The Ark of the Convenient
Predator Press
[LOBO]
"LOBO," says God.
"What?"
"Have you had enough punishment yet?"
"Excuse me?"
"The flooding."
"You mean the flooding in Iowa? I don't live there."
"Well where do you live?"
"Illinois."
[muffled Holy Whispering]
"Which part?" God asks.
"Pianosa. Why?"
"Where the hell is Pianosa?"
"Chicago could throw rocks at us."
"So if, say, a natural disaster hit Chicago, odds are it would take you out too?"
"Probably."
"About how far east would that be from Grand Rapids?"
"I dunno," I shrug. "200 miles maybe."
"Ever built a boat before?"
"Nope. Why?"
[muffled Holy Giggling]
"Oh, uh, just checking."
***
LadyTerri was surprisingly incredulous.
"So God told you to build an ark?"
"No,” I says, carefully putting up my tools. “God specifically did not tell me to build an ark. But that's God's M.O.; the second he doesn't tell you to build an ark, the next thing you know you're a barnacle on Davy Jones’ butt.”
“Why would God flood the Earth again now?”
“I’m guessing maybe American Idol.”
“Where is it?”
“It’s right here,” I says. “Behold!”
I pull the sheets clear.
“I call her the Royal Magellan.”
“Honey,” says LadyTerri. “I don’t think that’s going to save us from a Biblical flood.”
“What do you mean?” I scowl. “I mean sure it might be off by a cubit or two. But there’s plenty of room for you, me and the cat.”
“What about the kids?”
“Why do you think I spent so much money on those swimming lessons?”
[LOBO]
"LOBO," says God."What?"
"Have you had enough punishment yet?"
"Excuse me?"
"The flooding."
"You mean the flooding in Iowa? I don't live there."
"Well where do you live?"
"Illinois."
[muffled Holy Whispering]
"Which part?" God asks.
"Pianosa. Why?"
"Where the hell is Pianosa?"
"Chicago could throw rocks at us."
"So if, say, a natural disaster hit Chicago, odds are it would take you out too?"
"Probably."
"About how far east would that be from Grand Rapids?"
"I dunno," I shrug. "200 miles maybe."
"Ever built a boat before?"
"Nope. Why?"
[muffled Holy Giggling]
"Oh, uh, just checking."
LadyTerri was surprisingly incredulous.
"So God told you to build an ark?"
"No,” I says, carefully putting up my tools. “God specifically did not tell me to build an ark. But that's God's M.O.; the second he doesn't tell you to build an ark, the next thing you know you're a barnacle on Davy Jones’ butt.”
“Why would God flood the Earth again now?”
“I’m guessing maybe American Idol.”
“Where is it?”
“It’s right here,” I says. “Behold!”
I pull the sheets clear.
“I call her the Royal Magellan.”“Honey,” says LadyTerri. “I don’t think that’s going to save us from a Biblical flood.”
“What do you mean?” I scowl. “I mean sure it might be off by a cubit or two. But there’s plenty of room for you, me and the cat.”
“What about the kids?”
“Why do you think I spent so much money on those swimming lessons?”
Comments
Just stay nice and northernly LOBO, no need to bring any destruction down this way.
(I hear its somewhere in Tennessee.)
Man you make me laugh.