Cerise Posted July 4, 2005 Share Posted July 4, 2005 When Popeye talked with God it was a meeting of iconographic giants. As if, for the first time, the word spinach and the word sacred could exist in the same sentence without spontaneously combusting each other. ‘I know yer pretty busy,’ Popeye would say, ‘But I gots a couple questions.’ And maybe God would adjust his belt Or nod Or otherwise indicate his willingness to listen. Maybe he’d offer phyllo pastries. ‘Like how do bad things happen, and what fer? And why?’ And maybe God would stroke his beard In a way that meant he wanted A clarifying example. ‘Me wife, the skinny bitch, left me for some hulking tosser, neck like a tree truck, prop’bly gots balls like grapes tho— ‘Scuse me yer Lordship…’ And perhaps God would wave A massive golden hand And give a slight shrug. ‘An’ she took the infink with her, which I guess is pretty good, as the brat was trouble, an’ she wants me to pay alimony. Price of spinach went up six cents an’ I lost my best ship last week during that storm I tol’ ya about.’ And maybe God would raise An eyebrow inquisitively. ‘You know, the storm. I prayed about it fer hours, ‘cause I heard yer good fer things like that. Walking on water and calming waves an’ shit--- ‘scuse my French. Prayed and prayed fer hours and ya didn’t bloody get the message. Say, what kind of god are you anyway?’ And then God would frown, An awesome frown. And think Awesome thoughts. I am that I am. ‘No, no,’ Popeye would say, graciously. ‘It’s yam.’ Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Fweethawt Posted July 5, 2005 Share Posted July 5, 2005 Ackg-ga-ga-ga-ga-ga-ga Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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