War on Palette Land- Red Speaks for the Primary Colors.

Dear Good Citizen of Palette Land,

 

 

Our attention has been drawn to a bundle of falsities making the rounds by a disgruntled entity trying to smear the well-deserved honors conferred on me and my two contemporaries. Our notice has been particularly drawn to an excellently produced conspiracy theory with supporting counterclaims and defamatory statements of outrageous extents by a most energetic sponsor.

 

I gathered reasonably this element is not only downplaying the integrity and capability of my fellow honorees and myself, but also peddling himself, and his team of three, as a worthy replacement for our newfound roles, digging dirt, citing credentials, in a sheer act of clutching at straws.

 

Let me begin with a bit of a necessary background.

 

The esteemed selection committee peopled by intellectuals of vast experience in shaping public opinion and serving collective interest in the purest conscience. Their reputation has hitherto stayed unstained. The process, as you may have well known, involved neither a crowdsourced long- or shortlist nor public voting, as the permanent nature of the office was too delicate to subject to such a potentially emotion-driven and influenceable mechanism.

 

But who says there is no transparency outside democracy? Our emergence, as such, was a product of careful and independent thought by these finest brains of our time.

 

Note that our trio until the time of announcement never knew we were being considered for anything or we would have declined! Were we or anyone abreast of the candidacy list, that ludicrous petition is a testament to how our accusers would have gone to unconscionable extents to politicize things, imaginably greasing palms, licking boots, kissing feet and performing the hysterical version of idol worship to sway the public to their desperate tune.

 

The tripod tenets on which our selection was based “Prerogative of Reference”, “Leeway of Derivativeness”, and “Liberalization of the Latitude of Creativeness” are interrelated concepts the core of which is: To expand the frontiers of aesthetic possibilities—a whole lot of grueling, unappealing work summed up in that suave seven-word statement.

 

Needless to wonder, folks who are not privy to the import and nitty-gritty of the commission are the very ones quick to decry. Oh, pardon me for not readily comprehending the mortal pain of the enemies of truth when they catch a whiff of anything not a semblance of lie. Their seemingly well-articulated postulations are random howlings of the most laughable proportions.

 

On unraveling the details of the expectations of the office ourselves, we nearly keeled over in trepidation. Who wouldn’t shudder at the enormity of such task foisted on them for which they were given neither  a heads-up nor a window of preparation? But then, maybe all of life has been prepping us for this moment, for this mandate. It is truly humbling. That our detractors would consider this a tussle rather than a matter of collective concern is something we reckon every good-natured citizen should find, as did we, disturbing.

 

To our chief accuser on the specifics of jabs and taunts shot at our persons, it would be a travesty and a frittering away of valuable time to go toe-to-toe with you on those points. Not even a prerogative I preserve for contemporaries. To serve you in a measure commensurate to yours would only earn me the badge of a child abuser.

 

Oh, Mr Chlorophyll, precursor of oxygen, seize all our breaths. You have not even been given the reins of power in the palette of primary pantheons yet you are this ominous. Trust me, lad, I understand: it’s relevance you are hungry for. News flash: It comes via responsibility, not rebellion. While I sympathize with your ignorance, I am tempted to ask, as an aside, if you have even been thoughtful enough to research the name you have adopted for yourself, Green: Analogous with envy, synonymous with inexperience, and proverbial for deception: snake under grass—all traits your slanderous petition is symptomatic of.

 

And who put you up to this exactly? Certainly not the respectable Black and White. Their integrity is as impeccable as day and night. You must have slapped their names into what they had no inkling about. A personal pet-peeve tabled as a corporate grievance. Quite the sleight.

 

Or, wait, is it the millennial brats, Orange and Purple, you have been rolling with? The reek of juvenile arrogance is not hard to discern. Palette land has about had enough of it!

 

And the insolence of it all: Likening your conduit into this life to a hormonal hotbed, the one who seeded you to a wiry weakling. O, the radiance of your mother in the sunflower and all things bright and beautiful, the high sky and deep sea relevance of your father! I mean these are distinguished individuals with ethereal esteem and earthly essence—which other duo could a child hope to be conceived by?

 

Would your secondary have come about without their primary, you thankless soul? Who picks a pen to ink such idiocy, such shame and ingratitude in the most audacious parlance to one’s progenitors? It is for their very respectable sakes I am keeping the tone of this rejoinder this mild and its length this inadequate.

 

They do not call me Red for no reason, you well know. (I heard you have begun reproducing a tertiary generation already, breeding a hybrid of your selves to raise an equally rebellious brand. The precious little souls, I pray they grow up to pick anyone’s but your amazing aura of insolence and brilliant myopia of life issues.)

 

Dear citizen, please pay, I advise, no mind to all these rabble-rousers aiming to unseat us by stirring up people’s emotions and fomenting chaos. Evidently, they are only showing their true, er, colors.

 

We appreciate the immeasurable trust and confidence you have reposed in us. We shall serve you, and Palette Land, colourfully well to the final fade of our shades.

Thank you.

 

PS: Green, I’ll advise you humbly accept that traffic light reward. It is the highest honors you would ever get in Palette land. It was the goodwill of your meek father choosing to step aside that made room for you. You wouldn’t even get a wink if it were entirely my decision to make.

 

Signed:

 

Red,

(For RYB [Red, Yellow, Blue] Inc.)

 

P.P.S.: This rejoinder is not an invitation to a correspondence, so save yourself the itchy urge to write back; it would be a loud monologue. I hear that is unsound for mental health, and you’re too young for missing screws upstairs, son. At least the precious few still in place.