I have, of late, been beset with a literary drought of curmudgeonly material but, thanks to people in my nearby neighborhood, I have been restored to my usual crankiness.

Have you noticed the great incivility that many people show you by not removing their caps, bowing down in supplication and moving back as you walk by?  Me too and it’s very annoying.  I live near a community of the most noble and lordly people on earth, at least according to their not-so-modest opinions.  These are the MOTU or the Masters of The Universe.

This exalted assembly of lawyers, doctors, athletes, executives, lobbyists and entrepreneurs lack only racks, burning oil, grand inquisitions and executioners to keep us, the serfs, in our place.

Nowhere is this exhibited with such fervor and vehemence than the parking lot of our local village center smack dab in the middle of the MOTU universe.  (Yes, I know, if you expand “MOTU universe,” you get “master of the universe universe.”  I said that MOTUs were uncivil, not literate.)  In a strange reversal of The Great Gatsby, the MOTU neighborhood sits between the city and the exurbs and countryside of the working classes.  Heaven help the poor working stiff who wanders unsuspectingly into this seemingly innocuous but dreaded purgatory.  In fact, unless there is an immediate acknowledgement of MOTU superiority, even lesser MOTUs (if there is such a thing) may be unsuspecting victims.

The purpose of the MOTU, like that of Greek gods, is to do whatever they want in whatever manner they choose.  The purpose of the rest of us is to get out of their way!  On one occasion, a MOTU was backing his behemoth out of his parking spot and ran into an obstacle which turned out to be a smaller behemoth (owned, undoubtedly, by a lesser MOTU).  It didn’t stop him: he merely crushed half the other car by backing over it and went on his way.

What happens when two MOTUs meet?  Two possibilities occur.  Either 1) they divvy up the universe between them or 2) they battle for superiority and the rest of us get crushed beneath their feet.

I go with 2), which makes me wonder now about the vultures I sometimes see along the road.  Much maligned, vultures are very courteous about waiting their turn for a piece of the carrion that often lies on a roadside shoulder or in a ditch.  I have always assumed that the carrion was non-human but, in the land of the MOTU, who knows?