The Oz Solution by Leila Allison

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The Lernaean Hydra of Greek mythology has no set number of heads. Whatever the word in ancient Greek meaning “a buttload” applies to the noggin total of the belligerent Sea Monster, whose dispatch was the Second Labor of Hercules. But the previously Romanized version of the Hydra that recently arrived in Saragun Springs has just four heads–Vicki Beckious, Nikki Nolteious, The Situationious and Zippy-the-Pinheadious–but considering that they tend to talk at the same time, four is enough.

The way I see it, ancient mythology continues to shadow education like a bad credit score smothered in STDs and the everlasting scorn of non-entities such as Amber Heard. Therefore I believe that instead of attempting to re-write the myths for modern use, realms in the mega-verse should adopt someone or thing from mythology and give that person or thing a fresh start. I mean, for chrissake, Sisyphus has been pushing that stone long enough. Zeus is tiresome when it comes to making a point.

Upon granting citizenship to the Hydra, I understood the main trouble such an unlikely creature multi-faces (Get it? Get it? Sigh. I see you do. Fine). Our Hydra, like the original, has just one body. That means it has only one set of lungs and a single heart to feed oxygen to the brain(s) with. As we see in people, one cardio-system is seldom better than fifty-fifty to the task. All four heads of the Hydra have brains that can operate at high intelligence (we will go with an IQ of 150), but that is not much when operating on quarter power. The ancient Greeks were notoriously stingy with organs; look at the Gorgon Sister eye debacle. But when one had the eye, she had the whole eye (yet I assume she still had no depth perception). The same cannot be said for the Hydra, with just one cardio, each lives in a constant state of hypoxia. When three are asleep at the same time, the awake one is fairly intelligent (the sleeping threesome allow enough oxygen for an average intelligence to form). But mostly all four are asleep or awake at the same time, and Christ how they babble; it is what you may expect from a group whose mean IQ is in the upper-thirties (feel free to add your own foursome for comparison–Cable News chat groups come to my mind).

So, it came to pass that at our monthly management meeting (which, due to my hate for meetings, usually happens with every World Cup cycle–and happens at all only because The Boss insists), that the topic of increasing Hydra intelligence became the focus.

It took ten tries but I finally was able to gather four of the brightest minds in the realm for the meeting. The Witch HeXopatha was supposed to be there, but since her sworn (and vice versa) enemy Renfield was at the table, she sent her Apprentice Eira Indira–who, as a Witches apprentice is required to change her surname every day until she becomes a made Wiccan (that takes seven years, so another five, or something like another nineteen hundred last names to go). If you could see her I’d have to tell you that it is not a coincidence that Eira is a duplicate of Kate Bush in the Wuthering Heights video–not only that she is “Kathy” because the video is where she was (willingly) nabbed from and brought to the Springs to join HeXopatha’s coven of two.

Joining Renfield and Eira (who actually like each other because both have clever “boss” tales to share) were Dame Daisy Kloverleaf and Flo the Trade Rat (formerly, Pack Rat, but due to all those TV shows about human hoarders, Flo has been distancing herself from that title, though her impossibly lazy husband Andy doesn’t mind). Renfield also had a special “whistle link” set up to her Dogs, Beezer and Barkevious, who were to herd the Hydra to my office window when (or if) we had something positive to tell them.

Before the meeting began we were forced to read aloud yet a fresh complaint issued by the “Sovereign Citizens” (oh yes, we got them too) of Lambistan. Daisy took that job. But, as always, when dealing with Dame D I must remind you of her adverb addiction. So, when you see something she says or has written, I allow two of her unique bends of the language to go, but thereafter all italicized words were preceded by their adverb, which have been omitted from this work or we would never make the count. (For sadists, the adverb inserted text exists on Daisy’s site at the Other Earth realm.)

Anyway, Daisy read the statement.

“We the malely male Lambs of Lambistan are Sovereignly Sovereign citizens and we reject your authority and deny your female matriarchy!” After reading it Daisy ate the note, which was not a stereotypical Goat thing to do because we use the same material Earth uses for edible underwear as paper.

“I see the little fuckerly fuckers are as uselessly useless as ever,” Renfield said (long exposure to Daisy will get into your speech).

“Profoundly profound,” echoed Eira.

“Well, at least they are smart enough to notice that the realm is run by women,” said Flo. “A good thing, I think–can any of you imagine my Andy in charge of anything more important than his pint?”

We all agreed on that point. If not for playing the numbers, Rat football and alcohol there would be little of interest in the realm for Andy the Trade Rat.

“Eh,” I said with a dismissive wave. “The guys are still stuck *thinking that the intelligent response for letting girls play sports is one of them running for head cheerleader–That reminds me–have we arrived at a gender for the Hydra?” (*I came within an atom cover of saying thinkingly.)

“It appearingly appears that we have a deadlockly deadlock,” said Daisy. “Vikki and Nikki claim to be girls; the other two did not grasp the question, so I assume they are guys.”

