I suspect my neighbors are terrorists.

I base this assessment mostly on keen insights, sharp deductions and paranoid delusions, plus the fact that the American flag sticker on their car (an import!) is getting tattered.

Ordinarily, I wouldn’t much care if this couple and their kid spent their spare time working as sleeper agents for an al Qaeda cell intent on disrupting the crucial infrastructure of northern Franklin County (another ski-lift mishap, maybe?). My mantra is mind your own business. I don’t stick my nose where it doesn’t belong. Live and let live, I say.

Except when there’s a threat of atomic annihilation.

This is not some wacko thing I’m just making up to fill space (although, that’s not a bad idea). My source for this information is no less an authority than the U.S. Census Bureau, which reported this week that the number of households in Maine composed of a husband, wife, and one or more children has undergone a precipitous decline. And what does the Census Bureau call this endangered species of cohabitation?

That’s right: the nuclear family.

And why?

There are only two reasonable explanations. The first is that the census folks are obsessed with jargon designed to make everyday situations sound way more impressive than they actually are. But the second reason could be that nuclear families are just that – families that have acquired nuclear weapons from questionable overseas sources.

This would explain why they’re in decline. The government has lately been cracking down on domestic ownership of purloined Soviets nukes. And ever since the tsunami in Japan, anti-nuclear sentiment has been on the rise among members of the American public.

As a result, you drive by fewer and fewer homes that glow in the dark when all the lights have been switched off. There’s been a precipitous decline in reports of people being turned into hulking green monsters by exposure to gamma rays. And you’re more likely to encounter unicorns and pixies in your neighbor’s backyard than you are a spent-fuel-rod storage facility.

Setting aside my nuclear-armed neighbors for a moment, I should address the question that’s probably foremost in your mind:

If nuclear families are disappearing, what’s taking their place?

Solar-powered families?

Not exactly.

The answer is households headed by a single parent, households headed by gay or lesbian couples, households headed by nuclear-capable couples that haven’t bothered to get married, and households dominated by characters from video games.

But back to the subversives in my neighborhood. I already suspect them of having some involvement with the spread of the stem-bloat nematode. Unless this insidious alien presence is eradicated, it could threaten to wipe out the state’s entire crop of garlic. 

As I understand it (which comes close to being not at all), a nematode is nothing like a regular toad. It differs in that it’s prone to misspelling its name as “tode” instead of “toad.” Also, in not being an amphibian. And regular toads aren’t very interested in garlic. Most of the ones I know prefer hot peppers or paprika.

Anyway, the nematode and its close ally, the allium white rot, are to garlic plants what nontraditional households are to the nuclear family. They kill them. And they’re difficult to eradicate and easy to spread to new garlic patches. Nematodes, I mean, not nontraditional families. To combat this threat, farmers have banded together in an alliance called the Legion of Super Heroes, featuring that awesome defender of all things garlic-related, Bouncing Boy. 

Err, sorry, got carried away. I think it’s the radiation emanating from my neighbors’ house. In reality, the alliance of garlic farmers is called by the far more sensible title of the Maine Garlic Project, and Bouncing Boy is not a member.

But who is a member? How can they be identified so that the Department of Homeland Security (motto: Groping Your Privates For Liberty) doesn’t accidentally interfere with nematode eradication?

The answer is simple. Maine needs a garlic-growers license plate.

The idea isn’t as far-fetched as it might seem. Just this week, the New England Patriots unveiled their plans for their own Maine license plate, even though the football team doesn’t play its games in Maine and doesn’t have any Maine residents on its roster. I mean, what are they going to do, drive around Massachusetts pretending they’ve licensed their cars in Maine?

Ah, I see, it’s all for charity. Ten bucks from each registration goes to worthy organizations. The Pats don’t get a thing out of it except millions of dollars worth of free advertising. It’s a wonder other businesses hadn’t thought of this, but now I suspect we’ll see lots of them setting up charitable foundations so they can offer their customers the chance to drive around displaying their corporate logo. I’m sure many car owners will be eager to support such companies as DeCoster Egg, Irving Oil and the MERC incinerator by advertising them on their license plates.

Hmmm, before I got off on this rant, there was some point I was trying to make. Oh yeah, garlic license plates. I forget why I think that’s a good idea, but I’m sure they’re an important part of keeping America strong and preserving democracy. Buy a set for everybody you know.

In particular, buy a set for Bill Warner of Wimauma, Fla., who proved last weekend that he already has a set of something made of brass by climbing on a motorcycle at the former Loring Air Force Base in Limestone and driving over 300 miles per hour, a new world speed record. Warner was able to jam his speedometer up to 311.945 MPH, he said, because he was fleeing a heavily armed nuclear family. 

I wonder if it was my neighbors.

Al Diamon will respond to emails sent to aldiamon@herniahill.net when he gets out of his bomb shelter.

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