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The
Lost Island of the Bubbaphobes
January
10, 2002
by birdman
It was back in the days around the start of the new millennium
when my friend Jim and I used to sail our boat to interesting
and exotic places that we encountered the most bizarre island
with the strangest inhabitants that either of us had ever
seen.
Although the island looked relatively normal the first thing
you noticed about the residents was their perpetual glumness,
particularly the males. They rarely smiled and spent much
of their time listening to the radio. They never seemed to
listen to music, however, and the programs that they preferred
featured one male voice usually going on in monologue for
some time, but then accepting phone calls from other male
voices.
The island natives seemed to enjoy the broadcasts (at least
as much as they enjoyed anything - very little seemed to make
them happy but they would often nod in agreement while the
radio was on.) After a few days I noticed that many of the
natives also had computers which they typed into with some
regularity but always with the same grimness and ill-temper
that they brought to any other task.
It seemed so strange to us that they would have radios and
computers but no televisions. When we asked where the TVs
were some of the natives became very angry.
"No TV," they said, "TV belong to Bubba."
Bubba. Although I could not determine who Bubba was it was
obvious that he occupied almost all the waking moments of
the island residents. They didn't want to talk about him and
yet I suspected when they were alone they spoke of almost
nothing else. They would gather in small groups and you could
hear audible mutterings of "Bubba, Bubba, Bubba." When you
asked about Bubba they became fearful and mistrustful.
Jim and I tried to reassure them that we were friendly and
that Bubba hadn't sent us to the island but it was to no avail.
"Bubba kill," one of them said, "We have list."
And yet I felt that if I were to ever understand the natives
I would have to find out who Bubba was and maybe figure out
why he had taken the TV sets.
For a while Jim and I assumed that Bubba lived in the hills
above the small town that ringed the island. After several
days of searching, however, it became quite obvious that nobody
at all lived up there, least of all the fearsome Bubba.
A couple of weeks went by and Jim and I had all but despaired
of finding out about Bubba and the strange islanders who so
hated and feared him. But then the night before we were to
leave the island we had a visitor. It was the wife of one
of the natives. She said she had to talk to people from the
outside world but was afraid that her husband would think
she was betraying him to Friends of Bubba. The worst thing
an islander could call you was an F.O.B.
"I'm so sick of Bubba. All the time Bubba," she said.
"But who the hell is Bubba?" we asked.
And she told us the strange tale of Bubba.
"Bubba used to be ruler. They hated Bubba here. Year after
year they hated Bubba and year and year Bubba stay in power.
They all try to get rid of Bubba. They listen to radio, type
into computer, nothing work. Many times they think they finally
have Bubba but Bubba always win, they always lose. Every month
boatload of books come to island - hate Bubba books. They
read books- they talk about Bubba - hate Bubba more, go back
to radio, wait for more books."
"But where's Bubba now?" I asked.
"Bubba's retired." she sighed.
"He's retired and they're still acting like this. Are they
all crazy?"
"All crazy. It's not like this in the rest of the world
is it?"
Sadly we had to tell her that it wasn't.
The next day as we prepared to leave there was a huge uproar
in the town. Revelers began running through the streets screaming
"Bubba fault - Bubba fault!!" Jim grabbed one of the natives
as he ran by and asked him what had happened.
"Dick Morris," the man said, "he suck ho toes but he turn
on Bubba. He say Bubba no care enough about evildoers." With
that he was gone, screaming and partying with the other Bubba-haters.
The native wife who had visited us the night before approached
us again. "This happens about once a month," she said. They
hear some story on the radio or see it on the computer and
run around thinking that they finally got Bubba. A day or
so from now they realize nobody cares and they get miserable
again. The man who talk to you - that was my husband," she
said. "Will you take me with you?"
"Yeah, hop on board," I said, "Let's go, we've got to get
away from these losers."
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