Just because we are so sophisticated, so soigné, so exceedingly modern and advanced, we regularly assure ourselves that we have nothing left to fear and know everything that we need to know. This, of course, is sheerest hubris and hypocrisy, not to mention a steaming heap of pre-composted compost.

With every supposed advance comes a whole phalanx of new demons and monsters of every stripe, tailor-made to frustrate our every effort to be cool, calm, collected and couth. And every chink one of those new dragons makes in our homemade armor is perfectly designed to let in a healthy herd of all those beasts and daunting trials we so hoped we had slain or at least left behind. Such is our nature; such is the nature of purported progress. I suppose scary monsters will never be extinct.

I'm Wilfred, and I'll be your monster for today . . .

Three Little Words

Three words strike fear into the heart

And with a sense of doom impart

Their horrors in the modern breast—

On hearing them, we grow distressed

And fear for love and life and limb

And see our happiness grow dim—

There is no palliative retort

When we are told: Call Tech Support.