This week I would like to shed the light of my glory upon the day time talk show Steve Wilkos.
Steve Wilkos, I am inspired by your rise to fame! You started as a lowly police officer, dealing with naked crazies running around the streets of Where Ever Land. You then got a position under Jerry Springer......er...as a security guard, of course, dealing with naked crazies running around a stage.
Now, here you are, with your very own show! It is truly genius, for who else but the great and wonderful Steve Wilkos could be qualified to council child molesters? Granted the inspirational shouting and heroic rants don't particularly pull up my heartstrings, but who cannot appreciate your final words? Oh sure, Jerry Springer concocts a sonnet to his guests that solves their problems in less than 50 words, but you're much too creative. No, you are glorious enough to let the viewers speak, and like a true leader, if their opinions contradict your own you valiantly shoot them down and call them names! "You're not allowed to watch my show anymore!" you say, as your head shines like the light of the north star guiding us towards enlightenment.
Again, thank you Steve Wilkos, and may your cranium shine on forever.
Monday, November 17, 2008
Thursday, November 13, 2008
The Prophecy Revealed!
Long ago, upon the land that was, our Lord God wielded His might to unleash upon the Earth two great thinkers, demigods, to translate the plight and confusions of mortal existence. Their presence would excite the inhabitants of the world, and henceforth prevent total chaos. However, the prophetic thinkers were forced to live the lives of humans, and return to the land of Endlessness only when their task was complete.
Thus, they were forced to pursue the mundane: first, the inconsequential circumstances of childhood, then the ignorant morass of adolescence, and finally the dulled enlightenment of maturity. Our prophets endured all this, questioning their very purpose, and even the Celestial Creator, our Lord God Himself, yet they continued to search for Truth amidst such disheartening existence.
And so one day, one amongst such a surfeit of wearing days, our prophets, fatigued from the harrowing tribulations of FRE 1121, resolved to sate their earthly hunger at the campus Burger King where they discussed matters of holy import.
“You know what I hate? Those metal scissors professors hand out when they want to host an ‘activity.' You know, the ones meant for elementary school kids,” spake the prophet Thomas.
“Word, I concur, It’s much more efficient to rip and hope,” spake the prophet Melissa.
“And what’s with the handles? They’re no bigger than a quarter, and just look at these fingers. How do they expect me to squeeze my fat fingers into those tiny rings?”
“They’re trying to impart their opinions of how fat we should be, by making those scissors too small...”
“Oh and double-sided tape; I hate double-sided tape.”
“Jesus Christ, the injustice! Tiny scissors and mocking tape! Instruments meant to help us that only torment.” spake the prophet Melissa whilst slamming a French-fry into the plastic tray for emphasis.
This most essential dialogue, of which the sagest scribes of heaven did document, forever preserving it within the ethereal scope of history, continued onward until it was halted by the terrifying descent of our Lord God, who, in a blinding surge of cosmic scope, in which the Earth did shake, the glass did shatter, the walls did crumble, the trees did topple, and the squirrels—the most intrepid beasts ever to walk upon the land—did run in horror, appeared before our prophets to offer his blessing.
“God dammit now my French-fries are covered in dust!” spake the prophet Melissa.
"You dare take your Lord's name in vain within His very presence?" our Lord God did ask the prophet.
"You're God?" she did incredulously ask.
"Yes, it is I, your most compassionate yet terrible God, the almighty," Our Lord did reply.
"Yeah, sure, and I'm Marry Poppins," spake the prophet Melissa.
"Yeah, and I'm Harry Potter," the prophet Thomas did sarcastically add.
"You do not believe your own Lord when he stands before your very eyes amidst such a terrible display of destruction that only the heavens themselves could enact?"
"So you knocked over a couple of tables and broke some glass; big deal," spake the prophet Melissa. "That doesn't make you God; anybody could do that. However…only God…can kiss His own elbow."
“Though you be a blessed prophet, alas, you are but a foolish mortal. I refuse your request.” Our Lord did retort. “My mere presence is proof enough.”
“Yeah, I don’t buy it.” spake the prophet Melissa whilst folding her arms, a supreme gesture of utter disbelief.
"Well Melissa, he is dressed in that white robe and surrounded by that shining aura," noted the prophet Thomas.
