COME MR. TALISMAN...
It's Friday the 13th- the day when the Boogie Man rises from the grave, hides under your bed, and dry humps all of your luck out of you if you fall asleep. And then he dances. He dances because (as his name would suggest) he is a fine dancer with impeccable rhythm.
The only other day he can come out is Halloween, but, as we all know, every year Satan pins him up against the shower wall in the locker room of "The-Land-Where-All-The-Evil-Myth-Creatures-Live" and has his way with him... slowly.... which is as it should be, because that's Satan's special day, God damn it..
At least that's what I was taught as a child.
And if you're under the age of 6, you can believe whatever the hell you want. If you want to believe tacos are magic and pigs are made of bubble gum, you just go right the fuck on and believe it.
But sadly, in our often ass-backwards little wonderland we've built for ourselves, there are still honest adults who manage to hold down steady jobs and have families who believe in bad luck,evil spirits,werewolves, and Michael Jackson.
Don't get me wrong- I'm no scientist. I believe there's an afterlife, and maybe just for that I should be drug into the street and openly mocked. Perhaps that's what more civilized, advanced societies do out there in the cosmos (yeah I believe in that, too)- they relentlessly brow beat the stupid and weak into admonishing their beliefs, and, should they refuse to recant, they are eaten whole. Because why let all that sweet, sweet meat go to waste?
I recall once a few years ago, it was pouring down rain and I was stuck waiting for a bus (go figure? Nothing like having the warm, humid Gorilla pee feeling of a CTA bus to look forward to when you're stuck in the rain.)
For the better part of 45 minutes, it was just me and one woman waiting who, to look at her, seemed to have her wits about her: well dressed, kempt, and intelligent about the eyes. Not 10 minutes into rainy, cat-in-the-bathtub hell, water spraying directly into my eye sockets, I hear:
"JESUS SEND A BUS!"
This continued at regular intervals (i.e. every 20-35 seconds) until, 45 minutes later, a bus comes loping up over the horizon.
"ALLELUJA! THANK YOU JESUS! JESUS SENT THE BUS!"
Now, I hear someone out there asking, "What does this have to do with that swell dancing Boogie Man?" I don't personally draw a line of distinction in this case.
But- let's say in this instance, Jesus is a real physical person working for the Chicago Transit Authority. He is shift leader at the bus depot, and is in charge of monitoring driving activities for the bus line, making sure the drivers are making all necessary stops in a timely fashion. If that were the case, this would still be a stupid thing to shout at a fellow public transit user.
To illustrate my point, let's say the REAL shift leader at that depot is named Robert Gonzales, Sr.
"ALLELUJAH! ROBERT GONZALES, SR. SENT THE BUS!"
I could now retort: "Well, in a sense. But actually, Robert Gonzales, Sr. is merely a cog in a very complicated organization which, when all parts are functioning properly, provides efficient public transportation."
So- in other words, saying "Jesus sent the bus" is not wholly unlike saying that your neighbor's dog, the pope, Godzilla, or a loaf of bread sent the bus. I would like to think that if Jesus was up there in heaven on his God, Jr. throne, he would have better things to do than worry about whether or not me and this insane woman have ample transportation. Also, I would think that if the Son of God WERE running the public transit, he'd be doing a slightly better job than making people wait 45 minutes for a bus.
So what's the point in this mostly worthless story? This can be applied to any "luck" or supernatural bullshit situation.
"Don't get an apartment on the 13th floor. It's bad luck!"
Is there inadequate water pressure on the 13th floor? Are there sinkholes? Roach problem? Is that where the landlords keep their collection of blood thirsty asps?
"Don't walk under that ladder!"
Unless the ladder's top rung lines up perfectly with my forehead, or there is currently a man wielding paint cans falling from it, fuck off.
"A black cat has crossed your path!"
Better that than a Mormon trying to sell me a bible, a crack addict insisting I give him a 5 spot, or god forbid, a flock of drunken Cubs fans.
"It's Friday the 13th!"
Ahhh....whatever. Tomorrow's another day.
