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From Shiraz Allidina's, "Asian Hill Lizard," Fall '97 From Shiraz Allidina's, "Asian Hill Lizard," Fall '97 My old friend Bobo the Rationalist is having a crisis. He prefers to call it a crise de conscience, since it violates and buffets the very core of his being. Bobo was on the operating table, during routine surgery, succumbing to the soporific, mind-numbing magic purveyed by his friendly-neighborhood anesthesiologist. Then something happened. Nobody quite understands it, but Bobo claims that he was being drawn to a bright, soft, comforting light. He immediately felt an overwhelming sense of well being. However, his natural rationalist impulse overcame any flood of emotion. Eventually, Bobo found himself in a white, brilliant room. "What the hell is going on here?" he demanded. Suddenly, a table appeared with an old Mickey Mouse telephone, albeit one with touch-tone buttons. (Many of you will find this bizarre story incredible. I myself almost threw my beer at Bobo when he told it to me. However he claims it is completely true.) Bobo approached the telephone receiver and put the handset to his ear. A recorded message played. "Welcome to The Afterlife!" said the voice genially. It sounded like a Hollywood announcer, (like that lunatic on the movie hotline.) "It is our pleasure to serve you better. If you would like to speak to: JIMI HENDRIX, press 1 NOW. If you would like to speak to: SIR ISAAC NEWTON, press 2 NOW. If you would like?" Bobo punched the pound sign. This normally gets you somewhere. "All our operators are busy right now, however, here in The Afterlife, we value your business. Please hold until one of our operators is free." Bobo claims the ensuing music was some old Yardbirds tune. I think he made that part up. Eventually, somebody came on the line: "Welcome to life after death, sir, how may I help you?" "I'd like to speak to the management, please." replied Bobo. "Sir?" began the operator, uncertainly. "I'd like to talk to whoever is in charge," demanded Bobo. "I have a list of complaints." "Well, the Chief Executive is quite busy right now," explained the operator, "but I'll transfer you to the complaints department." Bobo waited another thirty seconds. Eventually someone else answered, this time with the deep, soothing tones of one who's profession demands attending to irate customers: "Complaints, Suggestions and Inquiries, how may I be of assistance?" "Ahh, yes. This is Bobo the Rationalist speaking. What the bloody hell is going on up here?" "How do you mean, sir?" the dulcet voice replied. "Well," began Bobo, "I mean there's some pretty crazy stuff going on down there and I want some answers!" "Please be more specific, sir." "OK, I'll be specific. Maybe you guys should have taken a little more time designing the universe. Seven days might have been good for the record books, but it makes for a lot of costly errors. For example, why is the nose built so close to the mouth? That's just a recipe for disaster. Do you guys have any idea how many people die of choking every year? The respiratory and digestive intake tubes should be far apart!" "That's a very good point, sir, I'll pass on this opinion," the official coolly answered. "Yeah, you do that. Furthermore, why is it that fifty percent of human beings are female? Surely it would have been more efficient to have fewer aggressive, testosterone-filled males and a few more peaceful, sensitive females. Reproduction certainly wouldn't have suffered." "Hmmm. I'm not quite sure what the rationale for our current policy is. I'll take it up with the Chief Exec." This is when Bobo got really riled up. "Oh yeah, your Chief Exec. What is He trying to do? Doesn't He know what's going on down there? Innocent children are starving! Huge tracts of virgin rain forests are being decimated! Oprah Winfrey is a multi-millionaire! Quite frankly, many of us have come to the conclusion that the Chief Exec is a little out of touch." "Yes, we are concerned that His approval rating has taken a bit of a plunge over the last quarter millennium." "You're damn right it has. You guys don't seem to have a consistent message. Nobody understands the story anymore. You've got to stop all of this 'moves in mysterious ways' crap and start communicating things simply. Show that He's in touch with the common man." "Like Reagan did?" "Exactly!" cried Bobo, triumphantly. "We want a little more order, and a little less of this random nonsense. We don't need chaotic, path-dependent systems like weather. We want predictable, reasonable phenomena like network television." "A little less irrationality is what you are asking for?" queried the official. "Absolutely," replied Bobo. The official took a deep breath. "We have always been slightly puzzled by this 'rational/irrational' dichotomy you have invented for yourselves. It is an interesting custom, but hardly a sensible way to construct (or even view) an entire universe." "What are you saying?" said Bobo, appalled. "Are you saying that He had no rational basis for any of this? There's no underlying premise?" "Thank you, good day." said the official, by way of reply. At this point, Bobo felt himself being pulled back, away from the soft, brilliant light. He awoke a few hours later in his hospital bed. Bobo has spent the last few weeks trying to come to terms with his transcendental experience. He still doesn't like any of the answers offered to him by the mysterious official.

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