The Saga of Henry J. Littlefinger

Henry J. Littlefinger’s troubles began when he swallowed his first sugar cube loaded with LS-MFD, a relatively unknown drug that caused the user to experience reality. About an hour after he had downed it he was ordered by his boss, who hadn’t the slightest idea that Littlefinger had turned off and was on a stay, to write seme advertising copy for a new television show. He wrote it—and was fired immediately. From that day on Littlefinger, turning himself off at least once a day, experienced stays of increasing clarity—until he was suffering periods of recurring reality for weeks on end. Which was a shattering switch for Henry J., for all his life he had worked diligently at avoiding it. Indeed, since childhood, when his parents had indoctrinated him into the Beatitudes of the Organization, he had pursued Avoidance faithfully. As a kid Henry Littlefinger had shown certain hearty characteristics that put him several cuts above the average brat and demonstrated that he was to become a successful Organization Man. He had grown up loving the Organization and that for which it stands, and was ready at the drop of an unorthodoxy to do battle with anybody who even hinted at an un-Organization thought. Majoring in Organization and minoring in Conformity, he zipped through college with straight smiles, graduated with homespun honors, and went on to graduate school, where his master’s thesis, “The Challenge of Our Times: Better Gum for Gumshoes,” won him a new Chevrolet and a CIA job offer. A knack for slogans (‘My Organization—right or whatelse!”) led Littlefinger to turn down the CIA offer, however, and go into advertising, where his talent in Avoidance allowed him to shine in the writing of copy for, first, deodorants, and, later, television. A grateful Organization had investigated free of charge and, finally, certified a bride for him—of their own choosing, after turning down seventeen of his own entries—thus for the first time uncovering an Achilles’ heel on the Organization Body of Henry J. Littlefinger: he didn’t know how to pick women, i.e., he picked those who could think. This, as it turned out, was to be Henry J. Littlefinger’s downfall into the pitfall of reality via LS-MFD. Following the Organization’s way of life and rising all the while, Henry never associated with anyone who wore a beard, jeans, or turtleneck sweater, who did not scrub his skin daily or spray it with chemicals, or who did not believe in washday miracles. He and his friends swore by heartier flavor, more smoking pleasure, crispier and crunchier goodness, all-purpose purpose, and faster relief. They believed that bedbugs—even wholesome ones—should not be sent te Vietnam to fight because it would create a poor image, and that if you have hair on your head and everybody else in the office is bald, you should wear a bald wig. They firmly believed that man is endowed by the Organization with certain inalienable rights, such as freeways, television, and the pursuit of credit; that spinach causes cancer, zip codes should be tattooed on brains for quicker junkmailing, and names should be replaced entirely by numbers for easier directdialing.

They voted for deletion of four-letter words from alphabet soup, lowering the drinking age to eight, never allowing go-goes to become wentwents, and shooting immediately anybody who bent, spindled, or folded. In short, they prayed—and believed —that God was alive, not in Argentina, but in the Organization. Indeed, Henry’s beliefs reached such an astronomical number that he, like his fellows, was forced to take a mind-expanding drug just to keep up with all of them. Further, the drug not only kept him abreast in the constantly expanding belief-world; it also made the beliefs more valid. They gleamed with Truth, glistened with Worth and shone with Righ. Then, unfortunately, Henry J. one day took the wrong drug. Instead of swallowing the mind-expanding LSD, he swallowed the reality-experiencing LS-MFD (Lucky Swallow-Means Fine Day). Someone along the line apparently slipped him the wrong bottle. He, so happy he couldn’t be bothered with reading labels, took it home and his wife, who couldn’t read, gave him the pill, which was her only job.) From that day on Henry J. Littlefinger was a different man. A whole new series of truths became self-evident with his first turn-off and Stay.

JK

About the Author

John Keefauver

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Henry J. Littlefinger’s troubles began when he swallowed his first sugar cube loaded with LS-MFD, a relatively unknown drug that caused the user to experience reality. About an hour after he had downed it he was ordered by his boss, who hadn’t the slightest idea that Littlefinger had turned off and was on a stay, to write seme advertising copy for a new television show. He wrote it—and was fired immediately. From that day on Littlefinger, turning himself off at least once a day, experienced stays of increasing clarity—until he was suffering periods of recurring reality for weeks on end. Which was a shattering switch for Henry J., for all his life he had worked diligently at avoiding it. Indeed, since childhood, when his parents had indoctrinated him into the Beatitudes of the Organization, he had pursued Avoidance faithfully. As a kid Henry Littlefinger had shown certain hearty characteristics that put him several cuts above the average brat and demonstrated that he was to become a successful Organization Man. He had grown up loving the Organization and that for which it stands, and was ready at the drop of an unorthodoxy to do battle with anybody who even hinted at an un-Organization thought. Majoring in Organization and minoring in Conformity, he zipped through college with straight smiles, graduated with homespun honors, and went on to graduate school, where his master’s thesis, “The Challenge of Our Times: Better Gum for Gumshoes,” won him a new Chevrolet and a CIA job offer. A knack for slogans (‘My Organization—right or whatelse!”) led Littlefinger to turn down the CIA offer, however, and go into advertising, where his talent in Avoidance allowed him to shine in the writing of copy for, first, deodorants, and, later, television. A grateful Organization had investigated free of charge and, finally, certified a bride for him—of their own choosing, after turning down seventeen of his own entries—thus for the first time uncovering an Achilles’ heel on the Organization Body of Henry J. Littlefinger: he didn’t know how to pick women, i.e., he picked those who could think. This, as it turned out, was to be Henry J. Littlefinger’s downfall into the pitfall of reality via LS-MFD. Following the Organization’s way of life and rising all the while, Henry never associated with anyone who wore a beard, jeans, or turtleneck sweater, who did not scrub his skin daily or spray it with chemicals, or who did not believe in washday miracles. He and his friends swore by heartier flavor, more smoking pleasure, crispier and crunchier goodness, all-purpose purpose, and faster relief. They believed that bedbugs—even wholesome ones—should not be sent te Vietnam to fight because it would create a poor image, and that if you have hair on your head and everybody else in the office is bald, you should wear a bald wig. They firmly believed that man is endowed by the Organization with certain inalienable rights, such as freeways, television, and the pursuit of credit; that spinach causes cancer, zip codes should be tattooed on brains for quicker junkmailing, and names should be replaced entirely by numbers for easier directdialing.

They voted for deletion of four-letter words from alphabet soup, lowering the drinking age to eight, never allowing go-goes to become wentwents, and shooting immediately anybody who bent, spindled, or folded. In short, they prayed—and believed —that God was alive, not in Argentina, but in the Organization. Indeed, Henry’s beliefs reached such an astronomical number that he, like his fellows, was forced to take a mind-expanding drug just to keep up with all of them. Further, the drug not only kept him abreast in the constantly expanding belief-world; it also made the beliefs more valid. They gleamed with Truth, glistened with Worth and shone with Righ. Then, unfortunately, Henry J. one day took the wrong drug. Instead of swallowing the mind-expanding LSD, he swallowed the reality-experiencing LS-MFD (Lucky Swallow-Means Fine Day). Someone along the line apparently slipped him the wrong bottle. He, so happy he couldn’t be bothered with reading labels, took it home and his wife, who couldn’t read, gave him the pill, which was her only job.) From that day on Henry J. Littlefinger was a different man. A whole new series of truths became self-evident with his first turn-off and Stay.