Trump’s twitter is for the birds
Fossil find and genetics hints at reptile revival
It was pure chance that the discovery of unique dinosaur fossils at Lightning Ridge was announced the same day as Tyrannosaurus Trump began his Jekyll and Hyde visit to the United Kingdom. And that both of these events should occur as the world remembered the savagery of the Tiananmen Square massacre 30 years ago.
The Lightning Ridge find, which has been kept under wraps for more than 30 years, is important because the number and varied size of the opalised bones found indicate the fossils are from a herd of the plant-eating iguanodontian reptiles. Opal miner Robert Foster found the bones 10 metres below ground in an opal field called the Sheep Yard. The new dinosaur has been named Fostoria dhimbangunmal, in Foster’s honour and for the local Yawaalaraay Aboriginal community, in whose language “dhimbangunmal” (pronounced bim-baan goon-mal) means “sheep yard”.
The fossils must be at least 100 million years old. That long-ago time is when a massive comet or asteroid impact wiped out all dinosaurs on Earth. Or so it was believed, until this new version of Tyrannosaurus — T-Trump — emerged
a few years back.
The differences between Fostoria dhimbangunmal and Tyrannosaurus Trump could not be more stark.
When he roamed the range, Fostoria dhimbangunmal, a vegan, was a placid character, no threat to fellow creatures unless they happened to get underfoot. Fostoria was a milk-sop, whereas Tyrannosaurus Trump goes out of his way to savage members of the human race. He’s omnivorous by nature and all the more dangerous because, like the chameleon, he can melt into the background then suddenly emerge as ferocious and randomly dangerous as
a giant rabid dog.
In England this week he stood on the balcony of Buckingham Palace, hand on heart, surrounded by the British royals, carefully adjusting his malleable facemask to suit the occasion as the band played the United States’ anthem.
You’d never guess that this epitome of respectability had just come from tweeting that London’s Lord Mayor, Sadiq Khan, was “a stone-cold loser”, which he followed up with another sideswipe: “Kahn reminds me very much of our very dumb and incompetent Mayor of NYC, de Blasio, who has also done a terrible job.”
T-Trump’s emergence from the swamp three or four years ago has been a mercurial affair. Social scientists, at first amused, then confounded, grappled with feelings of astonishment, disbelief, rage and, ultimately, helplessness. In the end, they told themselves, this is the world today, like it or lump it — or rather, like it and Trump it. Regrettably, some of his former critics have done just that. They’re on the T-Trump bandwagon and are enjoying the ride.
Tyrannosaurus Trump’s twittering has caused much consternation. It is his standard form of communication. But evolutionary science explains this phenomenon. It should be remembered that tweeting is the language of the birds and birds evolved in stages from a species of two-legged dinosaurs that included the terrifying Tyrannosaurus rex. Over a span of 10 million years
— a tiny flash in evolutionary time — they acquired feathers, wings, thinner bones and flight; their bodies shrank dramatically and, significantly, their brains shrank even faster. T-Trump’s constant tweeting can thus be regarded as genetic.
In London, Dino Donald went swiftly into dino-diplomacy once he had a royal banquet with the Queen out of the way. He tweeted that former British foreign minister Boris Johnson would make a fine British prime minister when Theresa May stepped down, and so would Jeremy Hunt, the current Foreign Minister. He twittered that he didn’t want to meet Opposition leader Jeremy Corbyn, who was a “negative force”.
His London sojourn raises serious concerns not only about his diplomatic style but also about his hearing and eyesight. He tweeted “Where are the protests? I don’t see any protests” as his motorcade drove past thousands of Londoners who, to other observers, appeared to be holding banners and chanting slogans denouncing him. He was blind to the ugly Donald Trump baby blimp hovering overhead and the statue of a schoolboy Trump sitting on the dunny, sending a tweet.
Optometrists have been worried about his vision ever since his inauguration as US President, when T-Trump failed to register massive gaps in the crowds of Americans attending the ceremony. Instead, he saw wall-to-wall spectators jam-packed into Washington’s public spaces.
His eye and ear problems have sparked rumours that he is intent on buying Britain’s National Health Scheme in the “phenomenal trade deal” he’s promised when Brexit finally does mean exit of the UK from Europe. He has denied the rumours.
