This morning I awoke with a new revelation. This is typical for me. The universe reveals itself to me one fact at a time, usually upon awakening. For example, Saturday and Sunday mornings I awoke with a deep and burning desire to look up the definition of the word “Scuppernong.” Said desire faded by the time I made it to my computer (which I’ve named SuperMooY2K+5), but I remembered to look it up Sunday evening and was rewarded with a host of knowledge I have since forgotten. I do remember thinking that if I ever get a ship (water or space), I’m going to name it the Scuppernong, unless it is a warship, in which case I’m calling it the USS Formal Apology. As in, “You’re offended by my foreign policy? Well, then, I’m sending you a formal apology right away. Ah ha ha ha ha haaaaah!”
So this morning, the powers that hang about informed my brain that, since I have two clocks in my bedroom, I should have twice the amount of time necessary to get to work. Part of my brain, the part dedicated to finding excuses to keep me in bed in the mornings (roughly 98%), thought this was a smashing idea and began trying to convince the other stubborn pair of brain cells that they could pipe down and go dormant again. The stubborn pair, long since addicted to having a paycheck, argued that clocks only measure time and don’t affect its passage. The sleepy but cunning part of my brain informed the pair that they had no formal training in logic and had not even taken into account the fact that not only were both clocks on the opposite sides of the bed, but were each set to different (and wrong) times. It was to no avail. The stubborn twins each pried open an eyelid and forced me out of bed. Once I awoke and re-assimilated my brain into one organ, I realized the basic gist of the time-stretching argument was absolutely true: I hated my job.
But that’s not what I wanted to talk about here. After surviving the recent religious fervor that is Bunny Day, I found myself looking at my NetFlix queue for a John Carpenter film. Then it hit me – John Carpenter's initials are JC. And the other JC – the one that gave so many of us reasons to point the finger and kill in god’s name, the one who was rewarded for his efforts by being nailed to two pieces of wood which his followers will never let him live down because they took up the way he died as his symbol instead of a happy reminder of his life and teachings – what was his profession (before full-time savior)? He was a carpenter. Two JC’s, both carpenters. Therefore it logically follows that John Carpenter is xst reborn, and the second coming has been kicking around since the late forties. I’ve got to say, the rapture is a little less impressive than the xtians have made it out to be.
Anyway, it’s time to start a new religion. JC will be our God, of course, and we will all worship Him and watch His movies. Since it was my idea, I will be the next in line just as soon as I can decide on a title. (Ubercardinal? Cyberpope? Grand Poobah?) In the meantime, the rest of you can show your devotion by sending me your tithes. I promise to pass them along to our Savior, or spend them in His name by sacrificing much beer and pizza.
I wonder what the universe will reveal to me tomorrow.
3 comments:
When you make it to Ubercardinal, if you're in charge of miracles, could you leave out the bit about the burning bush? (unless it has political leanings of course)
And how does this religion account for the cinematic crime against humanity that is "John Carpenter's Vampires?"
Gib - I kinda liked JC's Vampires. Any movie that has James Woods screaming "Die, bitch!" for a couple of hours is okay in my holy book. Perhaps a JC infidel such as yourself can't appreciate high art. :p
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