The $200 Billion Defeat
Jews Jaws Six
Shark America Four
Number of Earthquakes in the Past Seven Days: 254
Note: Expect a Disastrous Earthquake on December 26, 2007
Good Saturday
Even though tomorrow is not a "Shark America Zero" day, therefore a day of high probability of a God's Space War attack on the United States of America, I.C. News is expecting a major American death tomorrow.
Unfortunately is has proven to be illegal and useless for me to attempt to save American lives of any rank, so the best I can say today is that this death has been documented in advance and I will show you the writing on the wall when I have your attention.
Of course I think about the person who is expected to die, and prior to over 30 years of American persecution I would be on the phone warning or hammering out that person's name over and over again in this work, in big bold letters; but right or wrong America would punish me for attempting to warn.
So, perhaps there is a monitoring of my telepathy by government pigs or citizen volunteers and my hand-wringing thoughts might be relayed to the proper authorities (if there are any but improper authorities in the USA, I do not know; my experience says No) and the endangered person will be warned and will step aside and avoid the Bullet of Bad Bounce, weighing less than an ounce but on course to weigh heavy on America's heart.
Perhaps, say, if I were hearing Goofy was about to murder Mickey over a triangle involving Minnie, my telepathized worries would reach Disneyland and Mickey would be saved, and there would be a grand parade down Main Street, and even the Pirates of the Caribbean would attend, and as a reward I would be granted a night of bliss at the Disneyland Hotel with Tinkerbell, but that's another story.
The story I wanted to tell you today was about the most memorable Easter church service of my life.
I was living in a modest section of Kobe, Japan, working for a Japanese newspaper and smoking cigarettes, and drinking beer, and doing the cuchi cuchi coo on pretty much a daily basis (How better to learn the language than hanging with the locals?), and I had spied a French Catholic missionary church up the street; so on Good Saturday I stopped by and asked the priest if there would be Mass on Easter Sunday, and he gave me the time. Merci.
So, on Easter Sunday morning I awoke quite hung over, my mouth tasting like an ashtray, and my clothes all rumpled and wrinkled; and I perhaps smelling, well, not all that good; but I got dressed and made my way to the church, proud of myself for having arrived so early I was the first one there, and, God being my Old Pal, I sat in the front pew.
Then a strange thing began to happen.
People started arriving and they were dressed extremely well, and while I was thinking, "Damn, these Japanese dress awfully fancy for Easter Mass", the Japanese were looking at me with worried and disapproving eyes.
I thought, well, perhaps it is strange to have a foreigner at Mass; since I was the only foreigner in the area.
So, the church filled up, and in front of the front pew there was a guy with a movie camera (this was long before video) and he was filming the congregation; but when he came to me he raised the camera so I would not be in the shot.
Strange, I thought, is it because I am not so well dressed?
Had my mind not been so blurry, had I not been wishing I had a bit of the hair of the dog and a cigarette, I might have caught on; and I might have caught on when the French priest who had been so friendly the day before came out to begin Mass and scowled at me; but I caught on when the music began to play, "Here Comes the Bride".
Perhaps I should have left, but I thought it would be rude to brush past the couple as they walked down the aisle, so I sat there, right in the middle of the Bride's family, through the Mass and through the wedding, wishing Jesus would change my folly to decorum as easily has He changed water to wine.
True, the priest might have told me on Good Saturday that a wedding was planned for the Mass being said at the time he told me; and the father of the bride might have stepped up to the plate and let me know the score; but I am a mea culpa sort of guy and to this day I take the blame.
That was my most memorable Easter. I was 24. I was not to go into another church until I was in my early 30s, and I did not consciously think of God in a religious way (but always knowing God is my Pal whether I go to church or not) until I was 27 and in my first Vietnam battle; scared as a mouse in a Cat Lady's house; and I thought, "Should I pray?", and I decided, "No, God would think me chickenshit if I did."
Happy Easter.
