- Ken Hurley
Eating rice pudding as I plot my next move, I chat with the gold-toothed, nose-ringed, sleeve-tatted, revolutionaries: Paco, Arthur, Boo-Boo, and Ace.
They are particularly agitated today after learning the barista at the local Bean Counter is fresh out of lactose-free cream. No Latte Macchiato for the bad boys who hope to kick up the pep in their step as they wonder again how best to right the world and squabble whether or not they really need a manifesto.
Carla Howe, from the nationally known law firm, Sooem and Howe, is sitting next to me. Carla is my quibbling, disputant, pettifogger friend, who still takes pride raising annoying and trite objections to nearly everything.
She offered to argue with management on behalf of the revolutionaries about the injustice wrought by the lack of lactose-free cream. The revolutionaries each declined her offer opting instead for a Cinnabon and Diet Coke.
Without provocation and the non-est non sequitur ever, Carla, with the desperation of a mother who misplaced her five year old in Target, explains to me the differences between lewd and lascivious.
Between bites of the sugary warm, heart-stopping, diabetes-inducing Cinnabon, Paco belts out Chaka Khan’s, “I’m Every Woman” to the wonderment of the café patrons who joyfully sing along in disharmonious dissonance.
Boo-Boo, the hedonistic heretic of the group, decides now is better than never and raises the matter of life beyond Earth. "Suppose there is life beyond our planet but we can't recognize it because it isn't carbon-based?" as the café chorus sings.
Arthur, ever the pontificating philosopher, says with a quiet deep rumble through his long white gnome beard, "There are only two mistakes one can make along the road to truth: 1) Not starting on the road and 2) Believing there is a road to ‘truth’."
Boo-boo continues, "Suppose there is life elsewhere but the genetic construction has no resemblance to our DNA structure?"
Paco jumps on the counter to conduct the caffeinated patrons with a straw baton as they yell, "I'm every woman / It's all in me / Anything you want done baby / I do it naturally."
Arthur, with a sugary glazed stare and the tantric liberation of a weary Tibetan Monk whispers, "Not all truths are created equal. Grin-making are religious truths. 'My religion is better than your religion', say the religious. And, 'I’ll penalize you, shame you, ostracize you, or kill you to prove it. Won’t you and your family join us at our next service'?"
A perplexed Boo-boo wonders aloud, "Suppose there is extraterrestrial life but it doesn't have any DNA or other nucleic acids?"
Arthur with a smirk and giggle says, "Laughable too are secular 'truths'. America continues to sustain a culture that exalts warriors and denigrates peacemakers for the benefit of power."
Carla slowly gyrates provocatively in her chair as she gently sips her Stevia sweetened Iced Mocha through the steel straw she carries everywhere, "Mmmm … tasty … Mmmmm," she coos between sips as she gives her best effort to display either lewdness or lasciviousness. I can not discern the difference. I smile. She winks. Then her right fake eyelash falls into her drink.
Ace has a sleepy, droopy-eyed look when he mumbles, "Not sure if I am more sick or more tired of people telling me they’re sick and tired." Ace slumps where he sits. Mid-day nap.
Arthur offers wisdom fit for a roundtable, "Beware of those who claim they're 'woke'. They're not!" As he slams his fist onto the table causing enough physical reverberation to loosen his gold teeth.
Boo-boo continues to wonder, "Suppose instead of looking for life as we know it, we need to look for life as we don't know it?"
My time at the Bean Counter passes quickly.
Paco has put down his staw baton. The Café Chorus has ended their final stanza. And I realize the revolutionaries talk but no one really listens.
The revolutionaries have succumbed to a Cinnabomb sugar induced coma and are now asleep on each other's shoulders.
Just before Arthur nods off he stammers in a hushed confused voice, "Always remember and never forget, just because I prefer nouns doesn’t mean I’m pronoun."
Carla hasn't stopped yapping about her past indiscrete lewd and lascivious debauchery in an effort to get me to agree there is a distinction between lewd and lascivious.
As Carla's bazoo yammers, I sprinkle cinnamon on my rice pudding, look straight in her bald eye, as fond free thoughts roam through my mind of the time I won second place in a beauty contest.
You say you want a revolution? Paco, Arthur, Boo-Boo, and Ace may not have the same gravitas as Trotsky, Gandhi, Guevara, or Washington, but these four lovable stumblebums have found a way to harmlessly pass time yet believe they are the ones who tilt the balance toward their favor just a bit.
Meet me at the Bean Counter. I'll introduce you to the revolutionaries. As soon as they wake from their nap.
You say you want a revolution? Forward comments to Ken Hurley at Kenhurley88@gmail.com
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