But nobody of any sense in Britain is comfortable with his denial. Can you trust a Trumposaurus?
At last sighting, T-Trump was in respectability mode again, a central figure in the D-Day commemoration — perhaps assuming it meant D-for-Donald Day — saluting like the veteran he is not.
And what does the Tiananmen Square massacre in 1989 have to do with all these shenanigans? Nothing at all, except that it was a lot easier to pick the goodies from the baddies all those years ago.
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Trivial pursuit
Just up a dusty road from opal town Lightning Ridge lies a one-horse burgh named Cameron Corner, unique in Australia because you can stand at a certain spot and, if you tread carefully, be in New South Wales, South Australia and Queensland simultaneously. My mate Peter Lander alerted me to this. He has a head for this type of nonsensical information. Peter explained: “If you park your Esky and your bum there, you can have New Year in Queensland; move a yard to your left, wait an hour and have your New
Year in NSW; rotate another yard and wait another half-hour, and have your New Year in South Australia.” Curmudgeon, who has no head for such trivia, wonders whether you will get more or less drunk by spreading the joy. The local store has a Queensland liquor licence, a New South Wales postal code and a South Australian telephone number. The Cameron Corner golf course stretches across the three states, so you could bag three holes in one in different states in the same game if you’re good enough. Lander says his wife, Mary, who comes from China — a vast territory with only one time zone — refuses to believe him when he relates such statistics. But that’s his problem.
Bamboo-wrapped dumplings
It’s amazing how you can expand your knowledge of the world in the most unexpected way. Curmudgeon sent a copy of the Cameron Corner story, above, to Peter Lander to check for accuracy. This is part of his reply …
Mary and I spent the day making bamboo-wrapped dumplings … some for us, but most for others.
Today being the evening before the Dragon Boat Festival. This festival came about after the poet Qu Yuan killed himself in 278BC. He did so by carrying a large stone into the Miluo river.
Villagers carried their dumplings and boats to the middle of the river and desperately tried to save Qu Yuan. To keep fish and evil spirits away from his body, they beat drums and splashed the water with their paddles, and they also threw rice into the water both as a food offering to Qu Yuan’s spirit and also to distract the fish away from his body.
Later, his spirit appeared before his friends and told them to wrap their rice into three-cornered silk packages to ward off the dragon. These packages became a traditional food known as zongzi. The lumps of rice are now wrapped in bamboo leaves. Racing to search for his body in boats gradually became the cultural tradition and national holiday of dragon boat racing.
What I find to be so extraordinary about this razzmatazz is not the story and behaviour, but the fact that something that happened way more than 2,000 years ago should consume an entire day of my life in 2019.
Thank you, Peter. Indebted, as always.
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FROM THE BUNKER
(Our serial so far … Secret agent 001 has infiltrated Pearly Gates Dormitory Retreat and uncovered a hotbed of geriatric sedition. Last
time, Chief sprung 001 from Pearly Gates, only to throw him out of
a speeding car…)
The spy who went batty
Gotcha! Gotcha, you bastard! Who am I? That’s a laugh. That’s the laugh of the century. You know very well who I am, Chief.
All right, we’ll do it your way, Chief. It’ll take a little longer, but we’ve got all the time in the world, haven’t we? Oh, don’t worry, I know what you’re up to, Chief. Up to one of your old tricks … keep me on the mobile long enough, you think you and your evil henchmen … and henchwomen, I don’t want to be sexist about this … you want to keep me talking as long as you can so they can pinpoint exactly where I am. You think you can, but, take it from good old Agent 001, you won’t be able to. I didn’t spend a lifetime in Top Secret Security without learning a trick or three. Learned a lot of them from you, Chief. So here we go, we’ll do it your way …
And now, the end is near
And so I face the final curtain
My Chief, I’ll say it clear
I’ll state my case, of which I’m certain
I’ve lived a life that’s full
I’ve faced dangers every which-way
And more, much more than this
I did it your way…
It’s called singing, Chief. Yes, I know I’m not Frank Sinatra, but what I lose in melody and tone I make up for in sincerity, don’t you think? You don’t? Well, there’s no need to get petulant, Chief. You know, I’ve spent the best years of my life doing my best for you and my country and all I get in return is your clumsy attempt to assassinate me. Of course you were trying to kill me, you pushed me out of a speeding limo at 120ks! Oh, you don’t like my terminology? Are you a spy or a linguist? Have you turned into some kind of language guru?
