Flash Fiction: This is a silly, frivolous piece of very short fiction.

Oogie Raga, Dear Comrades!

Oogie Raga! Oogie Raga is the greeting and the affirmation. It is the sound. Not a word. Sound. First made whole by disco music, later refined to fucking near perfection through hip hop. Oogie Raga is the unifying sound, the only one. Oogie Raga!

Oogie Raga, last week I was in a meeting with a department head, a Dr. Ralf Barfing Vomitus, Ph.d, not a physician, an academic, but a better person than some stupid asshole commoner. Let's face it, people come in degrees. I can allow up to 270 degrees of total circumference to a person who has attained a Ph.d. Unless it's in public ed, phys ed, or other non-subject. I always go full circle for the true elite, but that's one percent of the population, and even I don't often get a whiff of their expensive perfume and caviar more often than four times per century. Dr. Vomitus has middling intelligence, for a person in the poly-sci department. I had to talk to Vomitas about one of the guys. About this asshole in my graduate studies program. The guy is a total POS.

Fucking Steve Kowalski. His thesis is coming along just awful, but that's not why I had to bring the matter to Ralf's attention. I think he and I are on a first name basis. He's one of those bastards who tells you to use his first name, like he didn't have to sell his sister to a cartel to pay for his Ph.D. Steve Kowalski's work is pure cancer. Total soup bowl of ricin. It's bochulism. My group has been making some real progress in anti-method theory, and Steve's garbage has an annoying effect on most of it. On everyone. We all hate fucking Steve. So, oogie raga, I went to Ralf's dank little office on my little two feet and filled him in on what a fucking creep Steve is. Oogie raga. It's all good.