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[LOBO]
God made man in His image.
-But man was a slob. First he stopped shaving. Then he blew far past ‘love handles,' and went straight into full-fledged
Wisconsin Goiter.
“Adam,” says God. “You look
terrible!”
“Well gee thanks God,” replied Adam, chewing. “Be sure you sign me up for your self-esteem seminars.”
“Adam, I’m going to make you a woman.”
“But what will all my friends say?”
“No. I mean I’m going to create you a companion.”
Now Adam wasn’t all that bright: he imagined animated conversations about football and endless ‘pull my finger’ jokes.
“Cool,” he says.
“Give me one of your ribs,” says God.
“Here you go,” says Adam.
“Ugh,” says God. “You’ve got barbeque sauce in your beard.”
Adam wiped his beard with a napkin. “Do you want some of this coleslaw? This coleslaw
rocks.”
“No. Just the rib, thanks.”
And from Adam’s rib sprung Eve.
“What a
dump!” Eve complained.
“Okay,” says God. “My work here is done. You kids have fun now.”
“Thanks God,” says Adam.
“It’s
filthy,” says Eve.
“Oh yeah,” says God as He recedes into the clouds. “One more thing. Stay the hell away from My apples, or I’ll invent the tire iron and beat you to death with it!”
“Okay God!” says Adam waving.
“Ugh,” says Eve. “Is that barbeque sauce?”
***
Within a month, Adam had lost 50 pounds.
-Because Eve had eaten everything in sight.
Eve had gained so much weight that he couldn’t fit on the bed anymore, and often slept on the floor.
He got up and stretched carefully.
-His back was now completely wrecked.
He surveyed the devastated remains of The Garden as his stomach growled; the crops were gone, and a huge pile of animal bones by the fire pit were all that remained of the wildlife.
Adam was scratching his head wondering how Eve had even gotten the leaves off of the
top of the trees when he heard a rustling sound.
A squirrel.
“Oh thank heavens,” said Adam.
But the scrawny animal had no intention of becoming Adam and Eve’s breakfast so easily. It scampered, ran and bounded out of Adam’s reach, and finally up the Tree of Knowledge. And there were those glorious apples: round and firm, a deep crimson -so sweet and heavy, the branches arched painfully under their burgeoning weight.
“Come down from there squirrel,” Adam cajoled, “and I’ll make it quick and painless!”
But the squirrel wasn’t listening. It was sniffing an apple excitedly.
“I wouldn’t do that if-“
Crunch
Suddenly there was thunder and lightning, and God’s voice boomed from the sky. “What the hell,” He says, “did I tell you people about eating My damn
apples!?”
Frightened, the squirrel dropped the apple, and Adam caught it.
Adam looked at the apple, and then at the squirrel.
If God catches me with this, he thought,
I’m screwed. And if I explain that the squirrel did it, I’ll have no breakfast.
Looking around and thinking quickly, he spotted Eve, still slumbering and snoring loudly.
“Who
dared?” demanded God.
Thinking quickly, Adam hurled the apple, and it rolled to rest right by her.
“Eve!” yelled God.
“Wha-?“ she said, starting to wake.
“Eve, what
happened?” demanded God.
“She really let herself go once you left,” said Adam.
“No, I mean why hast thou disobeyed my Word and eaten of the Forbidden Fruit?’
“But I
didn’t!” insisted Eve.
“I
tried to stop her,” said Adam.
“Begone from my garden!” said God.
And
poof she was gone.
Adam sighed. “You know, you give some people an inch ...”
“Yes,” said God disappointedly. “I guess so. Say Adam, when are you barbequing again?”
“You like squirrel?”
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2) Burn all your germ infested property (unless you think I might want it). Use careful discretion here ... I don’t want pictures of your kids and whatever. Please limit this salvage to luxury cars, high-end electronics and precious metals.
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Also worth mentioning perhaps is that I don’t have any particular stake in her opinions, and maybe that makes me a little less sensitive than I should be: my evolving a profound social view based on a teenage beauty queen’s insights is about as unlikely as me becoming gay myself (and based on this logic, were I ever to attempt watching a Miss USA Pageant I doubt I would even have the volume up).
You have to look at the religious aspect with some skepticism too. Look if blowing up busloads of people because your mystical boogeyman doesn’t like their mystical boogeyman sounds rational, maybe that's your bag. Go crazy. Knock yourself out. If you can't find a dead chicken to wave over your television, I'm sure a can of Campbell's Chunky Chicken Noodle will do.
[LOBO]
[LOBO]
I know you all have seen this image in the past, but I wanted to update my screenshot on various services: this is my all-time favorite Photoshop –a pic originally spawned by my buddy Speedcat Hollydale. (You can see his original version by clicking the pic.)
[LOBO]
The capability of travel doesn't impress me. In fact non-intelligent beings travel every day (see photo, right).
Whenever the Mighty Mighty Diesel takes a breather, I like to seize upon his absence as an opportunity to lecture about him –and thusly the entire blogosphere- extensively.
One of these two will transport you to hellish wastelands, and subject you to unimaginable atrocities.
One of these two would wipe out the entire salad bar, and then make out with Princess Leia.
One of these two is a visionary of internet comedy.
One of these two was in a TV series.
One of these two made an outrageously funny DVD.
One of these two is a highly-pressurized windbag with a reflective surface, containing a gas that makes you talk funny when ingested.
See I warned Diesel implicitly about Antisocial Commentary from the Secret Files of the Mattress Police.
“That's impossible,” says D. “No human mortal could endure even reading three books, let alone writing three.”
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[LOBO]
Screw you people. I figure I can wait this thing out.
In response to Entrecard's threat, I was tempted to rectify this "ranking error" (aka "Deep Six" this *ahem* service as appropriate) -but alas, unawares of ever-changing, eh, "standards"- I have already approved numerous Entrecard ads! (See for some, changing up the rules midstream when you have an existing agreement might be considered slightly, well, the word "Immoral" comes to mind.)
Teenagers spend a lot of time on the phone.
First Call: If you call once and choose not to leave a message, I get that. You wanted to talk to the person live. Nothing particularly important.
Okay this scenario suggests that I'm maybe at 7-11. And as I pour my Slurpee, a crashing meteor wipes out all mankind and accidentally creates flesh eating zombies: it's only then I realize I've locked myself out of the church, and off in the distance I can hear Freddy Krueger in my hedgemaze with a pack of cheetahs -directly in the path of my house where the phone lie half-forgotten on the kitchen table. All civilization as we know it has come to an abrupt and bitter end, and one lone human being -one with me on speedial- is crying out for help as the frail atmosphere is being sucked violently from Earth by a black hole.
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"But LOBO," I can hear some of you saying. "That was clearly the hardest-fought four day span of your entire career. You must be exhausted!"
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“I don’t know,” I says. “I mean you got me pretty upset, and I don’t think accepting surrender from your entire political party is enough. I think I deserve some cash compensation as well.”
“And I want a statue,” I continue. “Nine feet tall. One of me wrestling a cheetah or something.”
