I woke up this morning wondering . . .
Would I wake up? Would the world still be here? Would Jesus be hovering outside my window in sandals and robe with a pissed-off look on his face?
I hoped he would. My parents are re-shingling their roof today and they’ve asked me to help. I’ll do anything to get out of actual work.
I wonder what the lunatics in California are doing with this morning? Strategic planning? Breakfast over loaves and fishes to figure out exactly what went wrong? Was it a matter of maths? Numerology gone horribly awry. Or did we, at the last moment, get pardoned for our multitude of sins? (One of which was gay pride apparently. I knew I shouldn’t have worn those lavender boots. I was told nothing but trouble would come of it.)
I usually don’t make fun of people’s religions, and this time will be no exception. There have been doomsday chiliasts around ever since people actually figured out they could scare a whole lot of people with saying the world was going to end. I blame the press. Who gave these idiots all the coverage anyway? What about little kids, who might not be able to detect the sardonic humour of the news reports? How many of them had a sleepless night yesterday actually wondering if that gang of lunatics in California did have a pipe-line to God? The same goes for Terry What’s-His-Name in Florida with a congregation of fourteen, a Koran in one hand and a Bic lighter in the other. All he wanted was press, and we gave it to him. Give him none, I say. The press are just as responsible for the Moslem reprisals as Terry-What’s-His-Name. Let sleeping kooks lie. The world is full of idiots. We’ve got enough on Parliament Hill right now to keep us busy for decades. No need to dig up more.