Sunday Sermon from Set, the Snake God
Sunday is a day of quiet contemplation of things spritual. Unlike the hated Christians, whose religion all politically correct village peoples abhor, the followers of Set, the Snake God, embrace diversity, especially when it comes to the selection of food sources for the temple crocodiles.
One of the members of the followers of Set, the Snake God, is a delightful little girl named Lilith. She has naturally curly blonde hair, sparkling green eyes, does her homework, and helps her Mom with the dishes. So, it was an unhappy day when little Lilith came to her Uncle Fenris in tears. Her dentist, lets call him Kibble-57, had made her cry. He expressed doubts about her faith; he said that he was a radical atheist; he said that all religion was bunk. Lilith was sad.
Enter upon the stage of life, Billy, a juvenile Nile crocodile. He is the latest addition to our Global Village family of carnivorous swamp creatures. Billy has been living on pressed bran cakes mainly, with the occasional veal tenderloin or chuck roast on Sundays. If you know crocodiles, they get a bit grumpy eating bran loaf ... they get over active bowel and fart alot.
Thurston Howell the Third and I were watching little Lilith feed Billy a few Sundays ago when we hit upon a final solution for the Kibble-57 problem. Lilith was laughing and laughing at how Billy would float upstream to where she was dangling a pork tenderloin on a bicycle chain. When he got close, he would lunge and snap with a big splash of water and some 72 pretty flashing teeth in his smiling jaws. Wheee!
Since Kibble-57 also happens to own a parcel of property that the Turpentine Commission wishes to turn into an employment opportunity for illegal immigrants and a trans shipment point for flammable, toxic, and flammable-toxic turpentine products, it was agreed by everyone concerned that the best solution was to have Kibble-57 drugged, kidnapped, shaved, dressed up as a candy cane, annointed with mayonaise, and fed to Billy this Sunday. This would make everyone happy. Especially Lilith, to whom this important spiritual lesson was to be given. Secondly, Billy, whose noxious farts were alienating his fellow crocodiles. And, of course, Thurston Howell the Third and Myself, who would split the profits of the land sale and the ongoing operating profits from Turpentine Factory number 57. Lastly, Kibble-57, who would acheive functional immortality by having his constituent carbon converted from evil primate biomass, to good crocodile biomass through the miracle power of digestion.
It was a magical day. The followers of Set, the Snake God gathered at our compound in Erin Township for some pre-festival festivities. There was whiskey for those who like to drink it, there were women dancing with naked breasts while men squirted milk on them with water pistols, musicians played the timpani, and the scene was lit with torches, and handfuls of hashish were set to smoulder on brass pots to scent the air with the aroma of comfortable numbness.
As the last to be eaten (as the followers of Set, the Snake God call themselves), gathered around the sacred slimy pool, Kibble-57 was led out on a gilded chain, dressed in his candy cane suit. He has happy. He shouted 'No, No', 'Stop this, please!', and 'What are you doing to me?'. He was annointed with Miracle Whip, and his left foot handcuffed to a child's tricycle to make this a politically correct level playing field. Then, when the giant electromagnet submerged in the bottom of the pool was activated (you may have noticed the lights dim around lunch time), Kibble-57 was happily drawn into the depths of the stinking pond, while happily shouting, 'Aaaah ... Aaaah ... Aaaah!
Kibble-57 did not suffer. He did thrash around alot. He did make a few big splashes. The green water boiled a bit, and, in spots, turned red. There was some gurgling. It was a quick fourty-five minuites before his voice failed from all his screaming. And then happy Kibble-57, thanks to Billy's stomach, became stomach contents. Only a few shreds of candy cane costume bubbled to the surface as a content Billy floated in the still green water of the pool, dragging a tricycle on a chain leading down his throat.
I ate orange-chocolate cheesecake garnished with cherry pie filling with Lilith as we watched. (You can watch, too. Complete video is available to Platinum Card holders on the paysite. We now accept Canadian Tire Mastercard. A fraction of the profits go towards fundraising to fight Global Warming.) Thurston Howell the Third sipped a perfect martini. It was like being in the pre-Christian Roman Empire again. It was a SPQR moment.
