Tyger Taxi

In today's new chapter of my fake novel BRYAN THE TYGER, which I am publishing in installments online because the American People did not elect me to be their President, my protagonists shuttle folks around in a chariot of fire.

[I got tired of graffiti-ing tygers onto junk ads, so, for the next few days, the obligatory images that accompany these announcements will be just lazy attempts at hand-drawing copies of ad photos with felt tip marker.]

P.S.

In other news: my Public Private Diary is fully printed; also I made a list of my latest novels that have been printed but not included in any collection.

Chapter Thirty-Three

We now spend the next few weeks evacuating the whole planet. We start in the areas that are most affected by the toxic black-and-orange fumes. Our fiery chariot serves as a type of “Noah’s Ark”, except that Noah brought animals by pairs (and “clean” animals by sevens [Genesis 7:2]) into his lifeboat, whereas Myala the Black Panther and I Bryan the Tyger can only haul about thirty-three creatures at a time. This isn’t because we lack the strength to carry more; for I’m convinced that our power is infinite; it’s just that when I did the stitching of our harness, I calibrated it so that the amount of beings it can pull will always match the number of deities in the Vedic Religion (which, in terms of tonnage, is the equivalent of a score plus a baker’s dozen North Americans); and I don’t want the straps to break.

So we gallop back and forth between Earth and Jupiter, dropping off our passengers and begging them to behave until we return. Also, every time we travel the route from Jupiter to Earth, instead of just wasting a trip, we offer any creatures who live in the Red-Spot District to come along with us if they would like an earthly vacation. “For,” (we explain to them) “the Earth’s atmosphere is now suffused with toxic fumes, brimstone, fire, sulfur, lava, and constant explosions, just as you like.” — This style of decor is indeed preferred by our fellow Jovians. We let them know that there’s no way we can predict how long these new planetary conditions will last: it could be that they’re permanent; and it could be that they’ll clear up after only a few millennia. “But,” (we assure them), “if the latter turns out to be the case, and Earth’s environment starts returning to a state that is habitable by Earthlings but therefore distasteful to Jovians, then Myala and I will come and bring you back home.”

“King Bryan, may I ask you a question?” sez one of the Jovians: an airborne Giant Squidling code-named Holly.

“You just did,” I quip; and bubbles ascend in myriads out of all the Jovians’ blowholes, as they have a laugh. Then I add: “Nah, Holl, I’m only kidding — of course you can address me without fearing that electricity will consume you.”

Holly takes a moment to finish laughing; and, once all the bubbles have popped, she sez: “I’m just wondering how it makes sense that the Earthlings will be able to survive here on Jupiter, where the atmospheric conditions are as noxious to them as their freshly poisoned, earthly environs. I mean: won’t they die just as easily on either planet? Therefore, isn’t it just a waste of poetry to perform this interplanetary swap that you and Queen Myala are engaged in?”

Seeing that my Tyger-face is now sporting a look of bewilderment, my soul-mate Myala the Black Panther steps forth and replies with lovingkindness:

“Dear Holly, recall that it is not the reason that makes us happy or unhappy (to quote the Giant Squid Executive Stevens himself); nevertheless, I can satisfy your curiosity about this issue: for Bryan and I have been careful to offer each and every Earthling-refugee their choice of Astro Suit and Helmet.”

Giant Squidling Holly now slowly nods: “Ah, I see.”

So we escort Holly’s group of thirty-three Jovians aboard our Merkabah and tow them to Earth. And then we take the next group of earthling refugees from their globe to Jupiter’s Red-Spot District. And we keep doing this until the populations are swapped.

The funnest part of this mission, in my opinion, is the fact that we always rigorously enforce our rule of carrying only thirty-three passengers in our chariot, no matter if they are big or small – so they could be thirty-three West Highland White Terrier guard dogs (all so petite!), OR thirty-three mountainous Leviathans (even tho there’s only three such beasts left in existence, and I own the whole trinity) – and we treat this limit as a hard rule, allowing neither addition nor subtraction to its number, simply because it amuses us. It’s droll to watch when, say, thirty-three ladybugs enter the Merkabah, and then some grizzly bears draw nigh and innocently attempt to climb up onto the mounting step, because there’s obviously ample space left in the box chair, but we crane our head and shout “Enough! or Too Much” (which is another proverb of Blake); and the bears, or whatever type of creature was thusly roared at, always flinch back confusedly, and then we get to explain:

“Only thirty-three Aeons in the Pleroma. Be not impatient: You shall more than arrive there every one, and still pass on.”

Then, by the time we return and let the Jovian exchange-residents off, we invite the next thirty-three entities to squeeze in the chariot. (Tho our load may appear precarious, rarely does an Aeon ever fall.)

§

Now I feel moved to note some of the more memorable earthly realms that we evacuated. Of course, ultimately, we ended up rescuing the entire globe, so I could list every place on Earth right here; but I just want to highlight a few of the regions that stood out undeniably as the most sacred:

Eagan, Minnesota. That’s the first place whose indwellers Myala and I helped to safety and offered Astro Suits and Helms; because that was my hometown, before I moved to all the major cities. (Actually, to be boringly honest and accurate, Eagan is just the place where I always dreamt of living, back when I was a cub on Jupiter — Eagan is where I imagined myself growing up as a real human boy — but I’ve barely stepped paw there.)

Just this instant, the realization struck me that if I continue to list my favorite locales on Earth, I’ll never be able to leave off; so I’ll stop right here arbitrarily.

§

So now that all the Earthlings are safe in their Astro Suits on Jupiter, with their Bubble Helmets screwed on, Myala and I draw up some plans: We become architects and lay out blue­prints for the assembly of a massive rainforest, which we then manufacture in the midst of the Red Spot. This is done so that the humans and their fellow earthling creatures can have a familiar environment to walk around in. Our rainforest thus becomes sort of like the Central Zoo of the Red Spot. Not all of the Jovians emigrated from Jupiter (such a mass-migration was not necessary, as Jupiter is ninety thrillion times bigger than Earth), so those Jovians who remained are now able to come and observe the Earthlings playing in their fake native environment.

Then a double-millennium passes, and a state of dismal woe; during which time the Earth heals up, and all the toxic orange-and-black smoke that resulted from my destroying all the aircraft of that world (I also annihilated all the other motorized vehicles, on a whim) clears up; and the ponds, lakes, and oceans all grow blue again, and the grass goes back to being green.

So Myala and I return to Earth — depending on how much of our myth you believe, this is either our Second or Third Coming; and we chariot our fellow Jovians back to their home district to replenish Jupiter’s Red Spot. In concert we transfer all the Earthlings back to Orangutan Land, which is the new name of this third planet from the sun, since, inexplicably, it has become overrun with Orangutans. The year is now 2021 AD.