“I say we call them them and let it go at that,” Renfield said. “You know there are times when that is okay, Leila.”

Renfield and I have been going around and around on the gender proclaimer issue forever and ever. I’ve been told that she really has no set opinion–she just does it to be a pain and she also knows that there is some bait I will hook into every time.

“Let’s put it to a vote,” said Renfield. “All for them/they for the Hydra, overally overall, and him or her for the single heads say aye–those for whatever stupid shit Leila wants, be advised it is probably wise to keep your mouths shut.”

Everyone except me said “Aye!” And the Gold Gilt Gavel, which is the off and on again home to my great to the fourth power Grandfather, a Quillemender Ghost, we call the Judge, knocked itself. He does stuff like that now and again, usually when I am at the disadvantage.

I was feeling a bit down and mean. And if things were to follow the pattern that emerges from that emotional stance, nothing, again, would be accomplished. But this was when wise and fair minded Flo, hopped over and whispered two words in my ear. The Boss, to whom I’m the Chief Pen of the Realm, without my knowledge, endowed every single individual in the realm with a “secret saying” to be said to me once. The citizens do not even know about it until something tells them it is time to deliver the payload, so to speak. I must admit as far as deus ex machinas go it is a pretty nifty one. Even though I know it exists it cannot be summoned or counted on to occur more than one time in a hundred–and whenever I ask about it the Boss either plays dumb or feigns death. The words were “Oz solution.”

They hit me like a quick whiff of Columbian cola up a golden toot-ta-nanny. “By jingle and by Jove!” I said, leaping off my chair and onto my feet. “Stop the presses and strap the dresses! [I should inform you that the initial secret saying blast somewhat disorganizes my vocabulary for a couple minutes] Renfield–summon the Hounds and Hydra!”

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Renfield whistled for the boys. Even though they were only on the other side of the Barnyard (where my office is located), I knew we had a good half hour until they would arrive with the Hydra. That gave us time to whip up four scrolls and to fire two Doggy Delight pizzas (“Mystery Barf” flavor).

Once Daisy and Flo had finished the scrolls, I placed the pizza on the window sill. The crew were still just as not there as they had been, but it is amazing how fast the scent of food arrives to a Dog.

Until Flo’s whisper, the best we could do was oxygen tanks, but the Hydras have funny shaped snouts and when the gas wore off they would eat the masks. We also had a deal going with the “Marine Boy” realm. That little creep has been sitting on thousands of cases of oxygum since Travolta had hair–but when he heard that we placed a claim on the mineral rich asteroid 16 Psyche his asking price became ridiculous. Now, we will pay high healthcare premiums for our citizens, but he wouldn’t let us to test the stuff on the Hydras–moreover none of them appeared intelligent enough to know how to chew gum, a necessary first step, if you ask me–so that deal was always hitting new snags. Besides, stupidity isn’t a health problem.

Beezer and Barkevious brought the Hydra to the window and both accepted their pay. “Thankew so very kindly Mistress Renfield,” said Beezer, who is a rotund British Bulldog. “I figure the latest slipper chewing disturbance is a thing of the past?”

I could tell by the quick squint on Renfield’s face that the latest slipper chewing disturbance was news to her. But she is also a sucker for her pets, so she said nothing. Instead she handed the boys their food and asked Barkevious, a Scotty, “No new sins to report, small sir?”

“None worth braggin’ ‘bout,–thankew,—oooh mystery vomit!” he replied. This remark resulted in a second squint on Renfield’s face but no comment.

The Hydra was its usual disorganized self. Zippy and The Situationious were snapping at their own shadows while the “girls” spouted vacant nonsense.

“Ho muh gawd Nikki, do you see that funny little shiny thing up high?”

“Aw gad Vikki–what is it?”

“That’s Pong, our sun, girls,” I sighed. “C’mon, let’s get this over with before they start eating the set.”

At this time Renfield and Eira began humming whatever tune that is they use for graduations (you know–”Hum-hum-hee-hum-dum”) and Daisy began to speak. “Situationiously Situationious, congratulationsly congratulations. You are now a Doctor of Philosophy in the art of Bottom Division Scottish Football. Beholdly behold your diploma.”

Flo then grabbed the document and after artfully avoiding the snapping heads, she stuck it in the Situationious’ mouth. Like in the Wizard of Oz, when the Wiz gave the Scarecrow his degree in “Thinkology”, the effect was instantaneous. He went from Bozo to Know so, well, like I said, instantaneously.

“E equals the energy of the dip volley that glanced off McCoonaughey’s head and landed Tarburton in the Male Supporter Cup finals,” said Doctor Situationious.

Nikki Nolteous got her doctorate in Twerking, Vikki Beckious won hers in The Color Blue and Zippy is now an expert in all things Glam.

Of course now that they Hydra is a collection of tweedy experts they/it has become somewhat of a tiresome know-it-all. But that’s all right. We can take that issue up at the next monthly management meeting in 2030.

The Gold Gilt Gavel smacked the table and we were so out of there before anything new could go wrong.

Leila Allison