The following story is fictional and does not depict any actual person or event. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, or in suspended animation, purgatory and/or limbo, is purely coincidental.

Chapter 2 – Knights Serious in White Satin.

It was late Saturday night, and Simon, at home, was singing along with the music…

Cold hearted orb that rules the night,
Removes the colors from our sight.
Red is grey and yellow white,
But we decide which is right.
And which is an illusion…

The overwrought, overproduced, melancholic if not elegiac music had always appealed to him. But it was the bombastic, pretentious, Orwellian Seriousness of the lyrics that he truly identified with – “Red is grey,” “We decide which is right. And which is an illusion” – that touched in him ways he rarely spoke about to others.

He was one of the We. He, like the now former President he adored, was a “Decider,” for it was he and the other Knights Serious who decided (or was it “decidered” he wondered – and laughed to himself) what was not only right, but what was important; decided who was handed the reins of power in The Village and how that power was wielded; decided, above all else, who and what were Serious, and who and what were not.

The initial salvo in his grand plan to reclaim the Village – writing a really really really Serious contemptuous diatribe to infinity masked in civility as a call for bipartisanship Letter to the Editor of the NYDC TimesPost signed simply “V” – had had no effect. He was still unsure why it had had no effect on The Villagers; it certainly couldn’t have been that they hadn’t read it, because if he knew anything about The Village and its Villagers, and he did, it was that they read the OpEd page of the NYDC TimesPost and trusted and followed the Seriousness that was printed there.

As he poured his second scotch and drank, his mood suddenly turned even more disheartened. The music that had moments earlier brought a smug smile to his face now caused him to think of those times that started over 40 years ago when the UnSeriousness last arose in force to challenge the Seriousness for control of the Village, and with it the Nation.

“Goddamn Hippies,” he said to himself.

Simon wasn’t damning the good kind of Hippies, the clean kind. The kind who made overwrought, overproduced, melancholic if not elegiac music with bombastic, pretentiously Serious lyrics that spoke to him. The kind of Hippies who wanted nothing more than good music, fine herb, and getting laid at their groovy “happenings”; the kind of hippies the Knights Serious were able to co-opt through Wankery, consciously or not, that war was peace, inequality equality, injustice justice, plutocracy capitalism, oligarchy democracy, blow jobs impeachable.

And, as Simon reminded himself, some of the good kind of Hippies, like Tim Friedberg, had even joined the ranks of the Knights Serious and made Serious contributions to protecting The Village.

No, Simon was damning the other kind of Hippies, the dirty fucking kind. The kind who weren’t satisfied with good music, fine herb, and getting laid at their groovy “happenings.” The kind who wanted good music, good herb, getting laid at their groovy happenings AND political rights; who UnSeriously questioned the legitimacy of The Village and the Villagers; UnSeriously demanded that those elected to govern and the laws of the Nation should actually represent the will of all the people, not simply the will of the Villagers; UnSeriously sought to replace the Seriousness with their ungodly, un-American, dirty fucking UnSeriousness.

Simon’s mood brightened somewhat as he reminisced about the Knights Serious’ important victory over the bad kind of Hippies those four decades ago, when the Knights Serious sent the bad kind of Hippies running with their pony tails between their legs, never, it was thought, to be heard from again. True, the bad kind of Hippies had caused The Village to lose the war in Vietnam, ruined the economy and had forced a Serious President to resign, but the Knights Serious ultimately prevailed and saved The Village from their demands for representation.

And his mood brightened even more as he thought (though without seeing the irony, as Knights Serious aren’t simply irony impaired, they’re nonferrous) that little over 5 years after the bad kind of Hippies’ greatest victory, the resignation of Richard Nixon (though one for which the Knights Serious took credit and, as always, used to their advantage), The Village entered its Golden Age, its “Morning in The Village.” Those were the glorious days of The Gipper, who cleaned the UnSerious dirty fuckin Hippies out of Hollywood in the 50’s, making American cinema safe and Serious once more. And who, with the help of the Knights Serious, did the same for The Village, making it once again safe and Serious. And for eight wonderful years thoughts of the bad kind of Hippies were distant memories in The Village, the powers of the Knights Serious were unchallenged, and UnSerious ideals were, truly, thought vanquished forever.

