Before I begin this very important and urgent Retort to Nothing, Fellow Followers and Libelous Malingerers who have not paid their Crusade Dues! I must ingest all pride and humility to digress into the putrid realm of financial malfeasance and weak-kneed need, and, thusly, reveal the harsh realities facing my, I mean Our, beloved and sanctified by John the Crossing Guard at St. Redwing’s Indoor Skating Rink and Bingo Parlor Spiritual Awakening. Your Wondrous Transformer needs Cash, Green, the Jimmy Crack Corn, so to speak. More succinctly rendered: Pup Needs Money, Honey.
Let me read from the Book of Rudolph (available at any blood donation center or NASCAR Race Track): Chapter 11, Verse 17, Line 66: “Whosoever brings forth the Dark Angels of Credit Card Emptiness reaps the Benefits of High Interest Rates.”
What do I mean? What am I talking about?
Here it is: We the Vigilantes for Beast Redemption and Tax Responsibility (Why shouldn’t a Rhino or a Flock of Geese pay Property Taxes like the Rest of us Miserable Sods?) are, in the parlance of our Degenerate Times: flat broke, penniless, Hobos of the Spirit, Thrown upon Isolate Shores and basically but Paupers without Purpose!
Look, some have condemned and castigated me, The Greatest Leader Ever to Lead Anything, for building my own Pet and Free Range Space Marriage Chapel (I was the first to Marry Zebras in Orbit!) that, sadly, Satanically Malfunctioned and Ironically crashed to earth in Roswell, New Mexico and might have been misconstrued by some Anti-Spiritualist Taro Card Readers as Gluttonous Excess and even Downright Fraud but I cast Them Hence into the Rank Winds of Hell for their weakness and general disregard of the Vile Scourge of Pet and Animal Rebellion sweeping our Rocky Shores.
So send me a Grand or Two Right Now! (You Cheapskate Louts know the address!)
Okay, let’s get to today’s Message on the Mounted Pony (Yes, I sometimes preach astride a Proud Pony or Mangy Mule.): I first lay Healing Hands on the Evil and Twisted Beasts, Speaking in Talking Tongues several years ago in my Sanctified and well-guarded Fortress of Belief, the Anointed Mega-Temple in Scottsdale, Arizona. It was there I healed my first four-legged, an anarchistic gutter snipe of an Injured Squirrel, while also aligning myself with my new Aide De Camp, the English-Speaking Cocker Spaniel, Jasper, a Wise Ass, if there ever was one.
Here’s how it happened: As you know, my services are conducted before a mixed congregation of Farting Beasts and Groaning Humans: Animals below to my left, Humans to the right. Naturally the Animalistic Parishioner section was covered in straw for those Neo-Primitives still hadn’t mastered the Righteous Regulation of the Toilet and thusly, the assemblage suffered the Reeking Indignity of Explosive Blasting Noises and Disrespectful Odorous Violations. In short, they crapped the place up something fierce; let me tell you (Steaming piles everywhere!). But I Soldiered on through those Thick Veils of Stench, believing Belief was all I needed to Believe. What? Friends, I Wavered Not, for I was enflamed by the Fire of the Great St. Bernard Above, so Onward I pressed the Insane Congregation, hurling Fireballs of Salvation their way, crying out, “Who amongst these Excreting Monsters Needs Healing? Bring thy Unsaved Carcass up here and I shall Purify Thee!”
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Well that did it: The place went Wild and Delirious with the Word. The humans screamed and jumped about like the Hopping Frogs of Eastern Siberia and the Animals howled and barked like mad because they still didn’t understand English, the Crusade’s one and only Officially Recognized Language. (The Subversive Paucity of Foreign Tongues shall not subvert nor weaken me!)
At that moment Jasper the Cocker Spaniel jumped on stage and said to me in Perfect Verbiage, “The Squirrel over there has an Ingrown Toenail. Perhaps you could fix that, O Lunatic on High.” Before I could cuff him about for his Sarcastic Rendering (He thought me an idiot then and does to this day. Can you believe it?), he turned to the bellowing beasts and began barking in what appeared to be a Bark of Universal Understanding, as they quit their Riotous Braying and the aforementioned Squirrel limped his way slowly upon the stage.
And, then, bathed in the Light of Knowing Nothing, I knelt before it in the Hushed Reverence of my Deranged Flock and lay a hot hand on its dirty head (It smelled god awful.), saying, “In the name of the Great St. Bernard Above I cast out the Devil and His Dark Minions and Heal Thee of All Ailments. In His name I do sanctify thy toenail. Now rise a New and Better Squirrel! Rise Saved and Healed!”
Friends of Pup (Send in your Monthly Monies, Base Procrastinators!), how do I describe the Joy I felt at that Momentous Moment? For what I had dreamt of for months had become a Flaming Sword of Truth: This Former Frycook (I made a mean burger, I must admit.) was now Leader of all Leaders and Rectifier of All Planetary Ills! I had connected with the Beasts and made them One with the Humans.
The Born-Again Squirrel squeaked and twittered and began dancing a wild jig of celebration to the screeching abrasions of The Crazy Cats, a Lion and Tiger Bagpipe Quartet and the Mob went Mad at the sight, roaring and barking. I would’ve Fainted from Delight had not Jasper then sunk his teeth into my calf, causing me to howl along with the rest of them. Later he informed me he did it to keep me grounded, to head off the Big Headedness that comes with Fatuous Fame and Unearned Fortune.
In any event, it was done: The Beginning had Begun, the Melding of the Species was upon us! As the Book of Rudolph states (available at your nearest Fully Functioning Meth Lab): Chapter 4, verse 17, Line 28: “For when they intermingle, the light of day shall be the dark of night.”
What do I mean? What am I talking about?