I feared the consequences of lying to Chaucer’s ghost, but I am a congenital optimist.  What if the world unfolds in a way that conceals my lies?  Undiscovered lies are close enough cousins to the truth to pass muster with me.

Uncle Cornpone’s industry might do the job for me.  If he lacked a first-rate mind, he still had first-rate industry. This Gumshoe, if I judge Wolverine’s complaints about Cornpone, that Gumshoe was getting to Wolverine.  If Wolverine’s bots had not killed the 2 G-men, no moral scruple would have interfered with Wolverine having him canceled.  And Wolverine is not a fan of what we now called canceling.  For Wolverine, “cancelled” meant dead.  

The problem with another Wolverinean cancellation is that he had two recent cancels on his books. Yet another dead copper dead less than 1/2 year after the 2 coppers had disappeared started to look like an organized effort.  Neither Lord Caligula nor Peregrine would approve of that. They rejoiced in subtle solutions.  So did Einstein.  As he put it, “Subtle is the Lord, but malicious he is not.”  

Wolverine had to use all his self-mastery when Uncle Cornpone had the chutzpah to show up at his estate and, in the presence of several bot servants, accuse Wolverine of having his bots murder the 2 G-man.  Imagine the sheer will that Wolverine used to not do what he wanted to do.

Uncle Cornpone had no proof, but Wolverine still yearned to kill him for his idiotic impertinence. Cornpone may have had the right answer about what happened to the G-men.  So what?  Cornpone no more deserved credit for his right answer than a 5th grader deserves for saying 16/64 = 1/4 because the 6s cancel.  The gods have arranged heaven and earth so that fools are not always wrong. Sometimes they get something right through dumb luck. 

One thing Chaucer told me scared me more than anything.  What if heaven brims with boors?  What would it be like to spend an eternity surrounded by ghosts whose sole hobby is talking about themselves?  Could you imagine having to listen to Donald Trump talk forever?  What might happen if your patch of heaven was shared with Amber Heard or, even worse, the wife basher, dope fiend Johnny Depp.  And would god have the wisdom to keep Depp sober or to keep histrionic Heard’s fingers away from keyboards? I have doubts, horrible, horrible doubts.  

Meanwhile, I’m hoping that the cat-god makes the world unfold in ways that hide my lies.  Chaucer holds a grudge if you cross him.