H.O.N.E.Y.

Glossy plywood stands erect on four walls. A gas fireplace waits anxiously in the corner, its single log hissing for a mate. An imitation bear hide sprawls before it, glass eyes shining from the blue warmth. Leather recliners guard the prize, posted carefully on either side. They, too, gleam oh-ever-so-slightly from the sole source of heat in the cabin. A refrigerator hums itself to sleep apart from them, along the side wall. Its contents wait patiently to be eaten. Beer, store-bought venison, and cocktail weenies. A mousy cabinet waits in the refrigerator’s shadow, full of potato chips, cheez balls, and paper plates. A cardboard table fills the corner with a restless coffee pot and overflowing ash tray. The coffee pot breaks up the log’s mating call with a loud snap, angry for being empty too long. The cigar butts mark a trail through the kitchen to a shy bunk bed, napping in the other corner. Its resting companions are a window and a clock radio. The window dreams. It dreams of Caucasian, middle-aged, overweight male hunters who enjoy smoking and drinking. Abruptly, the clock radio wakes up and speaks in a firm voice.

“…and today, July seventeenth, 5067, is the day that we commemorate the birthday of Dr. Arnold T. Jujube, founder of the Separatist theory. Arnold is the guy who we all attribute to our way of life today. Isn’t that right, Buffy?

Yes it is, Biff. But we certainly can not acknowledge this monumental day without also recognizing our late president Robert Radling, great-grandson of that astrology- loving president in the ancient nineteen-eighties. You know, Biff, I can still remember the stories that my great-great-great grandmother used to tell me about that era when I was younger. Imagine stereotyping each decade of a century!

That is something to think about, Buffy. It is so fascinating to think of how advances in cryogenics have brought families even closer together.

I know I would never be able to appreciate things like marketing soft-drink names on clothes if it wasn’t for my grammie, Biff. Remember to call your local cryrogenicist today to learn more about your history and appreciate our current way of life!

Thanks for that heart-wrenching reminder, Buffy. Now here’s time for a little trivia. What is the present-day sector for what used to be the northern part of the former state of Wisconsin? Dial 999-2545 now. That’s 999-2545. Caller number nine will receive a trip to that FABulous sector #87, also known as L.E.A.F. Leo-Erotic-Anal-retentive-Football-players. Who, coincidentally, are all under five feet tall.

Yum, sounds like the place that I want to be. What if Caller number nine is a heterosexual male?

Well then, he will win an all-expense paid trip to sector #103, whose acronym is—

Don’t tell me, don’t tell me! Is it C.H.E.A.P.?

That’s right, Buffy. Clean-Hard-working-Environmental-Axe-wielding-Potheads. My, you must be up on your geography today.

Well, Biff, it is SO hard to do nowadays. But I view the holonews every morning for weather and it tells me the climate-controlled temperature in every section!

Okay, Buffy let’s go to a caller. How are phone lines are a-buzzing. Let’s meet Caller number nine! Hello, you’re on the air with ZNOT.

Hi guys, um, actually I’m not your Caller number nine. I don’t really know the answer. I just wanted to—

Well, how ‘bout a consolation prize anyway. Buffy and I will send you a free T-shirt, a complementary coffee mug with our logo embossed in fourteen karat gold, and a FABulous bumper sticker. How do you feel about that?

Great. Um, can I ask a question?

Shoot. And don’t forget listeners, we are still waiting for that oh-so-elusive answer to today’s trivia question. Dial 999-2545 now. Go ahead caller, what’s on your mind?

I just wanted to respond, um. To this whole Separatist thing. I mean, why would you want to create a country that looks like bubble-wrap?

Oh. Oh! Who do I see a-knocking on our studio door? Here, live and in the flesh, to answer that question is Mr. History guy. Let’s sing that haunting ditty. Shall we, Buffy?

We shall, Biff.

Mr. His-to-ry guy. Mr. His-to-ry guy. He knows ev-er-y-thing. Oh yes, he does. Es-pecially about stuff. Stuff we don’t need to know. We’re so hap-py. He’s so mis-er-a-ble. Poor Mr. His-to-ry guy.

This is Mr. History guy.

The reason why I called is because I wanted to figure out why we were in these, these bubble things. Every time I’ve asked anyone else, no one seems like they’re able to give me a straight answer. Has life always been this way?

With the wonder of cryogenics at our disposal, today’s history lesson comes to us from Robert Radling himself. Back a little ways when President Radling got into office, around 2045 or so, life as we know it sucked the big pickle. Asian-Americans were dating Afro-Americans. Full-blooded Americans were sending their children to school with Haitian-Americans. Homosexual girls were found in clubs singing for heterosexual audiences. Things like that. So R&R, as we so lovingly called him, decided we needed to make a drastic change in our lifestyles. So he consulted his mentor and parapsychologist, Dr. Arnold T. Jujube. At first, separations in the gas-permeable, weather-controlled, plasma aerospheres were determined by ascending and descending sun signs. But, when the Saggitarians shot one too many arrows, and the Virgos couldn’t reproduce, Radling decided it was time for a larger change.

But Mr. History guy, that doesn’t explain how we got into these smaller bubbles.

Caller, we are not done yet! This portion of today’s history lesson is direct from Dr. Jujubes’ clone! Never lose your loved ones. Live forever without having to bear children the natural, messy way. Clonay, clone today. Take it away, Mr. History Guy.

Well thank you, Buffy. After consulting Dr. Jujube, Dr. Jujube realized that R&R really was taking some “R&R” when he tried to use only sun signs to classify citizens! So the Dr. slowly poisoned R&R with cyanide to make it look like he had a massive, heart attack. He got away with it, too. I guess Radling’s wife hated him and took the fall. And guess what happened next?

What Mr. History Guy?

Dr. Jujube became our very next president. He developed a form known as I.M.B.T.T.R. for placement into the “bubbles.” Race, religion, eating preferences, favorite vacationing spot, tolerance for road rage as well as many other factors played into the thousand-page form. Then, results were tallied and calculated. Those matching over 80% are placed together into an environment. And they are only retested every twenty years! Other than the inter-global incident of 2087 and the disappearance of the former state of Oklahoma, we really haven’t had any problems.

Thank you Mr. History guy. That answer explained a lot. Do I still get a free T-shirt?

Well, Caller, I think you more than deserve it. What do you say, Buffy?

I think that would be swell, Biff. Uh, I mean Mr. History guy. Time to take another caller. Will this one be our Caller number nine. Are you there?

You’re on the air with ZNOT.

Ooooooo, I love you guys. Especially you, Biff. Ooooo.

Why thank you, I’m oh-so-flattered. But do you know the correct answer to today’s trivia question?

Is the answer to your question sector #53?

Yes, why Buffy, I think she’s right! But can you give us the acronym for today’s prize?

H.O.N.E.Y. Hunting-Old-Negligent-Erring-Yodelers.

Yes that’s correct for a trip to Sector #87! They are yodeling hunters. They are old. They have a norwegian background and they never hit what they shoot at!

Oooooo, Biff you’re the greatest. Ooooo.

Now here’s something that will take you back to the time of my great-great-great-grammie. The song is called “Material Girl” and is performed by a woman who professed to be holy!

That’s FABulous, Buffy. And here you are callers, your flashback to days gone past. You’ve all got it coming to you.

The clock radio sings. The hissing log quiets down and falls asleep, snoring. Blue flames shrink in the fireplace to nothing. After tossing and turning on its burner a few more times, the coffee pot settles down into a melting sleep. The window continues to dream of old men shooting at deer, but never finding their mark.