DragKnucks

August 30th, 2006 Jemmy Button Posted in News | 3 Comments »

[Establishing shot: pan over cityscape, somewhere on the Great Plains.]

THIS IS THE CITY: Dembskiopolis, Kansas.

There are 2 million people in this city, most of them Second-Thermodynamic-Law-abiding.

Some are not. They say we’re just monkeys.

That’s when I step in.

My name is Sunday. I carry The Book.

[Music: Dum-dee-dum-dum. Dum-dee-dum-dum-DUM!]

8:12 AM. I was driving an unmarked patrol car on Evo Watch in the Fallwell Precinct. Somewhere on these streets, my partner Bill Gannon and I knew young punks were taking their first steps in crime. Some were littering. Others were jay-walking. And others, full of smooth talk, were peddling cheap girlie magazines smuggled over the border from Godless Canada.

But the really tough guys would be dealing in the hard stuff.

Junk DNA.

They would be hanging out near the schools, showing innocent kids the entirely-co-incidental matches between inserted retroviral sequences in human and simian genomes. A cute racket.

8:34 AM: My partner, Bill Gannon, spotted our first Evilutionist by a driveway near Swaggart High. He was showing a notebook to a letterman and his cheerleader girlfriend. When I bounced the patrol car on to the sidewalk, he dropped the notebook and ran. But he couldn’t outrun Officer Gannon.

I picked up the notebook with a handkerchief and started to leaf through it. The jock tried to peer over my shoulder.

“Don’t look, son,” I warned him. “It’s not anything you’d ever want to see.”

“But…but that guy said it was science notes.” He pointed to the evo-punk. Gannon had cuffed him and was dragging him over.

“Is that what he told you?” I asked. “This is science?”

“That’s right,” said the jock. “I gave him 5 bucks for that notebook. He said it would help with our biology test.”

Sometimes, you have to use shock tactics. “You paid 5 dollars for this garbage?” I gave my signature wry smirk. “You want your girlfriend to see filth like this? Look!”

And I held the notebook open under their noses. “These are hard-core cladograms. X-rated Y-chromosome DNA sequences. Radio-carbon date-rapes. Go on, look! Full-frontal fossils!”

I grabbed the Evo by the scruff of his neck. “You get your kicks from showing these good citizens broken bones? Okay then, let’s show them some broken bones.” A quick karate-chop shattered his radius. Then I kicked his legs out from under him and he dropped to the ground. Hard.

“Bite the curb, Evo!” I ordered.

Gannon stopped me. “Joe. We’ll take him downtown.”

“For what?” I asked. “So some activist Judge can put him back on the street? So some fancy ACLU shyster can lecture us about the constitutional separation of church and state?”

“I know, Joe, it’s rough, but…”

“Why don’t we,” I suggested, “just separate this pervert’s skull from his spine, instead?”

The cheerleader suddenly spoke up. “Slow down, you guys! I’m just trying to understand speciation here. Now, the fossil record, according to Darwin–”

“Just the facts, Miss,” I barked. “Darwin is only a theory.”

I whipped my Bible out of my shoulder holster. “The Good Book doesn’t say weâ’re kin to monkeys–and the Good Book can’t lie.” And I started to read out some verses aloud.

“But maybe,” said the letterman, “all that is–you know, like a poetic allegory, or something? I mean, science shows there was no Adam and Eve, or Flood, –”

“And that’s what this Evilutionist has been telling you?”

“Well, yeah, and–”

“And did he tell you how, because you’re just a monkey, you have to have sex with both your sister and your grandmother? Did he tell you how you have to get your girlfriend pregnant and take her to the abortion clinic to keep the national embryonic stem-cell banks supplied? Did he tell you how you have to first marry her, then bludgeon her into a coma so you can switch off her life-support machine–and all just so you can barbecue her corpse for a ‘Gay Pride’ picnic? Did he tell you–”

“Joe, the perp–” Officer Gannon suddenly shouted. The Evo had started to crawl away, dragging his shattered arm in the gutter.

“Freeze!” I shouted. “Now, I know what you’re thinking. Did I read out 6 verses from Genesis, or was it only 5? To tell the truth, in all this excitement, I can’t remember, myself.” I cocked my Bible. “What you have to ask yourself is, are you feeling lucky? Go ahead, punk, make my–”

[We interrupt this filk due to an aesthetic fault. Inexplicably, the protagonist, Sgt. Joe Sunday, keeps morphing into Lt. "Dirty But Not a Hairy Monkey" Callaghan. While characters are permitted some development ("microevolution"), wholescale transmogrification into an different character ("macroevolution") is right out. We apologise to readers for this genre confusion. We also apologise to the late, great Jack Webb for this whole travesty. While endeavouring to correct the fault, Darwin Central will continute to offer more appropriate material on our other channels for your internet browsing pleasure.]