Strugr

But the real point of this post is because I have two new friends. They sent me a package. They know I am an intellectual because of my researches into Marco Polo and martial arts, and the resulting post on Judeo Christian Ethics. So they sent me two books of poetry making merciless fun of cats.

These are my new friends: Vic & Lauren.

And this is what they sent me: Glamorgan's Tales & He Who Would Be Cat

Please note how influential I am becoming. I am meeting authors and publishers and receiving expensive gifts ($184.53!). You never know what will happen with my efforts in the area of Christian Romance Fiction.

Last night I received a surprise from Lauren before I went to bed. I had, you understand, been sleeping all day but this made me very tired. The surprise was a poem, and a proverb. The proverb was: "For they sleep not, except they have done mischief; and their sleep is taken away, unless they cause some to fall. (Pr 4:16)" This proverb is so wise that I meditated on it while tripping bugs with a blade of grass until I fell asleep.

Here is the poem:

Glamorgan's Concept of the Time-Space Continuum

That the study of time is a worthy chore

is not Glamorgan's notion;

He's one to believe what's gone before

is dead if not in motion.

When it comes to tradition he takes the position

that trade, not predation, is grace;

And he has the proof, he's not just wishful:

He acts like a Cat and I keep his dish full:

an equation as enduring as space.

--copyright 1998 Lauren Bottomly

When the female read this to me I got up and started to dance. It just has that kind of meter. Then I fell down because I'm missing a back leg, and I can only hop so long on one foot. And I went to sleep.

Lauren and Vic shall be added to the sidebar. I advise you not to sue them. They're lawyers. I advise you not to sue me either. They're my friends.

"In Which We Mourn for the Plot, Which Had Shown So Much Promise"

Or “Filler Material, between the last chapter and the next” or “Why go on?”

Between the time of last chapter's writing and this, which has been considerable, the tribe of Seminarians, enraged by the vicious and unnecessary attack on one of their own that took place when Rip threw open the outhouse door-- had taken advantage of their opportunity to sneak up and circle menacingly. Suddenly, they leapt out from behind rocks and trees and began chanting a war song:

We attack the little town

All the people fall-y down

When we crack them on the crown.

All the people fall like trees

Begging mercy on their knees

When we threaten them with these

(brandishing their tomohawks)

This may be rotten as poeima, but as logos it inspired a sort of nervous strain.

The minister tried telling a knock-knock joke to ease the tension.

“KNOCK KNOCK,” he said.

No one answered.

“COME ON, SAY WHO’S THERE,” he boomed

“Me Despisum You, Large White Man,” said an Indian. “Likun You to Overgrown Cabbage Head: We Ridicule behind back. Say many Hateful things.”

An awkward pause ensued. “WELL” the minister finally offered, hoping to smooth things over, “THAT MUST BE PLEASANT FOR YOU OF AN EVENING.”

“Most pleasant,” replied the Indian shortly. “We be Seminarians: Last Defenders of Truth on Earth.”

Nobilette turned pale and coughed dramatically. And just at that moment, the fallen seminarian rose up from beside the outhouse, and groped his way towards her, placing his hand on her shoulder. He surveyed her with pain in his eyes.

“You wear man’s clothing?” he uttered at last.

Nobilette was taken aback: “Well!” she huffed. “At least I’m fully clad!”

“My half-nakedness is an area of liberty,” he gasped. “Besides which, it is irrelevant to the discussion about a woman wearing man’s clothing, which arises from the text about Paul's thorn in the flesh. We know from recent critical studies by E. P. Saundbox that this is referring to the bad testimony his wife was giving him by wearing his toga when he wasn't around. Please keep your remarks in redemptive historical context.”

But there was no opportunity for any more edifying remarks. The sheriff emerged out of the barn and arrested both of them.

Soon to come: "Cod in the Dock: something fishy is happening in the courtroom! " Or, “In which we seek closure, and find ourselves in need of a therapist”.

As many of you know, I was deconverted to atheism several weeks ago by the brilliant arguments put forth at Discomfiting Christianity. Since then I have been trying to convince my peers using the 'Argument from Non Evidence that Demands a Confused Verdict' (John W. Lostus, a frequent poster at Discomfiting), but they cling to their superstitious belief in cause and effect and universal gravitation and the laws of logic. This week I will be holding atheist revival meetings for my fellow canines. I want to convince them of their meaninglessness, and the vegetable ultimacy of their existence. As Dan Barker pointed out we are no more than cosmic pieces of broccoli. And as Dan Barker also pointed out the real beauty of this is that it frees us to assign random, illusory value to ourselves and cling to the illusion. I have decided to assign to myself the random illusory value of 'world dictator' while assigning to everybody else the random illusory value of 'expendable serf'. I weep with the beauty.

I have written an invitation hymn, to be played on half empty glass coke bottles by the Delinquent Boys Choir. It goes like this:

Just as I am,

A piece of cheese,

Dislodged from the nose

Of a cosmic sneeze:

Here in my hand I hold three peas,

And know I mean no more than these.

We will sing this 99 times an evening while asking people to come forward, until the last evening, which will be the campfire service. On that night the ushers will pass out handfuls of peas. After singing "Cosmic Sneeze" 99 times, we will each assign random, illusory value to the peas. Then we will throw them in the fire.

Perhaps that will communicate the beauty of atheism these people keep missing.

1. One book that changed my life:

Hank the Cowdog and the Curse of the Incredible Priceless Corncob by John R. Erickson The shocking truth about corncobs that changed my life

2. One book that I've read more than once:

Where the Red Fern Grows by Wilson Rawls The number of times I have read it is equal to the number of dogs that die in the book

3. One book that I'd want on a desert island:

The complete Peanuts (Curse you, Red Baron!)

4. One book that made me laugh:

A Dog's Tale by Mark Twain, in which the dog claims to be a Presbyterian. I scoff at weak-minded religious dogs.

5. One book that made me cry:

The Jungle Book by Rudyard Kipling Though the slaughter of the red dogs was pure revisionist history: they did not outnumber the wolves as Mr. Kipling claims

6. One book I wish had been written:

An Expose of my brutal sufferings at the hands of Ruben and Heidi: a tale of Rancid Leftovers and the Rapid Descent of Ruben's Right Shoe

7. One book that I wish had never been written:

The Hound of the Baskervilles I had nightmares for weeks

8. One book that I am currently reading:

Flush, the life of Elizabeth Barrett Browning's Spaniel, by Virginia Woolf

9. One book that I have been meaning to read:

The writings of Bernard of Clairvaux. I understand he was such a great man that they named a dog after him.