This is a rare treat, dear reader. We herewith bring you a new work by this blog’s most popular (and only) guest author — the esteemed “Dr. Swinefat Pink.”
Many of you remember being thrilled by his previous work, announced here: Coming Soon — Ben Stein as Indenial Jones (Sequel to Expelled), and which then appeared here: Deluders of the Noachic Ark: Part the First, which was followed by: Deluders of the Noachic Ark: Part the Second.
Then, after a four-year hiatus — never explained, but it was rumored that he was searching for Noah’s Ark — the good doctor returned in August of 2012, not with another adventure tale, but with a musical, and so we presented My Bare Spacey, by Dr. Swinefat Pink.
After that there was only silence — until now. We are pleased to report that Dr. Swinefat Pink is back again! He describes his latest in his own words: “I’m taking the liberty of sending you a rare copy of the very first episode of Gullikin’s Island, a vintage sit-com about an ID cargo cult shipwrecked in the middle of Puget Sound.”
With no further introduction, we proudly present Dr. Pink’s latest:
Just sit right back and you’ll hear a tale,
A tale of a strange crusade
That started up in Puget Sound
Amongst a weird brigade.
Their Kling was a faecal-flinging man,
Their Gerbil smart (alleged);
Those scavengers set forth one day
On a two-decade Wedge,
… A two-decade Wedge!
THE DISCO’TUTE HAD PICKED a typically glorious Seattle summer afternoon for the annual staff picnic: overcast grey sky, dark clouds rolling in from the Olympic peninsula, and a light drizzle of rain falling on Puget Sound. The Tooters, with beaming smiles and irrepressible excitement, had assembled earlier that morning at the Marina to board their chartered boat, the S.S. Wedgie, and now their valiant vessel was slicing its way southwest through the water. Skipper Westie was at the helm, and First Mate Spacey Gullikin breathlessly pointed out some landmarks on the Seattle skyline.
“How could anyone,” proclaimed Gullikin, “look on the mighty erection that is the Space Needle and possibly suppose its tumescent splendour was the product of random chance? Why, all the self-evident hallmarks of design are simply spurting out of it in a wad of irreducible and specified complexity!”
The other Tooters sighed appreciatively at this marvel as Gullikin continued, “And there’s more! We can at once detect, by simple inspection alone, that it is not a product of mere human design, for humans would not design such an enormous needle, which is clearly intended to sew the gigantic celestial garments for some vast cosmic space Being of great Intelligence — and formidable skill as a tailor!”
The Tooters at once fell into a spasm of reverential murmurs of gratitude to the Intelligent Designer — but their devotions were harshly interrupted by a cry of alarm from ‘Professor’ Teehee: “Captain Westie! Land ahoy, dead ahead! Hard to port, or we’ll run aground!”
“Hard to port?” replied Capt. Westie, frantically checking his pockets for his copy of Sailing for Dummies. “… Remind me, which side is that again?”
“’Starboard’ is the official naval terminology for ‘right’, and ‘port’ means ‘left’” the Professor explained.
“Nonsense!” exclaimed ABP (Able-Bodied Pooflinger) Klingy. “Scripture tells us there is no right and left, only right and wrong! Keep steady on our course, Captain!”
Their campaigns withered on the vine,
Their law suits all got tossed;
If not for donations from a wealthy loon,
The Wedgie would be lost,
… The Wedgie would be lost!
KEERUUUNNNCCCHHH! The S.S.Wedgie struck the rocks of Blake Island and promptly sank in three feet of water, the Tooters abandoning ship and wading to shore.
“Oh no, Captain! What do we do now?” pleaded Gullikin, squeaking shrilly like a gerbil with its genitals caught in its exercise wheel.
“Don’t worry, little buddy!” cooed Captain Westie. “Just marvel at how this island was placed precisely in this spot to save us from drowning! The odds against an island occurring in the immediate vicinity of these treacherously submerged rocks are 458,2569,237,411,258,338 million to 1! Let us give thanks unto the Intelligent Designer (Blessed be He!) for his gift of this privileged island!”
And so the Tooters, when they had given thanks for their providential deliverance, gathered around Captain Westie for guidance.
“Truly, this is a great blessing!” announced the Captain. “We are delivered unto a promised land free from the taint of godless materialistic naturalism and genocidal scientism! Here we can not only survive but, guided by the principles of Intelligent Design Theory, we shall thrive and prosper! And someday — just like Generalissimo Chiang Kai-shek — we shall return in triumph to the mainland!”
Buoyed up by the Captain’s bold words, some of the Tooters set about building a Big Tent for shelter while others started foraging for food and water.
This crew made camp on the wreck of old
And Westie too…
A billionaire and his cash…
A movie stein…
A ‘professor’ and Moonie Smells,
Here on Gullikin’s Isle!
Soon, Gullikin found a rank, stagnant pond and filled a jerry can (having first poured away the gasoline it had contained) with the brackish, green, and slimy fluid of the puddle and lugged it back to camp.
But when he poured out a glass of the disgusting liquid and offered it to Skipper Westie, the Professor quickly intervened. “Don’t drink that!” he cried.
“But … but … I am dying of thirst!” spluttered the Skipper.
The Professor explained. “Yes, but that water is not fit for human consumption — until I have passed it through my invisible explanatory filter.”
But before the Professor could undertake this task, there was a deafening roar overhead, quickly followed by another, and then another — in fact, an unending succession of the sounds of jet engines screaming overhead as a steady stream of aircraft made their final approaches into Sea-Tac Airport just across the Sound.
The Tooters, awestruck, gazed at the spectacle in slack-jawed wonder.
The Skipper turned to Gullikin and proclaimed, “Wow! Just think of what we could do with one of those big magic metal birds! Help me wave one down!”
But three hours later, with arms aching from waving and throats sore from shouting, the Skipper and Gullikin collapsed in an exhausted heap.
“It’s no use, Captain,” said a tearful Gullikin. “They’re ignoring us.”
But the Skipper quickly rallied them back into action. “Don’t give up, little buddy! Look, we’ve got a Professor, too! We must stay true to the hallowed principles of Intelligent Design Theory, which clearly states that a thing can be whatever it appears to be! We can build our own airport, right here!”
And with that, the Tooters quickly fell into an orgy of frenetic activities: clearing the underbrush to form a muddy ‘landing strip’, crafting coconut-shells into ‘landing lights’, weaving bamboo fronds into a ‘radar dish’, and fashioning empty boxes of Corn Flakes into a ‘radio.’
No sense, no tests, no data points,
Just a green-screen labor’t’ry;
Like Tarot cards or voodoo,
“Soon, all the magic metal birds will come to us,” proclaimed the Professor. “The days of those godless cannibal Darwinists are numbered!”
So join us here each week, my friends,
You’re sure to get real riled
By this benighted Cargo Cult
Here on Gullikin’s Isle!
See also: GULLIKIN’S ISLAND — Episode 2.
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