preface by Major Scientist
May Day, 2006.
An accidental career in science is no sneezing matter. Countless brows and dozens of tables have been gilded by my data and their diagrammatic progeny since I first slicked the purplish mantle of Major Scientist o'er my milky shoulders in that summery year of 1993. Back then I was a rough-n-rickshaw sprig of a man, a sapling bender chewing up data and spitting out platitudes at cost for the infamous Adventure Boyz with Nancy Drü and A-Dog, too. Their leader Captain Adventure Scarf was tough as a marm on me-tho' I deserved it-and I learned a bag or two's worth of things from him, I can assure you. Perhaps the greatest lesson I gleaned off him, though, was that it's never too late to be too late for learning a lesson. A hard, bumpy lesson, as most truths are, and one that would haunt me throughout my career, like a ghost of a ship that's hiding out on top of an actual ship but you can't even see it 'cause it's exactly the same kind of ship.
Over the years, I've had the opportunity to work with a few impressive crews, the Planet Caravan of 1994 most likely best known to you readers. As the years have rolled—nay—pillowed by me, I've lived a life far richer than any other beast has known, a life of adventure, melodrama, Scrabble®, death and fog. Things were looking up and upward for me as the Christian calendar counters neared the number 2000. Upward for me, that is, until they took a downward turn. That, my friends, was the beginning of a descent that would lead me from where I was to a point somewhat lower. It was a downward slide that started at 3.2 and quickly dropped me to a sour -.063. That of which I speak of, of course, is the election of George W. Bush to his post as President of the United States of America (planet Earth) and the rise of the Christian Reich to power in the world at large.
Oh we the beauties of the world, we tried to scoff it off us. We tried to shrug ourselves to sleep, to pill it out our chutes and drink it out our tubes. We even tried the flag on for size when those bloody towers came down. But some of us are too smart for our own damned selves. We weren't buying it, no matter what the foreigners were flying their airplanes into. We knew the danger was coming from the megachurches of suburban Denver, CO and being sneaked into Congress by Gideon spies. We knew the Christian Reich would not be stopped and that if we stood in its way we'd be mowed over. Often scientists are the first to go when the slaughter starts, you know. Did you know that? Oh, yeah. And teachers. I saw the price on my head and it said FIFTY CENTS CHEAP. It was time to get outta Dodge. We needed to ESCAPE.
Looking out from the crow's nest of hindsight and the what's-it-called of anticipation I gathered the best crew I could find, made up of the towering characters of my past and glistening allies of the present. We reinforced an ancient iron barge that had lain buried directly beneath the Statue of Liberty for over fifty years, outfitting it with the latest in technology, including Eric Dolphin, our pride and joy. By the time Shaggy was done installing the Brain Receptacle a month later we were off. We were sheltered from the fascist storm. We were safe.
Or so we thought. Herein you'll find the exceptions to the rule. The little rippling ruffles on the comforter of the bed of our snuggly lives together. I think Professor Boy's done a great job archiving our journals and Eric Dolphin's audio recordings. Hasn't he? I'll tell you what: I'll be right there alongside you, sexy reader, anticipating the next gem he'll pull from the elephant dung heap of history, polish off on tweed and hold, glistening, up to the brilliant florescent bulb of his gleaming monocular.
Shave the Back of the Oppressors and Run Screaming! Comfort Before Death! Remember Adventure Dog!
Fist in the air,
Major Scientist