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Monday, January 24, 2005

The Book of Snowb

There was a man from the land of Queens, and his name was Anthony. And Anthony walked out unto 160th street and saw that once again the bastards at DOT plowed his car in. And Anthony cursed the day he was born, then thought about it a bit, and cursed the day the bastards at the DOT were born. And he cried out, "Oh Almighty, for seven years hath I lived on this blighted island, and every time it snoweth for the last seven motherf**king years hath the DOT plowed my car under, beith it either the convertible, the Mercury, or the Volkswagen! Gimme a break here, wouldst thou?"



And God replied, "Gird up thy loins and stop thy bitching. Are there not those in this world with far worse problems than yours? Wouldst you rather your wife and children were lost in the tsunami? Where were you when I cast plaster molds of Cookie Monster and Oscar the Grouch, so you wouldst have something to keep you occupied on a rainy day?"



And Anthony replied, "That wasn't you, that was my mother, when she was in her arts and crafts phase."



"Oh yes," God replied, "I forgot. Which remindeth me, she says that you have not gone to confession in at least ten years. The only reason that I do not put a pox on your behind right now is because it's her turn to clean the altar linens, and she's the only one of the Rosary Society who uses Downy. So stop your whining and shovel!"



And yea did Anthony return to the task of shoveling out his wife's Volkswagen, and once more did his mind return to thoughts of winning the lottery and moving out to Monterrey, where there would be nothing to worry about, at least until Lex Luthor wouldst shoot a nuclear missile at California and send half of it into the sea, at which point Anthony and his family would doth movest to "Otisburg."



This is the word of the Blog.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Hallelujah. Glory be to Blog in the highest.

- C