 |
| Burleigh's antidote for election fever and Bermuda Syndrome |
A clamouring of reader (count him) has reminded me that
I’ve abandoned Bermuda in limbo, suspended him in mid-air between Kununurra and Brisbane with an
alien parasite working its way
up his leg
towards his brain.
Frankly, perhaps I should leave his story
there – his disappearance would be consistent with the
mystery of the
Bermuda Triangle itself. This entry completes his story
using very few of the
facts, because it’s an attempt to get
into the mind of a man who may be in touch with paranormal extra-terrestrials.
As Bermuda rose in the lift towards the rear door of the aircraft at Kununurra he realised he was helplessly bound into his wheelchair and if the cabin crew were anthropophagi, as seemed likely, he could hardly defend himself. He knew the looming door led directly into the plane’s galley. His only hope was to whip off his ankle bandage and flash his diseased limb in their faces. He figured they wouldn’t want to eat that! The boy in the yellow jacket grinned at him reassuringly – or was it greedily? Flesh-eating wasn’t restricted to Whitetail spiders (refer #22), and the boy’s acne might be a symptom of cannibalism.
He arrived in Darwin. No limbs were missing. He was met by a woman who claimed to be his wife. She took care of him, often shaking her head at his incorrigible accident-prone vagueness. She was his wife all right. He felt better. Later they flew on to Brisbane, and Bermuda spent the first night at home. As the Kununurra drugs wore off he began to return to normality. His wife remarked that this was a subtle change. The next day the leg was an even angrier crimson and was beginning to threaten the family jewels. He went to hospital where he was re-filled with antibiotics, really powerful types which could kill a brown dog. The doctors did more tests and pronounced that his problem wasn’t a spider or snake bite but simply a ‘very nasty’ infection. They called it cellulitis*, which is only about 300,000 times more serious than the common cold. After five days of Hospital Custard with Half an Apricot on Top, Bermuda was discharged.
He reflected on how his companions on
the other side of Australia had tried to
take care of him, offering him anything
even slightly medicinal from Aspirin
to Whiskey, often testing the Whiskey for purity before allowing him to drink it.
Bermuda has let it be known that he wants to hold a
reunion in Brisbane, presumably so we can admire his now pristine, uninfected leg. But there may be a deeper, disturbing
agenda here: if the Bermuda Triangle is now located in his suburb it is
possible that we will all disappear. Bermuda himself may be immune to this,
although it’s likely that part of his mind already disappeared into the Triangle
decades earlier.
My view is that you should attend. Superstition is certainly bunk
but to be well prepared is wise, and I
suggest that you make your will first and bring enough supplies for a long journey to an unknown galaxy. You’ve
heard many stories about the Bermuda Triangle and I challenge you to prove that
they are not true. You can even use Einstein's Theory of Relativity if
you like. There is simply no way to disprove such assertions and while the
burden of proof should be on the people
who make such claims to show where they got their information and to state why
their conclusions and interpretations are valid, unfortunately they’ve all been abducted
by aliens. See you at the reunion.
