An invisible man can rule the world. Nobody will see him come, nobody will see him go. He can hear every secret.
“The Invisible Man” film, screenplay by H.G. Wells, R.C. Sheriff, and Preston Sturges
I like to feel seen and appreciated, like anybody else. Otherwise, I wouldn’t write these columns.
But there are times when people make me want to disappear entirely, to decrease my refractive index and become totally transparent like air. Like the Griffin character in the H.G. Wells story.
But then I start thinking about the rules.
I suppose the first rule is an obvious one: I would have to be nekkid to be invisible. (Note: Lewis Grizzard once explained that in the South, naked means you don’t have any clothes on, and “nekkid” means you don’t have any clothes on and you’re up to something.)
I’m not crazy about that nekkid rule, but since nobody would see me, I guess I could live with it.
Let’s say I had the courage to go around nekkid and invisible. Would it be permanent? Or could I be invisible for a predetermined period based on how much of the invisibility formula I drank? Say, one tablespoon per hour of invisibility.
That would give me plenty of time to visit Ollie’s in Madison, assemble a large model airplane, and carry it around the store, making airplane noises: “Zoom, zoom.”
“Look, mommy, there’s an airplane in the check-out line.”
And what if I ate a hamburger while I was invisible? According to H.G. Wells, the hamburger would be visible until I digested it completely. Someone would see the hamburger being chewed, swallowed, and … well, there’s no need to continue that line of reasoning to its scatological conclusion.
Now that I think about it, being invisible would only be useful to that side of me that likes to stir up trouble and annoy people. What if we flip the script?
What if I had the power to make people vanish?
Poof … gone!
No formula required, just an incantation like Samantha sometimes used on the “Bewitched” television show.
Actually, that sounds like even more fun.
Who might we vanish first?
How about Phillies first baseman Bryce Harper? He’ll be in Atlanta Friday, so I could go out to Truist Park with an incantation already written and wait for the bottom of the first inning.
“Eye of newt, polecat’s ear, let’s knock Harper out of here.” Poof … gone!
That actually felt good. Harper has kids, so we’ll let him return in November. However, I might bring him again next year if I take a notion.
Who else can we get shed of?
Oh, I know. How about Whoopi Goldberg? Better yet, why not get rid of all the harpies on “The View.”
I think I may need some help with the incantation, though. I can only vanish one person at a time by myself, but if I can get a reader or two to recite the incantation with me, we can accomplish this. We’ll also need to wiggle our noses as we utter the incantation.
Ready? “Whoopi, Sunny, Anna, Joy, a life on Mars you’ll now enjoy.”
Poof … gone! Wow! Don’t you feel exhilarated? In less than 30 seconds, we have made the world significantly more pleasant.
Let’s get rid of something local.
Uh-oh! Do you hear that roar?
I believe I’ve opened a can of worms.
I know you all have a lot of suggestions, but one at a time, please.
The chair recognizes the gentleman from Rutledge.
“T. Michael, can you make Rivian disappear?”
Of course, I can. And Tesla, too.
But I’m going to need all eight of the people who read this column to join in for the incantation. All noses must wiggle in unison.
“Six-volt, 12-volt, Model A; take the Tesla far away; to outer space shall go the Rivian, all the way out past oblivion.”
Poof … gone!
And on a somber note, before we conclude, I’m sad to report that our editor, Hannah Barron, is leaving the LON this week for a new position at the LaGrange Daily News.
I take no joy in saying it this time. And she can write her own incantation.
Poof … gone! Farewell, Hannah.
Selah.