, the corks popped out of their bottoms and the Woomongers deflated.
Fortunately, the wind was blowing away from the door, so Tricky Dicky and his very serious wife survived unscathed. They looked at the Woomongers and waited, and the Woomongers looked at each other.
The Woomongers flummoxed, deflated they stood.
They had lost all their fire, they had lost all their wood.
A Woomonger deflated was no sight at all,
not the least bit important, and with only one ball.
There was nothing to say, for they knew she was right.
The Woomongers could see it was useless to fight.
So they fretted and grumbled, made a noise like a toad,
then they turned on their heels and stomped off down the road. |
ricky Dicky closed the door and he and his wife, who was back to being rather charming, returned to the sofa to finish their tea. They sat there admiring the flowers blooming in the dim and watery sunlight, silently applauding the stalwart efforts of the chirpy birdies, and smiling fondly about each other's personal quirks without being silly enough to actually mention them aloud.
And they all lived happily ever after (except the Woomongers, who were grumpy).
- THE END -
Topic: The Story of Tricky Dicky and the Woomongers