Return of the Medfly: The Movie

A friend named Bernstein is trying to move out of L.A., but not for the usual reasons.

He is not being chased out by crime, heavy traffic or by what he calls the Zsa Zsa Gabor Syndrome, which is to say the smothering effect of too many celebrities within a given area.

Bernie believes that more than 75.2 Famous People living within the same social biome generates vapors that could have a negative genetic impact on humans with salaries of less than $50,000 a year.

It’s a theory he has worked out between jobs as a comedy writer for television.

Irreversible stupidity in firstborn children and an overwhelming tendency to display that stupidity in public are often manifestations of the Zsa Zsa Syndrome.

Bernstein is not being chased out by that or even by the transformation of L.A. into what anti-abortionist Randall Terry calls the Mother of Harlots, meaning the capital city of pornography.

Being a writer, Bernie thrives on noxious celebrities and is in favor of pornography in sensible doses.

What he fears is chemistry.

Bernstein is in the gasp Malathion War Zone. On second thought, hold the gasp.

Bernstein is not his real name. He prefers anonymity for reasons that will become apparent. Bernie lives in North Hollywood, which has been sprayed four times in recent weeks for Mediterranean fruit fly infestation.

He is convinced, as are many others, that malathion is a time bomb that will ultimately be proved to cause cancer in rats and humans, though not necessarily in that order. He may be right.

The state tells us malathion is no more deadly than a flea collar, but we are not cautioned to rush our children indoors or cover our cars in the presence of flea collars.

Anyhow, who believes the state? Not me. I am skeptical of any artificial substance deemed safe and beneficial by either politicians or their appointees.

Even fluoride, once considered the greatest discovery since chicken soup, is under suspicion. While it may save our teeth, it also may cause bone cancer. The necessity to chose between death and a nice smile is a tough call for the Mother of Harlots.

I had a similar choice years ago when I was being rotated home during the Korean War. The Marine Corps wanted to spray us with DDT to kill any insects that might be clinging to our filthy bodies.

I’m not sure why we had the option of being sprayed or not being sprayed, but I said no, despite a medical corpsman’s assurance that the stuff was less dangerous than whatever might be hiding in our ears or up our noses.

Twenty years later, DDT was banned as a health risk. While many of those who chose spraying have no doubt died or gone crazy from DDT’s residual effects, I remain alive and fun to be around.

It was during conversations with anti-malathion activist Adelaide Nimitz that I began wondering if the chemical might actually be driving people from the city.

Nimitz says she knows of many who are leaving town due to the aerial spraying, including those who have immediate physical reactions to malathion, such as itching, vomiting or passing out on the porch.

My wife reminded me that Bernie, who has a lot of emotional problems but no physical ones, had told us he was leaving just because he thought the stuff was dangerous.

But when I telephoned him he said he was in the midst of a dilemma due to an item on the property disclosure form a seller is required to fill out.

It asks the seller if he is aware of any “substances, materials, or products which may be an environmental hazard such as . . . contaminated soil or water on the subject property.”

Someone who doesn’t believe malathion is a contaminant could just say no. Bernie believes strongly that it is a contaminant. Conscience therefore dictates he should disclose that, but if he does, he’ll never be able to sell his house for the price he is asking.

Choosing between profit and conscience is almost as difficult as choosing between death and a nice smile.

Bernstein is hoping to sell to someone like B.T. Collins who, back in 1981, drank a glass of diluted malathion to prove it was safe for humans. Unless he has died or sprouted wings, Collins would be perfect.

Meanwhile, Bernie is accepting the dreary possibility he might even be forced to stay where he is. Not all is lost, however. Even in slow death, there is creativity.

He is outlining a screenplay he hopes will interest someone like Jeff Goldblum. It’s about a guy who drinks a chemical potion, becomes a giant Medfly and eats its creators.