The girl named Daisy was becoming a conundrum for the girl named Kitty, who wasn’t fully buying into the idea that the waitress was a dullard. So, Kitty decided to explore the idea that Daisy was not dumb as pond scum, and was, conversely, playing dumb as they come with two empty bottles of rum. “Tell us, daisy dear, what else is going on in the world that we are missing out on today.”
Delighted to have the attention of Kitty Kaboodle, Daisy jumped rigt to it. “Well, Trump has announced that he is building a super duper missile to defeat the Chinese and the Russians.”
“Yes, of course he is,” Kitty replied. “And he really did call it a super duper missile didn’t he?”
“Oh, yeah. I heard it myself,” Daisy assured the gang of four. “Super duper missile. He said it a couple times. Says it’s gonna be seventeen times faster than anything the Russians or Chinese have.”
Lance cracked, “Every fucktard in the world is in a hurry to die these days. Wouldn’t bother me, but they wanna take the rest of us with them.”
“And what do you think about that, Daisy?” Kitty wanted to know.
“Well, honestly, I think it’s dumb. I think we should build our own bomb, rigt here in Canada. A big, giant, crazy, world-go-kablooey bomb. A one gigaton monster. We can keep it rigt here in Thunder Bay. And can call it Giggles the Happy Bomb, ‘cause, you know, it’s a one gigaton bomb.”
“How big is that, Daisy,” Kitty asked.
“Well, Little Boy, the bomb that destroyed Hiroshima was puny, compared to the biggest bomb that has ever been built. The Russians once built one that was 1400 times as powerful as Little Boy. They called it the Tsar Bomb. Fifty seven megatons. And Giggles, weighing in at one gigaton, would be twenty times bigger than the Russian bomb was.”
“So,” said Kitty, “Giggles could blow up the whole world.”
“Exactly!” Daisy confirmed. “And we don’t need no fancy schmancy missile, if were gonna blow up the whole world. We just blow it up rigt here, and the whole world goes kablooey! Ring around the rosie, pocket full of posie, husha, busha, we all fall down!”
“Husha, busha, we all fall down?” asked Kitty.
“Die. We all die. It’s a nursery rhyme. You don’t have it down there. We used to sing it when we were kids. It comes from the Black Plague era. The kids all form a circle, holding hands. Then they dance counter clockwise, singing ring around the rosie, ‘cause you’re supposed to put a rose in the middle of the circle, but we never had no roses, so we skipped that part. Ring around the rosie, pocket full of posie, because posie was a mixture of herbs the kids were supposed to carry in their pockets to protect them from the plagues. Husha busha, that’s the sound of a sneeze. One of the kids sneezing, which meant that the pocket full of posie didn’t protect them, and they got the plague. We all fall down, because they all got the plague from the kid who sneezed. They all died. That’s when we would all fall down. Then we would all laugh, get up, and do it again. And again, and again.”
Lance Lear, who was unfamiliar with this tale, looked at his father for confirmation. Stephen, King of Horror, nodded his head silently.
Kitty said, “Yes, that makes sense. We used to play it, too, but I never knew what it meant.”
“Well, now you do, little Kitty!” Daisy said delightedly.
“But, why would you want to kill everyone? Why would you want to make the whole world go kablooey?”
“Well, we don’t. We just want the rest of you to behave yourselves. Be nice to each other. It’s kinda like mom saying that if us kids didn’t behave ourselves in the back seat, she was gonna crash the car and kill us all.”
“Your mom used to do that?” Kitty asked, aghast.
“Oh, yeah, all the time.”
“Where’s your mom now, Kitty?”
“She’s dead. One day she crashed the car, trying to kill us all. But she only killed herself.”
“I see,” said Kitty, with no expression on her face, or inflection in her voice. “But your mom only killed herself, you say, so maybe only Canadians would get killed if you blew up Giggles.”
“Oh, no. Nuclear winter would come and kill the whole planet. But we, us Canadians, would get all the black eyed virgins, like you Miss Kitty, up there in Heaven, ‘cause we blew up the ultimate suicide bomb. So, we would win, just like we do at hockey all the time.”
“I see,” Kitty said again. “But why do you call Giggles the Happy Bomb?”
“Well, that’s how we sell the idea to everyone up here. Especially the kids. We get a big guy, dressed like a big, round bomb, you know, the kind with the burning fuse on them? And he is Giggles the Happy Bomb. He goes around the country playing with kids, and handing out bullets. Bullets made from depleted uranium, like the ones the Pentagon uses everywhere, ‘cause if they’re good enough for the Pentagon, they’re good enough for us. And all the kids come to love Giggles the Happy Bomb, and know that he is their friend. And they believe for the rest of their lives, just like the baby Jesus story.”
“Once again, Kitty said, “I see. But there’s a problem. You would kill all the animals, too, if you blew up Giggles the Happy Bomb.”
“Yeah,” daisy said with a shrug, “I know. And that’s wrong. And that’s the part I am trying to figure out. But I think we can build Giggles so that he, or she, only kills the humans. You know, like the neutron bomb. You know, the realtors’ bomb. Ultra high radiation, that kills people, but leaves the buildings standing. I mean, if you can make bombs that save buildings, why not one big bomb that saves animals?”