I’m becoming very, very angry here, Chief. Whaddya mean, I’m a nobody? You’re saying, now, let me get this straight, Chief, you’re saying that assassinate, the word assassinate, should only be used in connection with important people, kings, queens, presidents and such. You know, I’ve worked for you all my adult life and never knew you were such a bleeding ridiculous, pedant, Chief. What’s it matter to a bloke being bundled out of a speeding car, heading for the bitumen, whether you’re trying to assassinate, murder, rub out, eliminate, wipe out or just plain kill him? You’re a nut case, Chief. Now cop this …
Regrets, I’ve had a lot
Yes, a lot that I could mention,
I did what I had to do
And saw it through without exemption
I did each stupid job
You sent me to, but not in my way
More, much more, alas
I did it your way…
I repeat, I … Did … It … Your… Way. And, right now, let me get it through your pedantic, bureaucratic, devious, cold-blooded, evil-minded skull, I’m not doing it your way anymore, Chief. You can curse and blubber and call me any sort of low dirty mongrel that you like, it won’t get you anywhere.
No, I’m not going over to the enemy. I’m not a traitor, I love my country. You’re the traitor, mate.
Yes, there were times, more than a few
You gave me jobs that made me spew
But through it all, when there was doubt
I ate it up and spat it out
I faced it all and I stood tall
And did it your way…
That’s it! You’re the traitor, Chief, not me. And you can take it from me, you’ve got an avalanche of trouble coming your way, I’ll see to that. From now on I’ll be your nemesis. I’ll be Javert to your Jean Valjean and I’ll make your life as miserable as possible. Keep looking over your shoulder, you creep, because somewhere not far away there’ll be Agent 001, correction, ex-Agent 001. Your days are numbered, you worm. Goodbye!
Ah, sorry to bother you again, so soon after my little brain snap, Chief. But I’m missing my spectacles. They might have slipped out of my pocket when you were pushing me out of the car. Would you be good enough to have someone check out the vehicle? They might be on the floor in the rear. They’re easy to recognise. They’re that pair with the silver reflective lenses. Remember? You helped me choose them. Sends people crazy when they can’t see your eyes.
Whaddya mean, I’m crazy? Of course I’m resigning from the Agency. I would have thought we could do it in a civilised manner. You know I’m pretty well stuffed without those glasses.
No need to be obnoxious, Chief. I suppose you’re docking my last lot of expenses too?
Chief? Chief?
For what is a man, what has he got?
If not himself, then he has naught
To say the things he really feels
And not the words of one who kneels
I hate you, Chief
Now I’ll be brief
I’ll do you my way
Yes… I’ll do you my way…
Yes, this is 001. Who’s calling? Where did you get this number? You’re what! I don’t believe this. You’re doing a survey on nappy rash? Which powder or rub gives the most relief? Listen to me, young lady, are you aware of the absolutely diabolical trouble you’ve got yourself into. You have accessed the A-one, top priority, highly classified hot line of our national spy agency, the espionage outfit which ensures the safety and security of our 25 million citizens. Where did you get hold of this number? You know you can go to jail for a very long time for possession of this number.
Don’t cry, please don’t cry. Shedding tears at a time like this doesn’t help at all. No, I don’t have a baby.
Yes, I know I must have been a baby in the beginning. I don’t see that that has anything to do with the price of eggs.
No, it’s just an expression.
Well, I suppose my mother must have used something to ease my nappy rash, but you can hardly expect me to know which one at my time of life. I’m 37.
You’re only 22?
Well, yes, we could meet and sort this out. Yes, I do know Wingham. Nice little town. In the bat reserve. Yes, we both have a problem to sort out. See you there, Wednesday.
(© Michael John Barnes) This serial also appears in the Manning Community News, published on the NSW North Coast.
