As Columbus Day, the day set aside to honor the great explorer, who is said to have discovered America but really didn’t (he was too late)., approached I began wondering what it would have been like for Chris and his pals when they landed in America that day in October, 1492. What kind of day was it? What sort of inhabitants greeted him? Were they happy to see Chris or upset about him and his crew being there? What if he landed there today? Since, as we all know most anything of importance can be found in the Wimodaughsian Library in Canisteo. I went there and, sure enough, found a DVD of Columbus’ historic landing. The first scene shows the intrepid captain and his sidekick Amerigo debarking a ship’s dinghy and striding up the beach to parley with a welcoming committee of six rather strangely attired natives.
“Wha’choo wont here, sucka?” demanded a black resident.
“I’m Christopher Columbus, the great explorer, and I’m sailing to the West Indies to find gold, spices and slaves for Queen Isabella. If this is the West Indies, then you must be an Indian.”
“Oo-oo-oo,” crooned a gay blade, “a real queen! I wonder what sheth like.”
“Naw, man, I ain’t no Inin,” said the black guy. “That there’s an Inin,” hooking a thumb at a short, chubby guy with long hair. “Only they ain’t called Inins no mo’, they called Native Americans.”
“And what do they call you?” Chris wanted to know.
“Would you now where Africa is?”
“Naw, I dunno, man. It’s not my thing, ya know?” shrugging. “Somewhere.”
“Why are you all called different things?” asks Chris. “You all live here together, don’t you?” He looked over each one of the group. “So what’s he?” nodding toward the gay guy.
“Is that so? Does that mean he’s a happy American?” thinking he was getting the hang of this diversity business
“Oh, we can be made happy,” giving Chris an appraising eye but not missing the sword slung from his left hip. “But, alas, we’re not happy now,” looking dejected.
“You poor thing! One wonders what it would take to make you happy,” remarked the explorer.
“You don’t want to go there!” sneered a member of NOW.
“Oh, shusth, you, you woman,” angry now, standing arms akimbo. “We have rights, too, you know!” stamping his/her foot.”
“Wow,” marveled the environmentalist commie, “ you come across pretty strong for a guy who gets his panties from an egg.”
“What a drag, man, what rights do you think you have? We the ones that need rights. We need reparations, man,” says the black guy.
“And we’ll make sure you get them, too,” smirked the chick from the ACLU, “just as soon as we get all the pictures of Jesus out of the schools.”
“And what will that accomplish?” asks the Catholic captain.
“Ah, I don’t know,” the chick replied, shrugged her scrawny shoulders, “It’s just what we do. If we didn’t have that to do, we would have to find real jobs.”
“You make a career of removing from schools pictures of the greatest teacher in the history of the word? What a remarkable way to spend your life,” said Chris. “And what irrelevant matters occupy your mind, my dear,” directing the question to the environmental chick.
“I was wondering, sir, how many little fish you murdered when you walked ashore a few minutes ago. And there you stand, thoughtlessly swatting at indigent bugs that land on you. It’s not their fault you’re here. A typical white male bully, that’s what you are,” eyes narrowed, a sneer showing a mouthful of crooked, yellow teeth appears.
“Sorry I asked,” says Chris.
“Hey, Captain,” yelled a mouth from the NOW crowd. “how many women do you have working on those ships out there?” pointing to the Pinta, the Nina and the Santa Maria bobbing in the bay.
“What do you want to know for?” asked the captain, suspicious of the NAG’S motives, leaning toward her, getting in her face.
“My group is interested in knowing if women are getting paid the same as men,” spitting the last word, “and that they aren’t being sexually harassed in the kitchen.”
“If we allowed women on board, Miss Mouth, we would sexually harass them when and where we damned well pleased. I assume women who yammer of such things are attempting to extort doubloons from the people they work for. We respond to that with a good flogging. They never cause us men any trouble after that. Oh, by the way, the space to which you refer is called a galley.”
“No women on board? What’s the matter, Captain, don’t think women can hoist them sails, coil them ropes, weigh that anchor?” sneering into his face.
“I’ll bet therth no gay people either,” whimpered the gay Bermudan, “We can hoist and coil and weigh, too,” dabbing some snot off his/her nose and a tear from his/her eye.
“Lady, the last woman who spoke to me like that ended up as an anchor,” Chris’ face crimson now. “I’m tired of this crap. You!” pointing to the black guy. “Get some men together, chop down some of the those trees over there and build me a cabin.”
“Whoa, hold on there,” yipped the chick from the EPA. “You can’t be chopping down those trees for houses. Owls and canaries live there. Where will they go?”
“How about a different tree? There’s a whole forest of them further down the beach.” Amerigo Vespucci chiming in for the first time”
“Wha’chu mean, sucka, build a cabin? I ain’t buildin’ no damn cabin. No way! My gub’ment check don’t cover no manual labor.”
“Mine edder. Me no build no damn cabin, edder,” said the Indian guy.
“This is some bunch of crackpots, Captain,” whispers Amerigo. “We should toss ‘em all in irons, put gags on them mouthy women, chain Tinkerbell there to the bow in case we lose an anchor.”
The environmentalist wasn’t done yet: “Whatsa matter, MisterConqueror, don’t think owls and canaries should have rights too? And trees?”
“Trees? Trees have rights?” stammered Chris.
“No they don’t!” howled the nag from NOW.
“All animals have rights, too,” insisted the tree hugger.
“Oh, for chrissakes,” howled Chris.
“So do black folks.”
‘’And gayths,” lisped Tinkerbell.
“So do Innins.”
“So do criminals. And victims.”
“Victims? Victims of what?”
“We need rules for tranthexuals. It’s not fair …”
“Transexuals had better learn to use properly designated restrooms,” said a huge man standing on hillside nearby. He leaned against a tree pounding the side of a double-bitted ax into his palm. “I see one of them fellers that should be taking a leak in the Men’s Room dangling his bidness in the Girl’s Room, I know just how to make him the girl he wants to be,” he said, spinning the ax in his hand.
“Watch it, buster,” said the ACLU chick, pointing a finger at the big man. “You take the law into your own hands and …”
“Don’t worry, lady. I won’t be taking anything into my own hands, eh, eh,” spinning the ax.
“Ah-ah-ah-ah, let me outta here,” howled the crazed explorer. He and Amerigo parted company with America’s natives and sprinted down the beach to their dinghy. “Ho, ho, gotta go!” he yelled as they pushed off and hastily rowed into the waves. “Let’s head further down the coast,” suggested Chris, “maybe we can find a kinder, gentler place to discover … maybe someplace with an abortion factory … or having a mass execution … or maybe even a Nazi demonstration. All of which would be friendlier places to discover. Hurry, Amerigo! Don’t look back!”