It's Friday the 13th- the day when the Boogie Man rises from the grave, hides under your bed, and dry humps all of your luck out of you if you fall asleep. And then he dances. He dances because (as his name would suggest) he is a fine dancer with impeccable rhythm.
The only other day he can come out is Halloween, but, as we all know, every year Satan pins him up against the shower wall in the locker room of "The-Land-Where-All-The-Evil-Myth-Creatures-Live" and has his way with him... slowly.... which is as it should be, because that's Satan's special day, God damn it..
At least that's what I was taught as a child.
And if you're under the age of 6, you can believe whatever the hell you want. If you want to believe tacos are magic and pigs are made of bubble gum, you just go right the fuck on and believe it.
But sadly, in our often ass-backwards little wonderland we've built for ourselves, there are still honest adults who manage to hold down steady jobs and have families who believe in bad luck,evil spirits,werewolves, and Michael Jackson.
Don't get me wrong- I'm no scientist. I believe there's an afterlife, and maybe just for that I should be drug into the street and openly mocked. Perhaps that's what more civilized, advanced societies do out there in the cosmos (yeah I believe in that, too)- they relentlessly brow beat the stupid and weak into admonishing their beliefs, and, should they refuse to recant, they are eaten whole. Because why let all that sweet, sweet meat go to waste?
I recall once a few years ago, it was pouring down rain and I was stuck waiting for a bus (go figure? Nothing like having the warm, humid Gorilla pee feeling of a CTA bus to look forward to when you're stuck in the rain.)
For the better part of 45 minutes, it was just me and one woman waiting who, to look at her, seemed to have her wits about her: well dressed, kempt, and intelligent about the eyes. Not 10 minutes into rainy, cat-in-the-bathtub hell, water spraying directly into my eye sockets, I hear:
"JESUS SEND A BUS!"
This continued at regular intervals (i.e. every 20-35 seconds) until, 45 minutes later, a bus comes loping up over the horizon.
"ALLELUJA! THANK YOU JESUS! JESUS SENT THE BUS!"
Now, I hear someone out there asking, "What does this have to do with that swell dancing Boogie Man?" I don't personally draw a line of distinction in this case.
But- let's say in this instance, Jesus is a real physical person working for the Chicago Transit Authority. He is shift leader at the bus depot, and is in charge of monitoring driving activities for the bus line, making sure the drivers are making all necessary stops in a timely fashion. If that were the case, this would still be a stupid thing to shout at a fellow public transit user.
To illustrate my point, let's say the REAL shift leader at that depot is named Robert Gonzales, Sr.
"ALLELUJAH! ROBERT GONZALES, SR. SENT THE BUS!"
I could now retort: "Well, in a sense. But actually, Robert Gonzales, Sr. is merely a cog in a very complicated organization which, when all parts are functioning properly, provides efficient public transportation."
So- in other words, saying "Jesus sent the bus" is not wholly unlike saying that your neighbor's dog, the pope, Godzilla, or a loaf of bread sent the bus. I would like to think that if Jesus was up there in heaven on his God, Jr. throne, he would have better things to do than worry about whether or not me and this insane woman have ample transportation. Also, I would think that if the Son of God WERE running the public transit, he'd be doing a slightly better job than making people wait 45 minutes for a bus.
So what's the point in this mostly worthless story? This can be applied to any "luck" or supernatural bullshit situation.
"Don't get an apartment on the 13th floor. It's bad luck!"
Is there inadequate water pressure on the 13th floor? Are there sinkholes? Roach problem? Is that where the landlords keep their collection of blood thirsty asps?
"Don't walk under that ladder!"
Unless the ladder's top rung lines up perfectly with my forehead, or there is currently a man wielding paint cans falling from it, fuck off.
"A black cat has crossed your path!"
Better that than a Mormon trying to sell me a bible, a crack addict insisting I give him a 5 spot, or god forbid, a flock of drunken Cubs fans.
"It's Friday the 13th!"
Ahhh....whatever. Tomorrow's another day.
posted by Pete Klockau at 5:28 PM
1 Comments:
Afterlife?
I'll drag you into the street and openly mock you, ya pansy.
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