No one could really get a firm handle on the Whack-A-Doodle. No one would have the audacity to say he was sane but, then again most couldn’t honestly say he was insane. The Whack-A-Doodle was somewhere in-between and that was a very uncomfortable place to be exposed to.
The Whack-A-Doodle had no home, no money, and probably not even a change of clothes. He would wander into and out of towns and villages as a forerunner declaring the zaniest of things, such as: a mist of misery is approaching or waves of trouble are heading this direction.
Needless-to-say, he was an unwelcome visitor wherever he found himself. Most all who heard him, however- either subconsciously or secretly- lest others discover and mock them- would make some sort of preparation to protect against the forewarned bad fortune.
Whether in fulfillment of the Whack-A-Doodle’s words or simply the occurrence of nature, bad days would sooner or later befall the towns and villages. Though no one ever acknowledged it, those who listened and prepared were in a better position to withstand those days.
No one ever welcomed the Whack-A-Doodle or even thanked him, but he didn’t need or expect it. Wandering here and there as felt right to him, calling out in a loud voice whatever was on his heart, the Whack-A-Doodle spent his days.