Shark America Four
Number of Earthquakes in the Past Seven Days: 254
Note: Expect a Disastrous Earthquake on December 26, 2007
Good Saturday
Even though tomorrow is not a "Shark America Zero" day, therefore a day of high probability of a God's Space War attack on the United States of America, I.C. News is expecting a major American death tomorrow.
Unfortunately is has proven to be illegal and useless for me to attempt to save American lives of any rank, so the best I can say today is that this death has been documented in advance and I will show you the writing on the wall when I have your attention.
Of course I think about the person who is expected to die, and prior to over 30 years of American persecution I would be on the phone warning or hammering out that person's name over and over again in this work, in big bold letters; but right or wrong America would punish me for attempting to warn.
So, perhaps there is a monitoring of my telepathy by government pigs or citizen volunteers and my hand-wringing thoughts might be relayed to the proper authorities (if there are any but improper authorities in the USA, I do not know; my experience says No) and the endangered person will be warned and will step aside and avoid the Bullet of Bad Bounce, weighing less than an ounce but on course to weigh heavy on America's heart.
Perhaps, say, if I were hearing Goofy was about to murder Mickey over a triangle involving Minnie, my telepathized worries would reach Disneyland and Mickey would be saved, and there would be a grand parade down Main Street, and even the Pirates of the Caribbean would attend, and as a reward I would be granted a night of bliss at the Disneyland Hotel with Tinkerbell, but that's another story.
The story I wanted to tell you today was about the most memorable Easter church service of my life.
I was living in a modest section of Kobe, Japan, working for a Japanese newspaper and smoking cigarettes, and drinking beer, and doing the cuchi cuchi coo on pretty much a daily basis (How better to learn the language than hanging with the locals?), and I had spied a French Catholic missionary church up the street; so on Good Saturday I stopped by and asked the priest if there would be Mass on Easter Sunday, and he gave me the time. Merci.
So, on Easter Sunday morning I awoke quite hung over, my mouth tasting like an ashtray, and my clothes all rumpled and wrinkled; and I perhaps smelling, well, not all that good; but I got dressed and made my way to the church, proud of myself for having arrived so early I was the first one there, and, God being my Old Pal, I sat in the front pew.
Then a strange thing began to happen.
People started arriving and they were dressed extremely well, and while I was thinking, "Damn, these Japanese dress awfully fancy for Easter Mass", the Japanese were looking at me with worried and disapproving eyes.
I thought, well, perhaps it is strange to have a foreigner at Mass; since I was the only foreigner in the area.
So, the church filled up, and in front of the front pew there was a guy with a movie camera (this was long before video) and he was filming the congregation; but when he came to me he raised the camera so I would not be in the shot.
Strange, I thought, is it because I am not so well dressed?
Had my mind not been so blurry, had I not been wishing I had a bit of the hair of the dog and a cigarette, I might have caught on; and I might have caught on when the French priest who had been so friendly the day before came out to begin Mass and scowled at me; but I caught on when the music began to play, "Here Comes the Bride".
Perhaps I should have left, but I thought it would be rude to brush past the couple as they walked down the aisle, so I sat there, right in the middle of the Bride's family, through the Mass and through the wedding, wishing Jesus would change my folly to decorum as easily has He changed water to wine.
True, the priest might have told me on Good Saturday that a wedding was planned for the Mass being said at the time he told me; and the father of the bride might have stepped up to the plate and let me know the score; but I am a mea culpa sort of guy and to this day I take the blame.
That was my most memorable Easter. I was 24. I was not to go into another church until I was in my early 30s, and I did not consciously think of God in a religious way (but always knowing God is my Pal whether I go to church or not) until I was 27 and in my first Vietnam battle; scared as a mouse in a Cat Lady's house; and I thought, "Should I pray?", and I decided, "No, God would think me chickenshit if I did."
Happy Easter.
posted by Virgil Kret at 5:18 PM
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