by JZ Holden
To cull, or not to cull: that is the question. Whether ’tis nobler to suffer the shotguns of countless out of state hunters, or take arms via helicopter against a sea of deer and by opposing, end them? Who will bear the whips and scorns of time? And more importantly, who will pay? Foreign workers driving without licenses, insurance or knowledge of the English language?
But, I do digress. We blame the innocent deer for infecting our population, and never once hold the white-footed mouse accountable for our woes, while the true bacterium runs amok amongst us: the heartless and soulless spirochete remains sated while we suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune.
The spirochete, a wily creature, ravenous, its corkscrew shape boring down into its prey like a blood sucking dagger, delving deep into flesh, is never sated. What is known about the chilly beast is only, as the saying goes, the tip of the iceberg.
However, in the more sophisticated metaphysical circles of Europe, the truth is known: the spirochete is a form of Vampire brought to America from Spain. It is believed that in 1492, two well-dressed white footed mice traveled to America, then known as “the colonies” yet, no one was really sure whose colonies they were. These mice were reputed to have sewn uncut diamonds into the lining of their coats. As fate would have it, they traveled on the very boat that Christopher Columbus commanded.
Nestled next to the diamonds however, were ticks carrying the spirochetes carrying the virulent Eastern European strain of Lyme disease (then known as Draculosis) that had existed for over 10,000 years and which originated in Transylvania.
The voyage was long and cold, and the freeloading ticks/spirochetes, became increasingly hungry, and finding food so dangerously near, fed on Mildred and Morris, (son and daughter respectively, of Mitzy and Fritzy) as they were known to the shipmates. The couple of unknown religion, were escaping the Spanish Inquisition, and had traveled over endless mountains and seas; it seemed they had traveled throughout all of Europe, before arriving safely in Brooklyn, N.Y. where they had a family of ten, all of whose descendants are immortal! A street still exists in Brooklyn today that bears the name, Spirokitzy Boulevard.
A human bitten by the descendent of such a spirochete carrying tick will eventually experience a desire for the blood of humans.
Evidence of Spirochete/Vampire behavior was witnessed last summer: a woman, who had been unknowingly bitten by three such tics, so small that they could not be seen by the naked eye, was driving down Main Street in Bridgehampton, when she was cut off by a white convertible Mercedes, quite rudely I might add, and her immediate, visceral response was to kill the driver and her passenger who had simultaneously perpetrated an unspeakable act, and suck their blood. The arrogant, bird-flipping passenger added insult to injury, and so would take priority. (A source close to the first driver, who did not want to be mentioned for fear of reprisals, said that the driver admitted to having wild thoughts race through her mind at the time of the cut-off.)
Ironically, the driver of the Mercedes and her finger flipping companion were in a semi-bloodless state themselves, and found that the honking of the woman’s horn, designed to avoid a potential collision, was taken quite personally and was furthermore seen as social commentary about the car they were driving and the color of their hair, which was an extraordinarily light peroxide blond. Their negative thoughts impelled them to desire a long, hot drink of the horn-honkers blood! Had the event not occurred in broad daylight, all three motorists would have, as an aperitif, ripped one another from their cars, sucking blood all over Main Street.
At a recent cocktail party, they all laughed good-naturedly, letting bygones be bygones, and after several chocolate Bloodtinis, admitted they would have gladly moved on to other cars and drivers as their main course! Miraculously, some sense of decorum prevailed, for even while neurotically licking their lips, the three women had an inherent sense that the drinking of blood in public, and during daylight hours, would be frowned upon by the local police.
But, let us return to the deer. How sad it is to the many animal lovers who walking or driving, observe the fields, the artificial ponds, wealthy people’s private gardens, the very highway, crowded with deer of the female sex, followed by three, four or six bambis, importuning every passerby for alms.These mothers, instead of being able to work for an honest wage, are forced to spend all their time foraging for food for their infants, who as they grow up either become thieves for lack of work, or leave their native state to fight for animals rights, supporting freedom of oppression for wolves who are preyed upon by former Alaskan women wearing glasses, or fight anonymously for the great pretenders, the white whales of the Atlantic.
I think everyone would agree, that the prodigious number of bambis being nuzzled along, barely keeping up with their mothers, and in some cases fathers, only to be killed by stupidly drunken motorists, once again without licenses or auto-insurance or knowledge of the English language, is a terrible burden on the conscience and greenery of the Hamptons. And so, anyone who could find a fair, cheap, and easy method of making the deer sound, useful members of society, capable of being deloused once a month, would be considered a preserver of sanity for the community.
I will now humbly propose my own thoughts on the subject, which I hope the readers will not find objectionable. An infant deer needs its mother until its first year. At which point, it would be taken away and sold to the rich and famous and people of celebrity, who in turn would feed, groom, and train the deer to become servants. Among their responsibilities, and in exchange for room and board, the deer would learn to speak French and have conversations on Haute Cuisine, always avoiding the unfortunate topic of mutton. For those who demonstrate a particular gift for music, they will be trained as musicians, performing chamber music on string instruments, and inter-breeding with deer who show a profligacy for piano sonatas. For the big thinkers in our community, I recommend starting small, for the end result is of course, to grow one’s own traveling orchestra, theatre group or circus, depending upon one’s taste and the talents of the particular deer.
Why travel without live entertainment when such willing, docile and able bodied creatures are mass producing at the rate of a large factory? The East End produces ten deer per minute. At such a healthy reproductive rate, we could create an international market for deer trained in all facets of multi-lingual servitude and entertainment. And all for the price of a few organic greens and some fresh water!
The question undoubtedly will arise, what to do with the deer that lack all talent? It is a sad question, but a necessary one. To which I can only reply in the affirmative. Mutton! No longer will the American Hotel have to buy imported deer meat from God knows where, and charge exorbitant prices for it. No! There will be so many suppliers right here at home, growing their own organic pesticide and anti-biotic free deer, that restauranteurs will go mad for deer, creating the latest recipes and consulting with Long Island vintners to make inspired meals together. Not only will there be a restaurant week, there will be a yearly Deerfest!
Many female deer would retain their offspring, preventing future legal claims regarding the disruption of the family. Among the offspring, particularly among the offspring who prefer same sex partners, several would be found who would make excellent groomers and dressers, and since personal hygiene would be encouraged and rewarded, quite quickly ticks would become a thing of the past. When the host is gone, and the tick relatives destroyed, the spirochetes will grow extinct. Eh, viola!
And as a side benefit, traffic speeds could rise, making it possible to travel 70 mph through East Hampton village creating a new sport: the flinging of the elderly. Anyone posting on U-Tube, the flinging an elderly person higher than thirty feet, would receive a case of Mutton Cadet 2013. For the remaining Vampires among us, the availability of Deer-blood, even Deer-cognac, would hopefully minimize the craving for dramatic public displays of human blood sucking. A law is being drafted as I write, all Vampires be forewarned, no one is permitted to spill or suck blood in front of Bobby Van’s Restaurant for the entire month of August.
And so, I hope that my modest proposal will be considered by the populace of the Hamptons. I throw my thoughts to you, not down as a gauntlet, but as a kind, elderly bird lover would throw ice-cream to blackbirds. The End