The Pockberry Question

It was the faftists that vexed the question, you know. Until they came, the citizens of Pooba were a sober, industrious, happy, and obedient lot.

We had purchased our pockberries from Gesunda Heights since time immemorial. The journey to Gesunda Heights was long, arduous, and perilous - hundreds of miles around the brooding, impenetrable Skag Mountains, across the searing wastes of the Doko Desert, through the dense jungles of Aka-nor. In short, not a trip for the faint of heart or the light of purse. Only the intrepid traders of MBI had the courage, the endurance, the grit, and the financing to undertake such an enterprise. That is why they have dominated the pockberry trade for a hundred years, and not because they own the King and his court, down to the last roach in the royal kitchen.

Pockberries, of course, are our life-blood, for they are the only (but perfect) defense against wiki-wiki fever, which is endemic in these parts. Too bad they won't grow in Pooban soil. Believe me, we've tried. Not only have those who tried been spectacularly unsuccessful, but they also seem to die young and mysteriously. Except, of course, for the old ones, who die old and mysteriously.

Pockberries are exorbitantly expensive, but it only stands to reason. Given the difficulty of obtaining them, and the need to invest heavily in improvements to the pockberry trade, one can hardly expect it to be otherwise. I can't say we have actually seen any of the improvements, and the price of pockberries continues to rise precipitously. You can just imagine how expensive they'd be without all that investment.

Poor people can't afford pockberries anymore, but that's their lookout, isn't it? Those of us who work for the right companies get a bit of a break on pockberries. They're still hellatiously expensive, but ... you know ... affordable. The folks who work for Megabucks International have the best benefits of all, but they're the ones who take all the risks.

The dark Forces Against Free Trade, known as the faftists for short, have cast a pall on the idyllic life of Pooba. They don't actually call themselves 'the dark Forces Against Free Trade.' Not even without the 'dark.' We don't know what they call themselves. They're a shadowy lot.

They first came to light when one of them said, "It's only a mile and a half to Gesunda Heights, you know, if you go due north instead of around the blinkin' mountains. How come we don't go that way?"

Well, the answer to that was perfectly obvious. MBI headquarters sit right athwart that route. And the King's Loyal Royal Pundits explained that it would sap our moral fiber and violate our values and restrain Free Trade and bring about the collapse of our society.

Thus arose the Pockberry Question. It took several forms. One was the "Why can't we go the easy way?" quibble, which has been authoritatively answered.

"Why are pockberries so expensive?" some people asked.

We know the answer to that one, but some people are never satisfied.

"My cousin lives in Gesunda Heights," claimed one faftist, "and he says you can pick all the pockberries you want for 12 cents a carton. How come we have to pay a thousand times as much?"

That just wasn't true. MBI could prove that the price had gone up to 13 cents a carton, but we know that the additional cost comes from risk and investment. And tightening up censorship of communications with Gesunda Heights.

But the question kept getting asked, in all its insidious forms. So the King decided to take decisive action. He declared war on neighboring Terra. That made complaining about pockberry prices unpatriotic, as well as small-minded. Whiners were obviously terrist sympathizers.

That worked pretty well for a few months, but then the people started getting all persnicketty about getting killed and maimed. And they got into a kind of regicidal mood. It was at just about the same time that the mysterious writing began to appear on the palace walls. The King had to call in all his wisest counselors, as he was unable to decipher its meaning.

"What," he asked, "does 'YOUR ... ASS ... IS ... GRASS' mean?"

The counselors coughed and mumbled and changed the subject, but when the crowd appeared at the palace gate and began building a gallows under the King's bedroom window, the King decided to give an important speech.

"I declare a new way forward in Terra!" declared the King.

The people cheered.

"I propose to send thousands more of you to die in that god-forsaken pit!" continued the King.

"Oh," said the people. "The new way forward sounds like the old way backward, but more so." They stopped cheering.

"It'll just be a temporary 'surge,'" said the King.

There was a surge toward the palace gate and a renewal of gallows construction.

"Waitwaitwait!" cried the King. "You force me into a cataclysmic decision.* Just as I used this war thing to distract you from the Pockberry Question, I will now pretend to be interested in solving your pockberry problems to distract you from the war!"

"Um, that sounds promising," wavered some of the people. They stopped surging a little.

"So, you're going to let us take the short route to Gesunda Heights?" queried one naive mob member.

The King turned to the Loyal Royal Pundits, who were perched on his shoulder, resplendent in multicolored plumage.

"Braa-a-a-awk! Faftism!" squawked the Loyal Royal Pundits. "Faftism! Weee-ooo! Got a cracker, big guy?"

"If I get out of this alive, you'll be rolling in crackers," cracked the King.

"Hmm. No short route, eh?" mused a budding faftist. "But you're going to make MBI lower their prices, right?"

"Polly Pundit?" coaxed the King.

"Faftism! Brawk! Sap the moral fiber!"

"Ok, but you're going to tax MBI and all the other fat cats," suggested another likely faftist.

"Oh, no!" gasped the King. "That would be a restraint of trade!"

"Bra-a-a-wk! Violate our values! Woo-hoo! C'mon! How about a cracker, Cracker?"

"In that case," said a probable terrist sympathizer, "you're surely going to let other people compete with MBI. Now, that's free trade, huh?"

"No no no!" objected the King. "It wouldn't be free for them. And they might not let me be King anymore."

"So, what do you plan to do?" The crowd was starting to surge again.

"I propose to institute a national Pockberry Lottery!" gushed the King. "Yes! A ... a ... Pockery, we can call it! Every week, everyone can buy a ticket - or tickets! - and one lucky person can win a life-time supply of pockberries! Why, every man, woman, and child would be taken care of in only 7 or 8 million years! Why, if you subtract out all the wiki-wiki fever deaths, it could be a lot sooner! Best of all, no rich person would have to lose a penny."

"Hey, look!" called a faftist at the furthest edge of the mob. "I just picked the lock on the front gate of MBI! Let's go buy some pockberries!"

That was the end of the King's address. A tidal wave of Poobans roared through the open gate. The whereabouts of the King are unknown. Many explanations have been advanced as to his fate, but the Loyal Royal Pundits favor a faint oil spot between the palace and the newly opened road to Gesunda Heights. In the end, the faftists have suffered the consequences of their ill-considered actions. Following the huge influx of buyers glutting the pockberry fields of Gesunda Heights, the price of pockberries has soared to a staggering 15 cents a carton!

*To quote another well-known humbug.