The Flowered Thundermug by Alfred Bester "We will conclude this first semester of Antiquities 107," Professor Paul Muni said, "with a reconstruction of an average day in the life of a mid-twentieth-century inhabitant of the United States of America, as Great L.A. was known five hundred years ago. "Let us refer to him as Jukes, one of the proudest names of the times, immortalized in the Kallikak-Jukes-feud sagas. It is now generally agreed that the mysterious code letters JU, found in the directories of Hollywood East, or New York City as it was called then--viz., JU 6-0600 or JU 2-1914--indicate in some manner a genealogical relationship to the powerful Jukes dynasty. "The year is 1950. Mr. Jukes, a typical `loner'--i.e., `bachelor'--lives on a small ranch outside New York. He rises at dawn, dresses in spurred boots, Daks slacks, rawhide shirt, gray flannel waistcoat and black knit tie. He arms himself with a Police Positive revolver or a Frontier Six Shooter and goes out to the Bar-B-Q to prepare his breakfast of curried plankton or converted algae. He may or may not surprise juvenile delinquents or red Indians on his ranch in the act of lynching a victim or rustling his automobiles, of which he has a herd of perhaps one hundred and fifty. "These hooligans he disperses after single combat with his fists. Like all twentieth-century Americans, Jukes is a brute of fantastic strength, giving and receiving sledgehammer blows, or being battered by articles of furniture with inexhaustible resilience. He rarely uses his gun on such occasions; it is usually reserved for ceremonial rituals. "Mr. Jukes journeys to his job in New York City on horseback; in a sports car (a kind of open automobile), or on an electric trolley car. He reads his morning newspaper, which will feature such stories as: `The Discovery of the North Pole,' `The Sinking of the Luxury Liner Titanic,' `The Successful Orbiting of Mars by Manned Space Capsule,' or `The Strange Death of President Harding.' "Jukes works in an advertising agency situated on Madison Avenue (now Sunset Boulevard East), which, in those days, was a rough muddy highway, traversed by stagecoaches, lined with gin mills and populated by bullies, corpses and beautiful night-club performers in abbreviated dresses. Jukes is an agency man, dedicated to the guidance of taste, the improvement of culture, the election of public officers and the selection of national heroes. "His office on the twentieth floor of a towering skyscraper is decorated in the characteristic style of the mid-twentieth century. He has a roll-top desk, a Null-G, or Free Fall chair and a brass spittoon. Illumination is by Optical Maser light pumps. Large fans suspended from the ceiling cool him in the summer, and an infrared Franklin stove warms him in the winter. "The walls are decorated with rare pictures executed by such famous painters as Michelangelo, Renoir and Sunday. Alongside the desk is a tape recorder, which he uses for dictation. His words are later written down by a secretary using a pen and carbon ink. (It has, by now, been clearly demonstrated that the typewriting machine was not developed until the onset of the Computer Age at the end of the twentieth century.) "Mr. Jukes's work involves the creation of the spiritual slogans that uplift the consumer half of the nation. A few of these have come down to us in more or less fragmentary condition, and those of you who have taken Professor Rex Harrison's course, Linguistics 916, know the extraordinary difficulties we are encountering in our attempts to interpret: `Good to the Last Drop' (for `good' read `God'?); `Does She or Doesn't She?' (what?); and `I Dreamed I Went to the Circus in My Maidenform Bra' (incomprehensible). "At midday, Mr. Jukes takes a second meal, usually a community affair with thousands of others in a giant stadium. He returns to his office and resumes work, but you must understand that conditions were not ideal for concentration, which is why he was forced to labor as much as four and six hours a day. In those deplorable times there was a constant uproar of highway robberies, hijackings, gang wars and other brutalities. The air was filled with falling bodies as despairing brokers leaped from their office windows. "Consequently it is only natural for Mr. Jukes to seek spiritual peace at the end of the day. This he finds at a ritual called a `cocktail party.' He and many other believers stand close-packed in a small room, praying aloud, and filling the air with the sacred residues of marijuana and mescaline. The women worshipers often wear vestments called `cocktail