October 19, 2005

Yea, verily,

didst the people wander in the wilderness of the Ether, and didst cry out with one accord, Give us the rich goodness of the Possum, and let us hear his words, which are oft times many, and confusing, and cause us to cast up our hands in exasperation.

But lo, evil wast about, and caused the Possum to have to labor, and toil, and travail, and complain, and kvetch,

And caused his hands to not touch the keys of his keyboard, nay, not the period nor the tilde, nor even the space bar.

And the people grew weak, and couldst not tarry long at the well of the Possum,

For there were other wells to drink from, and they offered sweet waters, and didst occasionally have items of interest to read, and coupons, and such like.

And the Possum didst weep, for he knew his readers were longing for his words, filled as they were with joyous recitations of self-injury, and malaprops.

And saying to himself, Self, I must needs place my hands upon the keys of my keyboard, and press mightily upon them, yea even the period, and the tilde, and the space bar, and possibly even unto the ampersand, and all the keys far and near betwixt them all, and I will write many words, and bestow them upon the people, for they grow weak, and will forsake me if I do not this thing.

And setting out, the Possum didst toil and labor with vigor and might upon the keys of his keyboard, and didst create a new post, shining and glorious, and he didst create a hyperlink, and didst bid all his readers to go forth and read his creation, and to enjoy it, and be refreshed from the fresh waters flowing from it.

And the people didst rejoice, until they realized that the link was to a post on Revolvoblog, and the post was about installing headlights.

And the people waxed wroth, and didst murmur, What is this? Bring he us here to this wasteland to perish? Who dost care one whit for the tidings of Volvo headlights, and their installation, and aiming? And others sayest, He is a moron, and dost not have wisdom, and despite the fact that he didst post a picture of a small girl child upon a scooter, we will not allow him to use this to sway us.

And the people gathered and didst pick up rocks, and stones, and shards, and began to throw them at the Possum, and didst hit him numerous times, and shouted, Why givest us thou this pile of silliness with your car?

So the Possum was greatly and viciously pained, and didst cry out and beg of the people, I will tell thee of my date on Friday with the wife of my youth, and of eating out, and of going to the Mart of Wal, if thou wilst stop slinging the rocks, and stones, and shards at my head.

And the people stayed their hands, excepting for a few, who still continued to fling random bricks and stones, which missed, and didst say unto the Possum, Get thee to work, and tell us of your days, and hours, and use thou the keys of thy keyboard and tell us good stories not of Volvos, and with wry humor, and stuff like that.

And the Possum did agree, and begged the assembled crowd to give him some minutes in which to press the keys of his keyboard, and they didst allow it. Mostly.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at October 19, 2005 09:09 AM

Hah hah hah! This should have been preceded with a keyboard/monitor/liquids interference advisory!

Posted by: Nate at October 19, 2005 10:04 AM

But that would be presumptuous of me.

Posted by: Terry Oglesby at October 19, 2005 10:24 AM

And they lifted up their eyes, and saw the posting of possumy goodness, and rejoiced to see it. [I TRIED to leave a comment yesterday, but the stupid computer wouldn't let me].

Posted by: Kathy at October 19, 2005 10:42 AM

If I were you, I would smite it.

Posted by: Terry Oglesby at October 19, 2005 11:03 AM

Yea verily, the people didst celebrate, whilst murmuring amongst themselves that the Possum had surely lost his wits, though in a most entertaining way.

Posted by: Grouchy Old Yorkie Lady at October 19, 2005 11:06 AM

Oh Lord thank you for this possum and praise be all the possumy goodness it contains even if it is Swedish and has a faint electical smell to it.

Posted by: Sarah G. at October 19, 2005 11:44 AM

You know, hon, there's a dead possum two blocks up the street. I thought you might be mourning.

Posted by: Janis Gore at October 19, 2005 01:04 PM

Nay, for he is not dead, but doth merely pretend.

Posted by: Terry Oglesby at October 19, 2005 01:21 PM

Verily, hon, that varmint has gone to his reward.

Posted by: Janis Gore at October 19, 2005 01:28 PM

Nah, they play dead like that. Some are just better at it than others.

Posted by: Terry Oglesby at October 19, 2005 01:35 PM

So YOU'RE the one who wrote the Book of Mormon!!

Posted by: Lenise at October 19, 2005 09:20 PM

Actually, I wrote the Book of Moron.

Posted by: Terry Oglesby at October 20, 2005 07:57 AM

"Are there any women here?"

Posted by: skinnydan at October 20, 2005 11:51 AM

You can't fool us, Mr. Clinton!

Posted by: Terry Oglesby at October 20, 2005 11:56 AM

Wrong reference, dear chap:

"Stop! Stop, will you?! Stop that! Stop it! Now, look! No one is to stone anyone until I blow this whistle! Do you understand?! Even, and I want to make this absolutely clear, even if they do say 'Jehovah'."

Posted by: skinnydan at October 20, 2005 01:31 PM

Say, wait a minute--are you with the Judean People's Front?

Posted by: Terry Oglesby at October 20, 2005 01:51 PM

*@*@ off! We're the People's Front of Judaea!


Posted by: skinnydan at October 20, 2005 02:35 PM

What about the Judean Popular People's Front?

Posted by: Terry Oglesby at October 20, 2005 02:51 PM