This is my last post.
Having said that I am thoroughly confused. I can barely read the font on this website because I have Macular Disintegration. I faithfully read diaries of interest most everyday. When it comes to posting instructions the font changes and I am guessing how this is done.
Well Folks, I received a message from someone who said I was on moderation for some comment. I couldn't believe it. I am not going to duel with someone who offers unsubstantiated disagreement, so I will be leaving all of you to solve the Worlds problems.
In the event I have offended someone, I dug out a post that I wrote six years ago. If that doesn't offend you then you are in good shape. Have fun. Peace!!!
The Mythical Being that Nobody has Seen - part 2
Posted by Kootie J at 00:50, 27 Apr 2008
Through the pale mist, into a place of darkness, then a gust of something moves what it is and a brightness engulfs. Engulfs! What does it engulf, what is this? A place, a - - familiar something. Darkness in the form of grey and a sense of it passing along some predestined path. Then the light, I've seen this light once before. When? Recognition of; of what?
Of . . . must remember. Remember, a scene, yes, it is coming back. Think! Yes, it was during lunch, it was a . . . nooner!!!!
A whiff of darkness sweeps across my vision. What is happening? My secretary, an animal with boobs one could only imagine and she wanted me for a nooner. Yes, I remember! I lay there for only seconds before she jumped on me and grabbed my . . . I remember her moans, the excitement and . . . the white light, and grandma who was shaking a finger at me, and grandpa who was holding his thumb and forefinger in a circle, grinning. All of my relatives; the men smiling, the women frowning. Then the mist and I am alone. What is happening?
"Judgment Day!" a big voice boomed, shaking my very soul. I gaze down at myself, I'm not really there; some of me, yes, but everything is sort of transparent. It's, it's just my soul.
"Who are you?" the big voice blasts out the question.
"Damned if I know!" I respond. I'm looking around seeing nothing.
"All right, smart ass," the voice bellows, "who were you?"
"Say, can you turn down the volume a little?" I'm thinking, "I think I'm Joe Schmatlzby."
A large laugh and I'm thankful that the volume is down a bit. "Who hung that handle on you?" More laughing.
Ordinarily I'd pop anyone who made fun of my name, but I can't even see this dude. "Okay wiseguy, show yourself and let's have a look at your name."
"I am the Mythical Being that Nobody has Seen." It was spoken with great pride.
"Sounds like my bookie," I comment.
"Listen up, little Dude, this is your Judgment Day."
"I'll be damned!"
"Yes, you might." I smell trouble. "Tell me, what were you doing just before you came here? The messenger service is a little slow, so you'll have to tell me." the voice said.
"Judgment Day, huh." I'm beginning to believe it. Here I am, standing in a fog talking to the Mythical Being that Nobody has Seen, and, sure enough, I can't see a thing except fog - sometimes dark, and sometimes bright. "Uh oh, light and dark," I mutter. "What was I doing?"
"Yes, you remember, they all remember. I programmed you to remember."
"I'm a computer, a robot?"
"Answer the question, Dingleberry!!"
"Well, I, uh, was on my lunch break, and we were, ah . . ."
"Out with it!!"
"Well, you see, the last thing I remember was those boobs in my face. I was trying to get a breath, you know what I mean?"
A small uncomfortable silence grabbed the moment. "Yes, the messenger has arrived." More silence. I wait, like, what else was there to do? "Ah ha!" the voice says, "you were exercising your biological urges to procreate as a result of those hormones I planted in your . . never mind where." More silence. "Suffocated, it says. Giant boob syndrome. Well," he pauses, "you ain't the first, won't be the last. What a way to go!"
"You mean . . . "
"Yep, I'm gonna redesign boobs. They gotta be smaller. Too many casualties with those big ones."
"You mean, you mean there won't be anymore gigantic mammarys where I can stick my nose, shake my head, press against my ears . . . "
"That is correct. It will forever be called the Schmaltzby design."
"But, men will hate me forevermore." I protest vigorously.
"Not my fault," the voice said, "Shoulda been on top. I give you a gift and you overindulge. Greedy, even."
"This'll be hell!" I protest.
"You got that right."