Brimstone Head

Warning: You are nearing the edge of the flat earth. One false step could be your last.

                                                                                                    ... Sign at Fogo Island, NL




Around 2 am, as I surfed late-night AM Stations, a program on radio New Zealand piqued my interest. The host, Yolanda Kelly, reported that over 200 Flat Earthers had come together in a major conference in the West-Midlands last weekend, one of many such gatherings scheduled over the next six months around the world. Believers have planned conventions in places like Denver, Colorado, and Sao Paulo, Brasil, early in the new year.

Before the station faded into static and gurgles, I found some comfort in the numbers of people who think like myself. Earlier in the evening, spouse and I had been discussing that very topic.

"If the Earth is a spinning ball," I said to spouse, "how come all the waters on the globe don't fly off into space?"

And could it be that this spherical-shaped planet that we see in photos from NASA is all a hoax cooked up by the media, and scientists in their ivory towers? Those ancient Greek philosophers are mixed up in that business, too. Quite frankly, I've never trusted them after I ran into geometry in grade nine."

And what about our Hon. Derrick Bragg, Minister of the Environment and MHA for Fogo-Cape Freels? Nobody has heard a peep from him since he was appointed. Could it be that he stumbled off the edge of the world at Brimstone Head out on Fogo island, after all, that's one of the four corners of the flat Earth?"

These are all critical questions that I ponder daily, especially when fall hits and winter beckons.

"Perhaps, you should have a glass of warm Raspberry Screech," said spouse solicitously, "and then saunter off to the Land of Nod."

"Foul weather always puts me in these disagreeable moods," I said, "that, and government ministers inventing false narratives to cover their asses when they suspect that the toiling masses have caught on to their conniving ways."

Spouse and I had been sitting around watching the Late-Nite Wrap on the peoples' channel, a newscast dominated by meaningless interviews with members of the political class who are in town for the pre-Christmas sitting of the House of Assembly, an event guaranteed to put us in the holiday spirit.

Day in, day out, they accuse each other of pork-barreling, moose poaching, racism, bullying, and adultery, but do nothing to cheer up the great unwashed.

"Perhaps, this year," I said, "instead of the usual festive lights, we ought to hang a giant black Christmas stocking filled with rotten salmon from the peak of Confederation Building."

Lousy weather with torrential downpours off and on for weeks had confined us to the house. You just knew from the dreary grey sky, the frigid gales from Greenland, and the scattered snowflakes swirling through the air, that winter was about to launch a withering broadside against these pine-clad hills.

And more ominous signs over on the slopes beyond the backside of government; the tawny tamarack trees spilling their spent needles onto the forest trails; the trembling aspens, a shadow of their former selves, leafless, their bare branches outlined against the sky like the charcoal scrawling of a mad artist.


"Is it any wonder," I said, "that I am more susceptible to the dark forces this time of year."

The warm Raspberry Screech chased away the shadowy spirits. I decided to reward myself with a second, and perhaps a third, as I engaged in my favorite after-midnight activity--weird news from radio land.

Spouse declined the prospect of another glass of Fifty Shades of Bay and retired for the night.

After Radio New Zealand faded, I picked up WHOR, a Fox News affiliate, (coming to you from Lincoln, Nebraska). "It's as flat as it gets folks," said the host, John Boy Carson, as he launched into a talk show featuring special guests, rapper B.o.B (nee Bobby Ray Simmons) and reality TV star, Tila Tequila. His theme--you guessed it--the flat Earth.

"Flat Earth B.o.B, that's me," said B.o.B. "They ain't nobody land on no moon yet."

"All them tall buildings in New York City be standing straight up," said Tila. "How come they don't lean a bit if the Earth is a round ball?"

"We've heard from our special guests, ladies, and gentlemen," said John Boy, "now let's hear from all you listeners out there in radio land."

Sue-Ann from Sunbeam, Florida, was on the line. "More than 90 times, the Bible say the earth be flat. Revelation 7:1 say the earth be a square with angels a-guardin each corner. What more evidence you need, muh man?"

"Bless you, Sue-Ann," said John Boy. "Now on to Duane in Duckhouse, Alberta. What's on your mind, Duane?"

"I agree with that previous caller," said Duane. "Accordin to the Book of Enoch, no question the Earth is flat as the prairie. And old Enoch would know. He was the great grandaddy of Noah. Those globalists are trying to control our minds and bodies. And that Swedish girl, Greta, they clone her every few days. How else she be in Vancouver one day, then Paris the next, and India the about oil--if the Earth was round, why would we need to pump oil down to Houston, Texas, we'd just dump it into a big old chute, and it'd flow down there all by itself..."

"Yes, thank you, Duane, now on to our next caller."

A vaguely familiar voice comes on the line.

Gerry from Gin Cove, Newfoundland," said the caller in a muffled voice. "I'm calling as the voice of reason in this discussion."

"New Finland," said B.o.B, "ain't that one of them nordic countries? I hear y'all got a lot of moose poachers up there. I even heard about some racists."

"Isn't that the place with some big salmon farms?' asked John Boy.

"They farm salmon?" said Tila. "Is that where fishes come from?"

"We grow them like turnips and cabbage," said Gerry, "but in cages in the sea. And sometimes, like turnips and cabbage, they all die because of bad weather, or disease, or a boiling hot ocean. We just lost millions of fish, and now 13,000 tons of festering, stinking Salmo salar is rotting on the farm. But no pathogens are present."

"That's a lot of turnips," said Tila.

"Y'all sound like a globalist with them big words," said B.o.B.

"What I wanted to say," said Gerry, "is that the Earth must be flat, otherwise, all that sh-t, and slurry, and slime, on the bottom of Fortune Bay, would just slide on down to South Carolina."

"You sound like you have a problem," said John Boy.

"Oh, I've..ah..I mean, we got a problem, alright," said Gerry. "Because of the flat earth, all that gurry sits ten fathoms deep right there and sticks to the floor of the ocean like green snotty excretions from a giant nose. It doesn't move. mean the government has to find a way to convince everybody...

The phone rang. I turned down the radio and picked it up.

There is a loud foghorn sound and then a voice. "This is your captain speaking. You have just won two boarding passes on your dream cruise out of Fort Lauderdale, Florida, the journey of a lifetime, organized exclusively for members of the Flat Earth Society. please phone 1 888 666 3838 to arrange passage on the Fantasy of the Seas...

I rushed upstairs to wake spouse.

"Don't ever wake me when I'm in a deep sleep," she said irritably.

"But, a cruise," I said.

"Calm down," she said, "tomorrow, I'm going to take you on a nice drive to Brimstone Head."



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