I, Fenris Badwulf, wrote this at both Mitchieville and DustMyBroom.
One of the members of the followers of Set, the Snake God, is a delightful little girl named Lilith. She has naturally curly blonde hair, sparkling green eyes, does her homework, and helps her Mom with the dishes. So, it was an unhappy day when little Lilith came to her Uncle Fenris in tears. Her dentist, lets call him Kibble-57, had made her cry. He expressed doubts about her faith; he said that he was a radical atheist; he said that all religion was bunk. Lilith was sad.
Enter upon the stage of life, Billy, a juvenile Nile crocodile. He is the latest addition to our Global Village family of carnivorous swamp creatures. Billy has been living on pressed bran cakes mainly, with the occasional veal tenderloin or chuck roast on Sundays. If you know crocodiles, they get a bit grumpy eating bran loaf ... they get over active bowel and fart alot. Thurston Howell the Third and I were watching little Lilith feed Billy a few Sundays ago when we hit upon a final solution for the Kibble-57 problem. Lilith was laughing and laughing at how Billy would float upstream to where she was dangling a pork tenderloin on a bicycle chain. When he got close, he would lunge and snap with a big splash of water and some 72 pretty flashing teeth in his smiling jaws. Wheee!
Since Kibble-57 also happens to own a parcel of property that the Turpentine Commission wishes to turn into an employment opportunity for illegal immigrants and a trans shipment point for flammable, toxic, and flammable-toxic turpentine products, it was agreed by everyone concerned that the best solution was to have Kibble-57 drugged, kidnapped, shaved, dressed up as a candy cane, annointed with mayonaise, and fed to Billy this Sunday. This would make everyone happy. Especially Lilith, to whom this important spiritual lesson was to be given. Secondly, Billy, whose noxious farts were alienating his fellow crocodiles. And, of course, Thurston Howell the Third and Myself, who would split the profits of the land sale and the ongoing operating profits from Turpentine Factory number 57. Lastly, Kibble-57, who would acheive functional immortality by having his constituent carbon converted from evil primate biomass, to good crocodile biomass through the miracle power of digestion.
It was a magical day. The followers of Set, the Snake God gathered at our compound in Erin Township for some pre-festival festivities. There was whiskey for those who like to drink it, there were women dancing with naked breasts while men squirted milk on them with water pistols, musicians played the timpani, and the scene was lit with torches, and handfuls of hashish were set to smoulder on brass pots to scent the air with the aroma of comfortable numbness.
As the last to be eaten (as the followers of Set, the Snake God call themselves), gathered around the sacred slimy pool, Kibble-57 was led out on a gilded chain, dressed in his candy cane suit. He has happy. He shouted 'No, No', 'Stop this, please!', and 'What are you doing to me?'. He was annointed with Miracle Whip, and his left foot handcuffed to a child's tricycle to make this a politically correct level playing field. Then, when the giant electromagnet submerged in the bottom of the pool was activated (you may have noticed the lights dim around lunch time), Kibble-57 was happily drawn into the depths of the stinking pond, while happily shouting, 'Aaaah ... Aaaah ... Aaaah!
Kibble-57 did not suffer. He did thrash around alot. He did make a few big splashes. The green water boiled a bit, and, in spots, turned red. There was some gurgling. It was a quick fourty-five minuites before his voice failed from all his screaming. And then happy Kibble-57, thanks to Billy's stomach, became stomach contents. Only a few shreds of candy cane costume bubbled to the surface as a content Billy floated in the still green water of the pool, dragging a tricycle on a chain leading down his throat.
I ate orange-chocolate cheesecake garnished with cherry pie filling with Lilith as we watched. (You can watch, too. Complete video is available to Platinum Card holders on the paysite. We now accept Canadian Tire Mastercard. A fraction of the profits go towards fundraising to fight Global Warming.) Thurston Howell the Third sipped a perfect martini. It was like being in the pre-Christian Roman Empire again. It was a SPQR moment.
I, Fenris Badwulf, wrote this at both Mitchieville and DustMyBroom.
posted by Fenris Badwulf at 4:08 PM
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