Scared almost to death.

Scared almost to death.

“There is no way they are going to get me on that effing rocket. It’s a ploy. The moon is not what they say it is, and definitely and for sure no one has been there despite the bullshit they say they have. Also, I didn’t put my name down for this ludicrous lottery. There are plenty of people that want to chance their arm with this diabolical adventure.”

“Despite willing volunteers that would want to sacrifice their lives on a fool’s errand, I get selected out by someone, I shouldn’t wonder by throwing a dart at a list of names. Did they throw the dart at a computer containing the 7 billion names? The world is mad if they think that sending me up there is a sensible option. Where can I hide?”

Ludicrous or not, William Arbuckle’s name was chosen by a robot-aided by artificial intelligence, and with a sense of humour, if that can be credited.

The mistake William Arbuckle made was to rail against the world government for investing in the ‘Tomfoolery’ of a space-flight to the moon. He was normally very articulate and forthright in his condemnation of the money spent but now had been reduced to near mutism. His long-suffering wife had thought she might get some peace from his constant ranting but was being called upon by him to help him hide. She would hide him in their cellar but made sure very muddy footprints led to the cellar door when the authorities came to look for him.

The leading members of the community arrived to wish William their congratulations with his win and winked at his wife as they followed the footmarks on the floor to his thought to be, safe haven. Despite his willingness to dispose of his elevation to stardom in the world, everyone effusively praised him for his good fortune and wouldn’t have dreamt of taking this honour away from him. Upon his emergence from the cellar, he was lifted up onto shoulders and a procession formed with the video broadcast going out to an enthusiastic world.

The world of William Arbuckle and Mankind had become universally Socialist with nobody earning more than his neighbour regardless of their professional or indigent status. This conversion wasn’t acceded to very graciously, but there was not much they dared to do to oppose it. A politically oriented alien zealot had appeared before the people of the world and said that there were going to be some changes made.

Despite assurances that the people of earth were listening, he insisted that he wanted to demonstrate what could happen if there was any back-sliding, so he flattened Texas. He made it as flat as a billiard table including all who lived there. He gave as his justification for choosing Texas that he thought they may be the most resistive to the changes he was making toward a Socialist state of the world. The Southern States that adjoined Texas took the message on board with nary an utterance of protest from them. 

In this ostensibly equal world, William Arbuckle had the misfortune to win the lottery of all lotteries. Within a week he had developed ulcers bigger than the stomach that should have contained them, but to no avail. The alien had also left medication which healed them faster than he could produce them. He was going to the moon whether he liked it or not. 

The alien had popped back for a quick visit to congratulate the unhappy winner and assured him that there indeed was a moon, and indeed it was made of not green cheese, but of a brownish colour looking and smelling like the Dutch Limburger cheese. “The smell is so powerful,” he said “that it will permeate the space-suit for which no one has been able to develop a material to be impervious to the odour."

A house in Limburg had been bought for him to return to, and a lifetime supply of their most famous product. The Dutch Queen, Crystal May, said she would make the award to him in Amsterdam.

For a parting gift, the alien produced a set of boots which he claimed would keep him at the top of the melting cheese even when the sun was at its fiercest. William, thinking of Texas, thanked him and resigned himself to death and put out a blog warning others to be careful what they protested for. They also may win lotteries.

Although the alien had departed, he indicated that he kept an avuncular watching brief on the earth’s activities with a hint that the Arctic area could be turned into an underwater paradise for amphibian creatures. 

The day of the launch arrived and a paralysed William was lifted into the seat of the cramped cabin and he waited for the blast-off. Because the alien had left some of his own technology with the rocket people, the ‘blast off’ should probably be renamed the ‘Saunter-off.’ being so slow that even William nodded off.

Lies had been told about the ‘Dark Side of the Moon.’ The Russians maintained they had sent a rocket around the back of it, but they lied. The alien, known to be a type of ‘Stand Up Comic’ in his own world, lied also, or truth be told, he pulled William’s leg. Not only was the moon not made of cheese at all, but the ‘Darkside’ was a veritable paradise.

 William’s rocket was guided by the alien away from possible prying telescopes and landed on the backside surface. Awaiting him at the gentle touch-down he observed myriads of people spread out along a landscape of beautiful flowers and small lakes with human-looking maidens and children cavorting in merriment. They rushed over and divested him of his spacesuit and beckoned him to join them in play. Beautiful women placed delicious fruit in his mouth and he started to respond quite quickly as he thought the current scenario had been taken from some sort of Roman orgy. With anticipation, he lay back to let whatever ravishing they had in mind for him to begin.