I first heard the term “The Suck Zone” in the movie “Twister”, wherein they seemed to be referring to the radius around a funnel cloud inside of which anything not battened down would get battened UP.
But there exists another suck zone in nature – less dramatic, but much more malevolent and sneaky.
Behold – the Suck Zone:
She’s so dumb that sometimes, when you tell her “Sit!” – she puts her head on the ground and leaves her rear end up in the air. She doesn’t really know her name – if you look at her and say “Pancreas!” she’ll run up to you, because it looked like you were talking to her, and – pancreas, right? Okay!
When we were training the dogs about the boundary on the radio fence, the other two got it right away – by the time Lucy learned that “beep beep beep means ouch ouch ouch” she had third degree burns and her coat was singed halfway down her back.
(I don’t suppose using a car battery for her shock collar helped much. But we needed twelve volts and ten amperes just to get her attention).
But Lucy isn’t just passively stupid. She is an active force for stupidity in our universe.
When you get within a certain distance of Lucy, you wind up in The Suck Zone, where Lucy’s negative IQ actually drains brains in her immediate vicinity to the point that one becomes dumber’n'a bag of hammers.
You can actually feel it come over you – a sort of sleepy feeling in your frontal lobes, as necessary circuity shuts down. Suddenly, you can’t find your keys. And you forgot what you came in the room for. Sometimes you forget to breathe, until the reflex arch in your spinal cord kicks in and you are suddenly gasping (this is called Lucy Apnea).
You become dull-eyed and slack-jawed, with your shirttail out and nothing on your mind.
This is why, whenever I move through our house, I’m always moving at high speed, hoping that sheer momentum will take me through The Suck Zone before all cognitive functions cease and I am suddenly amazed and enthralled with the color yellow, standing in a stupor looking at a bath towel.
You may not believe what I am saying, but the mere fact that she is here proves that this effect is real. Q.E.D – it can’t be denied.
Ethel has been living in the Suck Zone for nine years, since she brought Lucy home from the veterinarian-lobotomist. We know this because Lucy is still here. Anybody with a working cerebral cortex would have gotten rid of that comatose critter most riki-tiki, but Ethel just keeps feeding her and petting her.
Now, this sounds bad, but let’s face it – Lucy lives in the eternal Now. Lucy is not in the least concerned with where her next meal is coming from, or where she is going to live next month, or if Alabama will make it through September undefeated (I think that we can handle Virgina Tech, but the second game in College Station looks pretty scarey to me).
Sometimes, when I get worried or overly concerned – when my perceptions of the world are bearing down on me – I like to sit close to Lucy. Then, I feel that warm fog come over me, and all of my worries melt away into the bliss of idiocy.
Oh, look – Yellow!