Forks and hope … it's not a pretty phrase and it's not a pretty sight.
Sure, you could turn away, you could pretend you didn't see anything, you could tell yourself that this is just another episode in my GN version of Hunting of the Snark … you can just shrug your shoulders and say that Lewis Carroll deserves it.
You could tell your wife that you saw something on the net today, something horrible happening to somebody and you couldn't quite figure it out because you were in a hurry, you had googled the word snark, hoping to get some quickie cocktail-party-talking-points on the latest craze that’s sweeping the NYC chatteratti, but you landed up here …
Somebody ought to do something, somebody else should help out because you can’t get involved — who knows what kind of crazy people are involved in this, look at 'em! They seem to be high on something, and that girl, she’s half-naked!
Probably some kind of some druid cargo-cult of home-furnishings shoplifters and they're chanting something about forks and hope, smiles and soap, some kind of wiccan juju, I bet. And that man at the far left, the Polynesian one with the glandular problem, and the other one holding the railway share from Moggs & Spicer, how do these kind of people get past Immigration?
Yes, it’s a bad scene so you better move along, somebody might get hurt and it's none of your business anyway. Instead, breathe deeply and say it slowly … forks and hope … forks and hope … when it happens to Henry Holiday and Lewis Carroll it's a shame but if this ever happens to you … the mind boggles …
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NB. Foot it featly here and there; and, sweet sprites, the snark-hunters' burthen bear. Hark, hark! Bow, wow, the watch-snarks bark …
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