dresses,' otherwise known as `basic black.' "Afterward, Mr. Jukes may take his last meal of the day in a night club, an underground place of entertainment where rare shows are presented. He is often accompanied by his `expense account,' a phrase difficult to interpret. Dr. David Niven argues most cogently that it was cant for `a woman of easy virtue,' but Professor Nelson Eddy points out that this merely compounds the difficulty, since no one today knows what `a woman of easy virtue' was. "Finally, Mr. Jukes returns to his ranch on a `commuters' special,' a species of steam car, on which he plays games of chance with the professional gamblers who infested all the transportation systems of the times At home, he builds a small outdoor fire, calculates the day's expenses on his abacus, plays sad music on his guitar, makes love to one of the thousands of strange women who made it a practice of intruding on campfires at odd hours, rolls up in a blanket and goes to sleep. "Such was the barbarism of that age--an age so hysteric that few men lived beyond one hundred years. And yet romantics today yearn for that monstrous era of turmoil and terror. Twentieth-century Americana is all the vogue. Only recently, a single copy of Life, a sort of mail-order catalogue, was bought at auction by the noted collector Clifton Webb for $150,000. I might mention, in passing, that in my analysis of that curio in the current Phil. Trans. I cast grave doubts on its authenticity. Certain anachronisms in the text indicate a possible forgery. "And now a final word about your term examinations. There has been some talk about bias on the part of the computer. It has been suggested that when this department took over the Multi-III from Biochemistry, various circuits were overlooked and left operative, prejudicing the computer in favor of the mathematical approach. This is utter nonsense. Our computer psychiatrist assures me that the Multi-III was completely brainwashed and reindoctrinated. Exhaustive checks have shown that all errors were the result of student carelessness. "I urge you to observe the standard sterilization procedures before taking your examination. Do not scamp your wash-up. Make sure your surgical caps, gowns, masks and gloves are properly adjusted. Be certain that your punching tools are in register and sterile. Remember that one speck of contamination on your answer card can wreck your results. The Multi-III is not a machine, it is a brain, and requires the same care and consideration you give your own bodies. Thank you, good luck, and I hope to see you all again next semester." Coming out of the lecture hall, Professor Muni was met in the crowded corridor by his secretary, Ann Sothern. She was wearing a polka dot bikini, carried a tray of drinks and had a pair of the professor's swim trunks draped over her arm. Muni nodded in appreciation, swallowed a quick one and frowned at the traditional musical production number with which the students moved from class to class. He began reassembling his lecture notes as they hurried from the building. "No time for a dip, Miss Sothern," he said. "I'm scheduled to sneer at a revolutionary discovery in the Medical Arts Building this afternoon." "It's not on your calendar, Dr. Muni." "I know. I know. But Raymond Massey is sick, and I'm standing in for him. Ray says he'll substitute for me the next time I'm due to advise a young genius to give up poetry." They left the Sociology Building, passed the teardrop swimming pool, the book-shaped library, the heart-shaped Heart Clinic, and came to the faculty-shaped Faculty-Building. It was in a grove of royal palms through which a miniature golf course meandered, its air conditioners emitting a sibilant sound. Inside the Faculty Building, concealed loudspeakers were broadcasting the latest noise-hit. "What is it--Caruso's `Niagara'?" Professor Muni asked absently. "No, Callas's `Johnstown Flood,'" Miss Sothern answered, opening the door of Muni's office. "Why, that's odd. I could have sworn I left the lights on." She felt for the light switch. "Stop," Professor Muni snapped. "There's more here than meets the eye, Miss Sothern." "You mean . . . ?" "Who does one traditionally encounter on a surprise visit in a darkened room? I mean, whom." "Th-the Bad Guys?" "Precisely." A nasal voice spoke. "You are so right, my dear professor, but I assure you this is purely a private business matter." "Dr. Muni," Miss Sothern gasped. "There's someone in your office." "Do come in, professor," the nasal voice said. "That is, if you will permit me to invite you into your own office....
edudako