Busy, busy
Lots going on chez Maison Sticker at the moment. All this and nailing things down stuff to prepare for tomorrows rapture before the big Earth-destruction-gotterdammerung-yes-it’s-really-going-to-happen-this-time-guv-no-really-it-is.
Actually no. As I have posted before, one of the advantages in living in God’s country is that He often pops round for the odd beer and fishing session, which is nice, and generally brings ‘Junior’ along. You know, it’s a guy thing. Take a six pack of beer out on the boat (although JC prefers to walk), leave the girls to go shopping and well, go fishing.
“Hey, what’s all this about the end of the world then?” I asked during last weekends session.
“Nothing to do with me. Pass another Sleemans, would you?” Replies God. ”I don’t do the apocalyptic thing. That’s for the whacko’s. Ask JC here.”
“JC. What’s this I hear about some event you’ve got planned for Saturday?” I asked.
“I thought we were going to the sporting goods store.” Replies Jesus.
“Aren’t you having a rapture or something?”
“No. News to me. Sounds painful.” JC takes another chug of beer before making a perfect cast. ”Not doing any second comings, I remember what the bastards did to me first time round. The only rapture I’m interested in is a sunny day in BC with Mary rubbing in the sun screen.”
“So what about these people who are going to be waiting for this rapture?”
“They’ll be waiting a long time then.” He belches. ”Well pardon I. Pass the sandwiches.”
“They’ll be expecting you to waft them into the air before the Earth is destroyed.” I said. I mean, being a supreme being is one thing, but keeping appointments is for everyone.
“What, so they can drift around sneering in a superior manner as people on the ground die horribly? They call that morally acceptable? I don’t think so.” Says Jesus.
“You know, son, you should go, just to see what happens. It’s only polite.” Chides God gently.
“No. It’s not in my events diary. Not going.” JC starts to reel in a big one. ”Besides, they’d only expect me to grow that itchy old beard again, and grow my hair out. Used to cost me a fortune in conditioner.”
“So.” Says I. ”No end of the world then?”
“Nope.” Says God.
“Not a chance.” Says Jesus. ”Great ham sandwiches by the way. Any more mustard?”
Well I guess that settles it then. If you wanted the end of the world to solve all your issues, you’re out of luck. God and Jesus are on Vancouver Island this weekend, and not available for apocalypses. You heard it here first.
JC starts to reel in a big one.
Great, a few more of those and he should be able to feed the millions of sceptics kipping on your sofa.
Yes, but the carbon footprint of all the bread baking we’ll have to do will break poor David Suzuki’s heart you beast!
Did I mention it’s big sofa?
Wood fired? Isn’t that okay now for some reason? And it’s not like you’re short of trees.
Why is David Suzuki now lying down and clutching his chest?
Wood burning? The carbon dioxide my dear chap! It’ll cause the heat death of the universe don’cha know. Anything like that gives the poor baby a fit of the vapours.
Oh, hang on. Wasn’t there supposed to be a thingy today prior to the end of the world? Supposed to hit Oz and NZ first? Any vaguely floaty feeling your end, people drifting skywards? Nothing here, and it’s been raining.
Not today, and I doubt I’d qualify. And the only people I’ve ever seen going skywards were on one of those inverted bungee things, and not only did they come back again they couldn’t be accused of drifting upwards. But what if it’s 6pm Pacific Summer Time? Yes, the apocraplypse would actually be a day off for us lot on the other side of the IDL but I don’t think that would bother Reverend Lovejoy, ah, I mean Mr Camping.
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