Editor’s Note: It is the day to celebrate fools, or their foolishness, anyway. This is Marlow’s take on an older version that seems completely appropriate this rainy morning in Virginia’s lush Piedmont…

– Vic

Author’s note: Dear readers, below the tear line is a slightly tongue-in-cheek piece that was written during the early January days of our nation’s capitol craziness. SH publisher, its circle of editors, authors and fact checkers choose to spike it to do its part in calming America’s troubled waters.

– Marlow

In honor of April 1st’s mandated foolishness, the Dude (finally) speaks.

-Marlow

January 12 2021
The Dude Speaks

I had a visitor (er, visitation?) last night. Here is what I hazily recall the morning after. This film noir, slacker detective and bon vivant had some things on his mind he wanted to say about what’s going down. For what it’s worth, please excuse the Dude-speak.

-Marlow

. . . .

Dude: . . . I was, uh, the youngest of the authors of the Port Huron Statement. The original Port Huron Statement. Not the compromised second draft. And then I, uh . . . ever hear of the Seattle Seven? That was me and, uh, six other guys . . .

(Marlow’s black cat Angel, smelling cream in the Dude’s drink, jumps into his lap.)

Dude: Hey, careful, man, there’s a beverage here.

Dude: Scuse me, gotta freshen mine. Want one?

Marlow, draining his bourbon: Yeah, use the good vodka. There’s half-n-half in the fridge.

Dude: My versions’re creamy, thick and I serve ‘em by the dozen. With their layers of milky waves topping the alcoholic foot of the glass, they are the post-dinner cocktails that dominate every alcoholphile’s desire for vintage quaffing and postmodern internet-con-text-uality.

Dude: Ah, as you were saying, what was that Russian thing several years ago . . .

Marlow: 2016 US presidential campaign, blah-blah-blah, National Security Advisor Gen Mike Flynn, blah-blah-blah, DIRNSA Director Mike Rogers, blah-blah-blah, FBI Director Jim Comey, blah-blah-blah, the President, blah-blah-blah, Special Counsel Robert Mueller, blah-blah-blah . . . . (sounds of the Dude barfing) blah-blah-blah . . .

Dude: Ah, screw that. Let’s go bowling. Unlike today, it’s got rules. On the way, we can stop and get us a Krystal Hangover Sandwich . . .

(In between frames, Hangover burgers and White Russians at the 24-hour ten pin alley, the Dude continued.)

Dude: . . . I used to feel bad about all my tangents and randomness on everything from obscure revolutions to past airport run-ins with one term congressmen. I blame it all on childhood trauma — in third grade I played a freaking tree in a play and I blew my line . . . maybe, something like that is behind all this.

Dude: I believe, maybe, I ‘m due some reparations, man. Did I get that word right?

Marlow: Sounds right in line with the times, Dude. No need for the air quotes.

Dude: In the end, it doesn’t matter. If you ask me, we live in existentialist times — this last act’s got no emotional climax. You know it used to be strikes and gutters, ups and downs for America . . . now we’re beset with nihilists on one side of us and human paraquat on the other — neither can figure out the difference between a golf ball and a bowling ball.

Marlow: Their aggressions will not stand, Dude.

Dude: America’s a buddy movie at heart, a friends movie with true heart. We tell each other like it is and we’re loyal to our friends.

Marlow: Just like you and Walter.

Dude: It’s our great gift to the world. We can go anywhere in the world and when people see us, they’re a friend.

Dude: After we chat, we party together. Sometimes during.

Dude: Wanna a freshener?

(Your author’s threaded memory ceases here.)

​Epilogue

Marlow in a voiceover: I recall the Dude saying at one juncture something else like “The Constitution really ties us and the room together.” ​ Methinks it abides. It’s good knowin’ it’s out there. I take comfort in that . . . yeah, well, I know that’s just, like, my opinion, man.

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