Simon poured himself a fourth scotch and continued drinking. Though rigorously trained to be neither introspective nor reflective even when drinking, Simon, like all Knights Serious, enjoyed reveling in past glories. And the combination of the good kind of Hippie music, the alcohol, and thoughts of past Serious triumphs made him think even further into his past. Back to when he first discovered the strength of the Wankery within him; the Wankery that made him better, more Serious, than his peers. That set him on his path to The Village and his place at the most Serious of cocktail parties. He thought to that night at Wank Camp, when his pubescent confusion and shame over his chronic Wanking off were put to rest, and his Serious destiny, his place in The Village, his calling as a Knight Serious, were revealed.

************************************************************

Simon was in his bunk at Wank Camp, and all the kids were excited about the big game tomorrow, though this being Wank Camp, they didn’t compete in actual games like sports, they competed in the more Serious kinds of games – written games, spoken games – the childhood games of future television pundits and OpEd writers.

“Boy, I’m sure glad you’re writing tomorrow – it’s gonna be a rough game. Ah, no problem. By the time camp’s over, once again our team will be champs!” Bobby said, and the team cheered.

“Hey, Simon – heads up!” Bobby yelled out as he tossed a pen towards Simon.
“Hey, cut it out, you guys!” Simon answered.
“Hey, hey. What’s that you’re reading, Simon?” asked Tommy.
“Nothing!” Simon yelled, defensively.
“Whaddaya mean, nothing?! Hey, Charlie, look at this! A Wanker
magazine!” Tommy said, and all the campers in the bunk oohed and aahed at the content of Simon’s Serious magazine.
“Boy, I’d sure like to get Serious with her!” Rupert said excitedly.
“Yeah, me too!” Simon quickly rejoined.
“Oh, whadda you know about that, Simon!” Bobby teased.
“As much as you do!” responded Simon, again defensively.
"Oh, yeah?” challenged Billy, “I bet you never even did it!“
“I…did..too…” Simon stammered.
“Oh, yeah? Well, then tell me how you did it!” Bobby responded in a triumphant tone.
“Okay…so I never did it…” answered Simon, dejectedly. And he frowned as the entire bunk laughed at him.
“I knew he was lying!” added Rupert.
“I bet you never did it!” Bobby said, looking directly at Rupert.
“…Sure, I did.” Rupert hesitantly responded.
“With who?!” demanded Charlie.
“Meg Newnan” Rupert blurted.
“Really?” asked Billy, with an air of awe in his voice.
“Yeah! One day a whole moot Sunday morning pundit panel of us Gang Wanked her behind the television studio,” said Rupert. “She loved it.”

It was then that their Coach entered the bunk.

“What’s going on in here?! Huh?!” the Coach asked.
“Ah, nothing, Coach. We’re just talking.” Simon said.
“Come on! Lights out, guys! We’ve got a Serious game tomorrow, I want you guys to get a lot of sleep, see? Come on!” The Coach shouted, and all the campers moaned and groaned as they got into their beds and turned out the lights.

“Come on! What is this?” asked the Coach, as he picked up and leafed through the Wanker magazine he spied lying on the floor. “What is this stuff? What are you guys doing with this thing, huh?! Aren’t you a little young to be looking at this?”
“Aren’t you a little bit old!” Bobby, ever the wise ass, responded.
“Listen, Novacula! When you’re my age, you should stick it to the People as often as I do! Now get some sleep!”
“Goodnight,” responded the bunk in unison.
“Goodnight, guys,” said the Coach as he left the cabin.

“Boy…too bad he took that magazine – those articles were SERIOUS!” Bobby said after the Coach had left.
“You’re not kidding, man…” answered Billy.
“Come on, guys! Coach is right – let’s get some sleep!” Simon pleaded, and the team agreed and went to sleep.

But once they had, a squeaking sound could be heard coming from Simon’s bed.

“Hey, Simon, would you Wank off somewhere else!” Bobby demanded, and the whole bunk joined in teasing Simon about his Wanking off.
“Dammit, you guys! Dammit! I was not!” Simon cried.
“You were, too,” said Bobby.
“I was not!.”

Luckily for Simon, or perhaps through the power of the Seriousness, at that point the Coach re-entered the bunk.

“What’s going on in here?! Huh?! What’s all the racket about?! I thought I told you to go to sleep!!” he said.
“We were trying to,” answered Bobby, “but Simon made too much noise because he was…Wanking off!”

Then, in unison, the entire bunk started to chant: “Simon was Wanking off! Simon was Wanking off! Simon was Wanking off!!"