"Yes! Yes! Behold my gleaming garments hewn from the fabric of time and space and fastened with the seal of heaven. Yes! Yes! Bear witness to the celestial glow that engulfs my immortal form, this...this...this awesome aura!" our Lord did declare.
"Awesome aura?" asked the prophets
"I...I ran out of material; maintaining this divine discourse is more difficult than it looks!"
"Uh-huh," spake the prophets whilst rolling their eyes.
"So what do you want; I mean you kinda interrupted our meal..." spake the prophet Thomas.
"And ruined my French-fries!" spake the prophet Melissa.
"Do not concern yourselves with such mortal frivolities! I beseech you to fulfill my will and accept this most important task I request. But, lest you decide too hastily, I most graciously warn you: refuse this divine mission, and suffer my almighty wrath like no other mortal before! Accept, and reap the reward of eternal bliss amidst the confines of heaven!"
"Will there be French-fries there?" asked the prophet Melissa.
"Um, sure, I guess..." our God did reply.
"Alright we're in!" spake the prophets.
And thus our God, as overjoyed as He was, began a preamble of jubilance to forward His divine mission:
“Then let it be known: these prophets, these two mortals, blessed, though they be but earthly creatures, these two humans, my son, my daughter, fashioned from my own image, divinated from my own hand, fruit plucked from the celestial tree on high, these corporeal machines who do but fear my wrath and consume my love, who do but toil in the everlasting torment that is humanity, who do but suffer—martyrs! that they be—at the hands of their unmerciful brethren, this holy duo, this pair of human perfection, this—“
“Alright already; at this rate I’ll miss 30 Rock tonight...” implored the prophet Thomas.
“These two prophets,” our Lord God did continue “have agreed to fulfill this task of solemn gravity, have consented to my sacred authority, will hear my divine request: for the sake of humanity, of whom I do but love (most of the time, anyway), I beseech you—create a blog!”
Thus, unable to still itself in the presence of such a rigorous demand, the Earth did shake and tremble for a second time while our prophets did but idly stand, quietly contemplating their new found mission.
And after some time they did most wisely reply, “You want us to write a blog?”
“Yes! A blog! Greedily have you two philosophized my divine intent, happened upon my reasoning for humanity, yet refused to share such findings with your brethren! Now the time for philosophical hoarding is over, and you must begin the disbursement process! Share your knowledge! Extend my message to the masses! Let the people of the world hear my voice through you!”
“You do realize that less than half the world population has direct access to the internet though, right?” the prophet Thomas did question.
“Whatever,” our Lord God did reply, whilst casually shrugging His shoulders.
“Alright, we’ll write your goddamn blog, I guess...” the prophet Melissa did say, reluctant though she was.
And so, happy that He was with His prophetic children, our Lord God did ascend back into the heavens amidst a flurry of golden rain and celestial essence, and the prophets, alone and able to privately confess their bewildered state, did but sagely remark:
“Those French-fries better be good...”
Thus, they were forced to pursue the mundane: first, the inconsequential circumstances of childhood, then the ignorant morass of adolescence, and finally the dulled enlightenment of maturity. Our prophets endured all this, questioning their very purpose, and even the Celestial Creator, our Lord God Himself, yet they continued to search for Truth amidst such disheartening existence.
And so one day, one amongst such a surfeit of wearing days, our prophets, fatigued from the harrowing tribulations of FRE 1121, resolved to sate their earthly hunger at the campus Burger King where they discussed matters of holy import.
“You know what I hate? Those metal scissors professors hand out when they want to host an ‘activity.' You know, the ones meant for elementary school kids,” spake the prophet Thomas.
“Word, I concur, It’s much more efficient to rip and hope,” spake the prophet Melissa.
“And what’s with the handles? They’re no bigger than a quarter, and just look at these fingers. How do they expect me to squeeze my fat fingers into those tiny rings?”
“They’re trying to impart their opinions of how fat we should be, by making those scissors too small...”
“Oh and double-sided tape; I hate double-sided tape.”
“Jesus Christ, the injustice! Tiny scissors and mocking tape! Instruments meant to help us that only torment.” spake the prophet Melissa whilst slamming a French-fry into the plastic tray for emphasis.
