Mauritius

The Indian Ocean generously supports a small island chain known to the outside world as Mauritius. Once home of the extinct Dodo bird, Mauritius now plays home to French tourists and travellers delayed on their way to Madagascar. For all of its beaches, sun and surf Mauritius is gripped by a plague worse than the Black Death or Small Pox.

The locals appear to be protected by a natural immunity and thankfully I appear not to have been infected though the same cannot be said of the numerous French tourists on vacation. The symptoms of this disease are as pitiful as they are repulsive.

Massive abdominal bloating is coupled with a dire skin condition. The skin first turns an iridescent white. Victims often lay in the sun seeking relief only to have their skin first exude a clear sticky film. Later the dermis turns a bright pink causing considerable pain. It is at about this point that the psychotropic symptoms of the disease manifest themselves.

Victims disrobe further and begin walking aimlessly along the water. Often they are encountered wearing no more than the smallest G-string underwear. Their delusional state continues to evolve through the evening, reaching a point of such confusion that some individuals acquire the belief that they are musicians or even singers. Standing in front of a room they belt out horrifyingly poor renditions of popular songs.

Though Suzanne and I fled this island for fear of catching this illness I remain concerned for Suzanne’s health. As we walked down the street yesterday Suzanne began to sing.

The world is a mysterious place governed by the laws of nature. The world is conspicuously not governed by the laws of good taste, aesthetics or even common sense.