A million years ago, I wrote an essay for the NYT Book Review, "Yooks, Zooks, and the Bomb," about anti-nuke books for children. You might remember that in Dr. Seuss's The Butter Battle Book the Yooks and the Zooks are quarreling because one eats bread butter-side up, and the other, down. I complained that the can't-we-all-just-get-along message was compromised by the metaphor, that eating bread butter-side-down was "objectively stupid, not just different." Well. I had missed the fact that stupid had become as verboten as doo-doo-head, and some frothing lefty wrote in to the letters page complaining about my disrespect for other cultures. I told you fables were trouble. The Yooks and the Zooks aren't real, and when we try to draw a correspondence between fantasy and reality to make a moral point we need to make damned sure that everything lines up neatly. This is hard, because reality resists neatness, so a fable always risks both glibness and biting itself in the ass.