I could feel the anger welling up in me. I grabbed the nearest god I could, castrated him, and strangled him to death with his own steaming genitals. From his teeth I fashioned the first typewriter and tore off layer after layer of his skin to use as paper. I precariously balanced my weapon of choice on his breastbone and rolled my flesh-paper in, eyes sharp to take in every detail. It was at that point that I realized I couldn't write because I didn't know a language yet. As the fury crystallized into solid fire that nestled itself comfortably in my aorta, I sighed, packed my things, and left. If pressed (and possibly drunk) I will admit that I burned the place down and stole Kali-ma's wallet first. I used the Destroyer's money to buy myself enough cigarettes to asphyxiate Mongolia and a prostitute for a young peasant boy. That boy, I found later, became The Once and Future King, Arthur Pendragon. I hold myself personally responsible for this.
Along the lines of divinity, certain news articles have jumped into my feed I HAD to share with my constant readers: a certain Father Kevin Gray, a pastor at Sacred Heart Church in Connecticut, has been arrested for embezzling church funds. The Good Reverend skimmed some 1.3 million dollars off the top, middle, and bottom of the church's funds and blew most of it on a combination of ridiculously nice suits, long stays at the Waldorf Astoria, and a number of escorts. Not content to leave the church's money on the dresser the next day, the minister kept a string of regular escorts and let some of them have credits cards in his name that billed directly to...well, you can guess. The swindling minister got his start when he was transferred to Sacred Heart Church in Waterbury while his mother was dying some distance away in New Haven. He felt that "the church owed it to him." One of the clauses of "owing it to him" was apparently that Gray could lie freely through the skin of his rectum to bleed parishioners for their every last penny. One of Gray's favorite lines was that HE was dying of cancer...think about that next time you drop a few bucks in the collection tin. The priest is currently being held for a $750,000 bond. No members of the flock at Sacred Heart could be contacted to see if they'd chip in for the preacher's bail.
On the other, much less chipper side of the world, Sakineh Mohammadie Ashtiani, a woman accused of adultery, could be stoned to death "at any moment" for an adultery charge. Originally sentenced to 99 lashes, she was cleared of a murder charge against her husband in 2006, and all seemed right with the world. Her two boys, glad that Mom was no worse for wear minus the bloody tatters that remained of her back, were eager to go on living a standard Iranian life full of fun, praying, and fear of government leaders. This all changed when the judicial committee decided that she hadn't *really* learned her lesson and, with a vote of three out of five judges, sentenced her to a truly Biblical end. What's interesting here is that in the Iranian penal code it says that for someone to get a death sentence for adultery, there must be "at least four eyewitnesses-- either four men or three men and two women." I love math, too, Ayatollah. Her son has been making trips to Tehran on a regular basis to try and get an appeal from the head talker-to-god-plus-runner-of-country, but so far has gotten exactly shit. At the very least the judicial committee hasn't spouted a line of bullshit about the "will of Allah," opting instead for the more rational justification of "because I fucking said so."
Clearly before I left my place of birth I missed a few gods I should have killed. I am making a list, and arming myself with holy water, garlic, and copies of Nietzsche's works. Behold, sky-dwellers, for I am Prometheus unshackled! I am he which is called "Light-Bringer," and in the shadows and darkness I shall emblazon Truth unto all that I see!
Someone get me a Pale Horse and some coffee. It's gonna be a good day.
Mahalo,
Uncle Tambour.
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