King Oort

I checked with my friend, he of the fix-it shop and general repair facility. I wanted to use his name in these writings, instead of referring to him with personal pronouns or assorted pseudonyms.
“Sure, go ahead—no one reads that thing anyway,” he said.
So here, with no further ado, the friend I’ve been referring to, the coaxer of reluctant and bent metal, the reviver of stuck engines, their innards the victims of time and neglect, the eater of salted and roasted peanuts: King Oort; an unusual name to be sure, but one worth mentioning.

At this point I’m just plain tired. I woke before dawn, drove into downtown DC for an all-day job, and came back home as the rain was starting. The people at WTOP radio, which stands for Wild Transmitters Of Propaganda, had everyone convinced that the rain was not rain at all, but solid ice. So everyone responded by sliding their cars into things, on account of all the ice. Amazing, the power of suggestion. It took around three hours to drive the roughly forty miles back home. In all fairness, a little later some ice actually started to form, but the roadways were not affected. Mostly the grass and untreated sidewalks became treacherous. If I want a good reason to stay indoors, not to venture outside, I tune in the transmiters of propaganda at WTOP. They say things like:
“Don’t go outside—it’s too hot today.”
“Don’t go outside—it might snow.”
“Don’t go outside—there is ice. Stay right where you are.
“Just don’t go outside, period. There’s no telling what might happen out there.” This last one is usually issued when they don’t have any specific advertisements about foul weather or things falling from the sky. It’s a general-purpose, all around warning—just to be on the safe side. I think of the frightened and trembling people at home, huddled around their radios--the sun blazing a brilliant new day--but too afraid to venture beyond their thresholds.