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A
Chronicle of Two Thousand Three The man--the little man, The little man with thin quirky lips, The little man whose curious eyebrows inexplicably give birth to the notion that he grooms them with a toothbrush in a glib, off-handed way, barely looking at the mirror when he does it, silent swish on the left, silent half-hearted swish on the right-- He blinked a few times in
rapidity just before his tongue unconsciously darted from its place and
then, in belated self-realization, instantly retreated. At this juncture
the little man spoke: 'We will go to the mooon!' he intoned, but when he said it--and yes, he said it with the added 'o' for well-practiced emphasis--his own voice surprised him by piping an octave higher that he had expected, triggering in turn a multitudinous serious of staccato and unfettered blinks. He paused, swallowed, emitted
an inaudible cough and went on, brushing past that soprano false start.
This time the tongue stayed put and when he parted those tremulous lips, his voice was down where it belonged. He grinned in smug relief
as he repeated to the world: 'We will go to the mooon! But
we will not stop there! We will go beyond the moon, for the
long-awaited, manned exploration of Mars'--and
when he said "Mars" it came out small and swallowed, as if it
were a disappointment. Evidently he was expecting
applause, but there was no applause, there were only awkward glances.
Then:
'WE WILL GO to the mooooon!'
the little man screamed, pumping his little fist for additional
punctuation. At this the man--the little man--was clearly pleased with himself, And his aides hurriedly gathered round to offer obsequious, manly gestures of congratulations, a trite thumbs up, a pat on the back, terse nods of the heads At the same time waving off the press, Well done, sir, well done! Congratulating the man for his
quick-thinking dodge, Brilliance, a moment of brilliance -- a save.
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