It happened. It hit me during the night: I got a calling from the Lord to be a prophet, er, prophetess. Anyway, is that what I am? Oh well, no matter, the main thing is to give everyone the Big Word. It's a grave responsibility, and so I start out like with any serious enterprise: by getting new clothes and my hair done. I approach a group of people about to board a streetcar, and launch into my spiel:
"Okay, listen up, peeps. I wanna lay some words on you from the Uberjefe: you know, the Almighty Himself. He's not been too happy with the likes of you, and is within a gnat's hair of hitting the Smite button. But, being a fair guy, he sent me to give you all another chance."
One smart-ass answers, "Well, who are you? You don't look much like a prophet. You have an exposed navel and a Shakira 'do. And you look much too young for the job. And, you're not tall enough. Charleton Heston is more the style."
So I reply, "Well, you dudes have not been listening to the old traditional models that God has been sending .... do you have anything against grumpy old bearded guys wearing bedsheets? And what's this sexist and ageist stuff about needing an old guy? Anyway, Marketing Research up in Heaven (brief cloud opening admitting sunlight!) determined that some new packaging is needed, so I'm your girl. Listen up.
"First off, you need to get cool about the Big Ten, as they will be called from now on. They're not the Ten Suggestions, or the Ten Pretty Good Ideas. The Lord put some serious thought into them, and wants them all obeyed, pronto. None of this pussyfooting around by doing only the ones that are easy for you, capische?
"Second off, stop this racist crap. Get this: the Boss made you all. (And I don't mean Bruce Stringsteen.) And he likes you all, whatever color, sex, country, or sexual preference you might have. Hmm, maybe he's not too keen on Dallas Cowboy fans . . . . Anyway, be easy on people that aren't like you.
"Okay . . . . how shall I put this third thing? You guys need to take care of your planet. The Earth isn't one super-duper frat house that you can trash to your heart's content, and live in the squalor. You need to be thinking about the future.
"Fourth, you need to be more caring about yourself. Don't do those strange drugs, don't do stupid things. Eat and drink moderately. Sleep regularly, and exercise. Wear sunscreen. Eat your damned vegetables. And, yes, have some real fun. Fun's okay. Acting like a beast is not."
I was really on a roll. It's obvious that I attracted a crowd of interested people, so I asked for audience participation: "Any questions?"
One responded, "Yeah, Girlie. Who's going to win the fourth race at the Fair Grounds?"
I answer, "Put your money on "Bucky's Little Pony. He should do it by a nose." This was to establish credibility. Next question?"
"What's your measurements?"
Just then one of New Orleans's finest shooed the crowd away and told me I was making a disturbance. Being partial to Law and Order, as good prophetesses must be), I obeyed.
I didn't get a chance to give my message scolding the money-thieving corporate executives or criticize the using of cell phones in cocktail lounges and restaurants.
"Okay, listen up, peeps. I wanna lay some words on you from the Uberjefe: you know, the Almighty Himself. He's not been too happy with the likes of you, and is within a gnat's hair of hitting the Smite button. But, being a fair guy, he sent me to give you all another chance."
One smart-ass answers, "Well, who are you? You don't look much like a prophet. You have an exposed navel and a Shakira 'do. And you look much too young for the job. And, you're not tall enough. Charleton Heston is more the style."
So I reply, "Well, you dudes have not been listening to the old traditional models that God has been sending .... do you have anything against grumpy old bearded guys wearing bedsheets? And what's this sexist and ageist stuff about needing an old guy? Anyway, Marketing Research up in Heaven (brief cloud opening admitting sunlight!) determined that some new packaging is needed, so I'm your girl. Listen up.
"First off, you need to get cool about the Big Ten, as they will be called from now on. They're not the Ten Suggestions, or the Ten Pretty Good Ideas. The Lord put some serious thought into them, and wants them all obeyed, pronto. None of this pussyfooting around by doing only the ones that are easy for you, capische?
"Second off, stop this racist crap. Get this: the Boss made you all. (And I don't mean Bruce Stringsteen.) And he likes you all, whatever color, sex, country, or sexual preference you might have. Hmm, maybe he's not too keen on Dallas Cowboy fans . . . . Anyway, be easy on people that aren't like you.
"Okay . . . . how shall I put this third thing? You guys need to take care of your planet. The Earth isn't one super-duper frat house that you can trash to your heart's content, and live in the squalor. You need to be thinking about the future.
"Fourth, you need to be more caring about yourself. Don't do those strange drugs, don't do stupid things. Eat and drink moderately. Sleep regularly, and exercise. Wear sunscreen. Eat your damned vegetables. And, yes, have some real fun. Fun's okay. Acting like a beast is not."
I was really on a roll. It's obvious that I attracted a crowd of interested people, so I asked for audience participation: "Any questions?"
One responded, "Yeah, Girlie. Who's going to win the fourth race at the Fair Grounds?"
I answer, "Put your money on "Bucky's Little Pony. He should do it by a nose." This was to establish credibility. Next question?"
"What's your measurements?"
Just then one of New Orleans's finest shooed the crowd away and told me I was making a disturbance. Being partial to Law and Order, as good prophetesses must be), I obeyed.
I didn't get a chance to give my message scolding the money-thieving corporate executives or criticize the using of cell phones in cocktail lounges and restaurants.
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