The Sadness Which Knows No Bounds

[It's a lousy time, here on what the Danes call "Little Christmas Eve", to once again trouble the patience of my readers with messages from the Third Galaxy. Frankly, I sometimes suspect that my unemployed angel is simply bored, being unemployed and all.

It claims this snippet was taken from the 21st Edition of the Absolute Truth, page 8686. Since a page of the Absolute Truth measures 12 x 7 kilometers, this really doesn't narrow it down as much as you might think!

There is some debate in the Third Galaxy as to who the author was. Some say Elmer Eggplant -- but his style tends to be more loquacious and this a bit too poetic to be from him. Ichabod Rain is also a possibility, but the despair expressed here is not typical and would also argue against the thesis some have that the Good Knight was an agent for the Alien Veggies...]

The sadness I feel knows no bounds.

I am hounded by visions which are driving me out of my mind – in fact, they are killing me as sure as a shot in the head.

The time is coming when strong men will faint and wise men will weep at the sight of what is coming to pass – not because of any punishment or "Will of God", rather because of the incorrigible inability of this collection of social apes to follow through on the realization of their common humanity which is the nitty gritty of what our prophets, sages and saviors have been trying to impress upon us with their heart's and, often as not, their life's blood.

Instead, we follow the nightmare dreams of insane, false prophets who tell us that, when we have turned the world into a pile of excrement, the very "angels of God" will come floating down on divine snowflakes to cool our fevered brow, kiss our bruised thumb and make everything right again.

If we only had one group of religious fumblebugs we might, we might have a chance to survive.

If it was just the brain-dead followers of the Great Potato and their inane babble about His Son the Holy Idaho and how all those who have not taken Him as their Personal Spud – but no, we also have the Mashers!

I hardly care to think of which is worse, but find it hard to avoid the necessity of doing so. Let it suffice that they are embraced in an unholy wedlock and the enormity of their perversions are beyond description.

It is said that the Masher read the Book of Eternity, shown to him by the archangel, Garb-El. It might be so – who can say? But even if true, the Masher read the Book some seven centuries ago – what does that have to do with us today?

The Book would it not give a different reading in each age and from the different angle of each culture? It is as if you tried to arrange your life according to train schedules published years ago for a city in a land far away which you have never seen!

If it were their lives only which they gave in following a fantasy – that would be bad enough! But no, they want the whole world to be in the Masher's "Bowl", with every one bowing down to a pat of butter in the middle.

The worshippers of the Great Potato, on the other hand, maintain that his Son, the Holy Idaho will Return in a Cloud of Rich Gravy and all who have accepted Him as their personal "Spud" will float upon the gravy, but all the rest, the Mashers, the Muddlers, the Junkers, the Window Dressers and other unbelievers will drown in the gravy and be flushed down the Great Toilet Bowl and suffer for ever in the Shit Tank which squirms with worms and other ugly things for all eternity.

True, there are some who say that the lost will only be french fried for only ten thousand years in enormous vats of boiling oil*

In truth and honesty, it must be said that many, perhaps even the majority of the followers of both the Holy Idaho and the Masher, not to mention the Muddlers, the Junkers and all the rest do not subscribe to such brain fart ideas.

However, having seen increasing regulation and restriction of themes and views which are allowed to be heard and seen in our mainstream media since the declaration of the First World Peace one must pause and wonder. It seems as if their influence is being marginalized, becoming less and less visible or of any real consequence or influence in Arrogant society.

Those are a few of the things which trouble me and is why the sadness comes upon me.

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* For it is written, "Verily, verily, the Great Potato is a Spud of Great Compassion"