I have important matters to discuss. How important? I don’t even have time to talk about my favorite conspiracy (World’s Biggest). No, this concerns matters of the laws of nature themselves.

I’m talking, of course, about evolution in Kansas. That’s not an insistence that evolution did happen in Kansas—my last drive through Kansas, I doubted evolution had occurred there at all. But it’s not up to me to decide such matters, sir, and I think everyone who’s not a science teacher should stay out of it. Yet in Kansas, evolution and creationism is once again a political battle between the hardcore fundamentalist Christians and normal people.

Why involve myself, you ask? It’s not hard to figure out. Everything we teach in the science classroom is fact—am I right? Of course I am. Years ago we started teaching evolution. It was in all the papers, you might have read about it. The teaching of evolution gave the theory validity. And I’m scared shitless about teaching Creationism in science class. What happens if we validate “intelligent design”?

This is crap we don’t need. God is dead—haven’t you read the papers? If you want to go to your church and chat up the ceiling, that’s perfectly fine. It’s in the Constitution, I understand, though I think I may be paraphrasing. But you make God a part of my science class and that makes him real again. The last thing I need is God to come back, all pissed off about our erasing his existence by not teaching Him in science class. And how do you think He’ll feel about the rest of the world and the state it’s in? He probably won’t even care about the evolution business, too busy freaking out about subjecting the third world to poverty and the stockpile of nuclear armaments. He got pissed about eating a single apple off his tree, how do you think he’ll feel about destroying the world?

I’ve traveled to Topeka to take part in this state argument. It’s not like everything’s going to topple if the unintelligent “intelligent design” forces win Kansas—halfway there already, you ask me. But if they get encouraged by their victory, the Creationists will probably take their fight somewhere more important, like Fly Creek, Alabama, or the Bayou. If they conquer enough school boards—or worse, the hearts and minds of the America itself—science will be forever changed. God will return, wished into existence by the demon we call science, evolution will go the way of the dodo, and science will be subject to extremists, instead of hard-thinking, boring scientists. What will they go after next—gravity? That’s all I need, all my papers going flying around and my entire staff falling off the surface of the earth. Which will probably be flat again, by the time all this is over.

To prevent this paradigm shift, I’ll no doubt make this argument to the Kansas School Board itself. But if I go as myself they’ll surely recognize millionaire playboy/publisher/conspiracy-buster Red Bagel. Fortunately I’ve had a lot of disguise experience lately, so I’ll be making my arguments as other personas. I plan on playing Edgar C. Bummington, an esteemed Professor of Evolution from England (my accent is top-notch), arguing the case for evolution and against Creationism. I also plan to play concerned parents Bill-Joe and Marjorie Cutler (both roles, though I’m not sure how I’ll pull that off just yet), and, time permitting, the precocious show-stealer Joe “Stinky” Bagel, arguing it from a kid’s perspective. Sure-fire ways to convince Kansans to respect science and keep evolution? Maybe not, but I’m giving it everything I’ve got. I’ve come to like gravity too much to give it up.