Thunderous sky. Crows conducting a loud argument from various perches on Granville Street. I’m huddled in the entrance to Barrington Mall, gloomily smoking a cigarette.
Three tourists at 11 o’clock, a man, two women. It’s starting to pour and they’re struggling into fold-up, yellow rain capes with big pictures of Mickey Mouse emblazoned on the back. The women have ancient apple doll faces. The younger apple doll is bullying a cape over the older apple doll, who is in a wheelchair, sitting limp as a sock.
“You never do anything for yourself. We have to do everything.”
Great. An apple doll with a voice like Tugboat Annie and half the sensitivity.
A fat man in a uniform appears at the door. “Can you put that out? No smoking near the doorway. Policy.”
I put that out and go up to the school lunch counter to buy food.
The guy at the counter asks, “Are you a Wiccan?” I look at him stupidly.
“No.”
“Well, if there’s a female god and a male god, who made them?”
“Excellent question,” I reply, “but I’m just buying a tuna fish sandwich.”
It’s Monday. On Monday I can’t remember who made God.
1 comment:
I LOVE you Wiccan tuna sandwich story. Maybe he though you were a Wiccan because you bought a sand-witch! Hahaha!
Seriously, I found this following bit on the Internet and chuckle at it often. It reminds me of many conversations I have had with the Zennies.
GREATER POOP: Is Eris true?
MALACLYPSE THE YOUNGER: Everything is true.
GP: Even false things?
M2: Even false things are true.
GP: How can that be?
M2: I don't know man, I didn't do it.
A Discordian koan from the Principia Discordia'
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