“I swear, I wasn’t!” Simon desperately, pleadingly, told the Coach.
“Oh, yeah?” said Bobby, “Then why is there ink all over your sheets!”
Thankfully, for Simon, at that point the Coach interceded: “Come on, you guys…cut it out! Come over here, Simon…come over here….” And Simon sat down next to the Coach.
“Yeah, Coach?” Simon asked, timidly.
“Nothing wrong in what you were doing, Simon,” the Coach calmly told him. “It’s perfectly normal for someone your age to Wank off once in a while. Everyone who is Serious does it, there’s nothing to be ashamed of, and the most Serious Villagers do it A LOT. What’s the matter with you guys?

Bobby, can you say that you’ve never done it?”
“No…” Bobby said meekly.
“You, Billy? Asked the Coach.
“Well, uh…no…” Billy haltingly responded.
“How about you, Rupert? You’ve polished your poisoned pen, haven’t you?
“…Yeah…once,” Rupert slowly replied.
“You see? It’s a natural function – everyone who is Serious does it.”
“Even you, Coach?” asked Simon.
“Yes. Twice,” responded the Coach.

“The Coach Wanks off!!” The campers chanted.

“Shut up!!” screamed Simon.

“Even Serious females do it,” the Coach added.

“Really?! How?!” asked Bobby inquisitively.

“Well…I’m not sure, exactly,” the Coach said, “but, uh…let me tell you a story about a very Serious Villager I knew, who, uh…used to Wank off five, six, seven times a day. And his teammates, they made fun of him, they razzed him all the time. And he was ashamed, and it was affecting all aspects of his Seriousness. He had trouble being taken Seriously, with his sophistry, with his vocabulary, with his syntax…And then, one day, he just accepted the fact that he was a chronic Wanker off-er. And once he accepted that fact, he became a great Villager, a very, very, very Serious Villager, and he went on to start his own Serious Village magazine and write editorials for the NYDC TimesPost! Some even say he founded the Knights Serious.”

The Coach paused to let his words sink in. And the team, realizing who the Coach was talking about, gleefully cried out the name of the chronic Wanker off-er: “William F. Buckley.”

“William F. Buckley. That’s right. Simon, you’re in very, very, very Serious company,” the Coach intoned.

Apologies to Simon rang out from every other bed in the bunk.
“Ah, that’s okay, guys…” Simon responded, though now a smug smile was on his face.
“Now, you get back to bed, guys,” the Coach ordered.
“Goodnight, Coach!!!”
“Goodnight!” said the Coach as he left the bunk.

And as Simon snuggled in his bed, secure in the knowledge that there was something special in his chronic Wanking off, special in him, he could hear squeaks coming from all the other cots.

He was different from the other boys, more Serious – destined to not simply live in The Village like most of the other campers, but destined to define it, to lead it, to protect it.

************************************************************

Simon could see that the Sun was now rising. He had been up all night, and though tired and a little hung over, his mood was much brighter. And it was not just from the reminiscing of the triumphs of his youth. Sunday morning always energized him as he anticipated the weekly Gang Wankings that would take place on the Serious Sunday Morning new shows. And if there was anything that made a Knight Serious happy, any Villager happy, it was a good Gang Wanking.

He yearned to be one of the Knights Serious participating in the day’s Gang Wankings, but his secret identity as The Villager made that too dangerous. For surely the UnSerious would look for some hint of The Villager’s true identity on the Sunday morning Gang Wanks. That is, of course, if the UnSerious were looking at all. But if they were not, they soon would be – and he smiled…smugly – for Simon, as was true of all the Knights Serious, could not conceive the thought he was not being taken Seriously.

For he was, after all, not merely Serious, but The Villager. Somehow, some way, he knew he would prevail, the Seriousness would prevail. False equivalencies and sophistry would rule the day, as they always have in The Village, and The Village would be made safe once more. It just wouldn’t be today. And, since the Gang Wankings were still a few hours away, he thought, he might as well go Wank off and relieve some of the Seriousness that had built up in him during the night – and he did…more than once.

__________________________________________

Coming Soon! The Villager – Chapter 3: Simon Deconstructs What “Suck on This” Literally Implies; And It Disturbs His Serious Sensibilities.
__________________________________________

The Villager – Chapter 1
__________________________________________

Author’s Note – Apologies to “The Bad News Bees” sketch from Saturday Night Live, 1978 Season. Also, and with apologies for not giving hat tips in Chapter 1, the concepts of “Seriousness,” "Villagers" and “The Village” first came to my attention on Eschaton, though I do not know if they were born there (though I’m still, as always, omniscient regardless).