This most essential dialogue, of which the sagest scribes of heaven did document, forever preserving it within the ethereal scope of history, continued onward until it was halted by the terrifying descent of our Lord God, who, in a blinding surge of cosmic scope, in which the Earth did shake, the glass did shatter, the walls did crumble, the trees did topple, and the squirrels—the most intrepid beasts ever to walk upon the land—did run in horror, appeared before our prophets to offer his blessing.
“God dammit now my French-fries are covered in dust!” spake the prophet Melissa.
"You dare take your Lord's name in vain within His very presence?" our Lord God did ask the prophet.
"You're God?" she did incredulously ask.
"Yes, it is I, your most compassionate yet terrible God, the almighty," Our Lord did reply.
"Yeah, sure, and I'm Marry Poppins," spake the prophet Melissa.
"Yeah, and I'm Harry Potter," the prophet Thomas did sarcastically add.
"You do not believe your own Lord when he stands before your very eyes amidst such a terrible display of destruction that only the heavens themselves could enact?"
"So you knocked over a couple of tables and broke some glass; big deal," spake the prophet Melissa. "That doesn't make you God; anybody could do that. However…only God…can kiss His own elbow."
“Though you be a blessed prophet, alas, you are but a foolish mortal. I refuse your request.” Our Lord did retort. “My mere presence is proof enough.”
“Yeah, I don’t buy it.” spake the prophet Melissa whilst folding her arms, a supreme gesture of utter disbelief.
"Well Melissa, he is dressed in that white robe and surrounded by that shining aura," noted the prophet Thomas.
"Yes! Yes! Behold my gleaming garments hewn from the fabric of time and space and fastened with the seal of heaven. Yes! Yes! Bear witness to the celestial glow that engulfs my immortal form, this...this...this awesome aura!" our Lord did declare.
"Awesome aura?" asked the prophets
"I...I ran out of material; maintaining this divine discourse is more difficult than it looks!"
"Uh-huh," spake the prophets whilst rolling their eyes.
"So what do you want; I mean you kinda interrupted our meal..." spake the prophet Thomas.
"And ruined my French-fries!" spake the prophet Melissa.
"Do not concern yourselves with such mortal frivolities! I beseech you to fulfill my will and accept this most important task I request. But, lest you decide too hastily, I most graciously warn you: refuse this divine mission, and suffer my almighty wrath like no other mortal before! Accept, and reap the reward of eternal bliss amidst the confines of heaven!"
"Will there be French-fries there?" asked the prophet Melissa.
"Um, sure, I guess..." our God did reply.
"Alright we're in!" spake the prophets.
And thus our God, as overjoyed as He was, began a preamble of jubilance to forward His divine mission:
“Then let it be known: these prophets, these two mortals, blessed, though they be but earthly creatures, these two humans, my son, my daughter, fashioned from my own image, divinated from my own hand, fruit plucked from the celestial tree on high, these corporeal machines who do but fear my wrath and consume my love, who do but toil in the everlasting torment that is humanity, who do but suffer—martyrs! that they be—at the hands of their unmerciful brethren, this holy duo, this pair of human perfection, this—“
“Alright already; at this rate I’ll miss 30 Rock tonight...” implored the prophet Thomas.
“These two prophets,” our Lord God did continue “have agreed to fulfill this task of solemn gravity, have consented to my sacred authority, will hear my divine request: for the sake of humanity, of whom I do but love (most of the time, anyway), I beseech you—create a blog!”
Thus, unable to still itself in the presence of such a rigorous demand, the Earth did shake and tremble for a second time while our prophets did but idly stand, quietly contemplating their new found mission.
And after some time they did most wisely reply, “You want us to write a blog?”
“Yes! A blog! Greedily have you two philosophized my divine intent, happened upon my reasoning for humanity, yet refused to share such findings with your brethren! Now the time for philosophical hoarding is over, and you must begin the disbursement process! Share your knowledge! Extend my message to the masses! Let the people of the world hear my voice through you!”
“You do realize that less than half the world population has direct access to the internet though, right?” the prophet Thomas did question.
“Whatever,” our Lord God did reply, whilst casually shrugging His shoulders.
“Alright, we’ll write your goddamn blog, I guess...” the prophet Melissa did say, reluctant though she was.
And so, happy that He was with His prophetic children, our Lord God did ascend back into the heavens amidst a flurry of golden rain and celestial essence, and the prophets, alone and able to privately confess their bewildered state, did but sagely remark:
“Those French-fries better be good...”
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
