EPILOGUE POSTED HERE

9/17/03

Hi. Look at this! http://www.weather.com/maps/news/atlstorm13/isabelcurrentposition_large.html. That is about to slam into my state, North Carolina. The shit is about to hit the fan. Rather, the fan is about to hit the shit. (since publication, the fan, indeed, hit the shit. The link is to the current position of the hurricane)

It’s an especially exciting time for me and my girlfriend, because we now reside in a mobile home under a big fuckin’ pine tree. To think, our house might not last the weekend!

We still don’t have a solid plan yet. We were thinking about staying with a few farmers we know out in Alamance County. But there are big fuckin’ trees all around their house and we might not be able to get out there, in the country, because there might be big fuckin’ trees in the road. Goldurn it!

Then again, the hurricane might decide to go back out to sea. (revisor's note: Ha! Wrong there dumbass). The wind is blowing the trees now. It’s a really nice day here in Chapel Hill North Carolina. It’s the calm before the storm. Maybe!

I might get batteries from the Harris Teeter. And some water. Who knows?

I might get some duct tape. I’ll use the duct tape to make a big cross on my trailer so Jesus, the man who controls hurricanes, will know I’m on his team.

Harris Teeter is the name of a supermarket chain that has stores in several locations around Chapel Hill North Carolina. I find that name amusing. It makes me think of breasts.

The Christian Broadcasting Network has urged everyone to pray to an invisible being that controls everything to stop the hurricane. They are funnier than Saturday Night Live!

Sometime prior to September 16, 2003, a comedy writer for the Christian Broadcasting Network named Sarah Pollak sat down at her computer and typed an article entitled “How Prayer Turned Back Historic Hurricanes”. Ha!

I’ll cut to the punch line of her hilarious piece:

Evangelist Reinhard Bonnke prayed on The 700 Club, “And Lord I pray, that at the same time You may take the sting out of this Hurricane Felix. Take the sting out of it. And I thank you that it will filter out and that people will not come to grief, in the Name of Jesus.”

Both storms turned away leaving behind little damage.

Laughing Out Loud!! I almost spit out my crackers all over the computer when I read that. You can read the whole article here http://www.cbn.com/CBNNews/News/030916c.asp

Ever feel like there’s a giant hand up your ass? I do. In my case, the hand up my ass comes from, among other locales, my job. For example, when I speak on the phone at my place of employment, and someone is rude to me, I can’t say, “Go home and die, cuntface, before I come over there and hit you upside the head with a backhoe loader!” Instead I have to say, “I apologize if I told you the wrong date of the course, sir.” Even if I told the deaf moron the correct date several times!

Another example of my puppetish disposition: Someone at work asks, “How are you today?” In order for them to leave me alone, I must say “Fine! How are you?” This morning I came in to work feeling shitty and hung over. And what did I say to people when they asked me how I was? Fine!!! I’m such a goddamn liar!

Tonight after work I’m going to buy beer, get on the bus, get off the bus, and walk into my trailer, which may no longer exist by this weekend. My significant other may ask me a question like, “How was your day?”

Then I will tell her, a person whom I love, a bald faced lie.

“Good,” I’ll lie.

Although lying is against one of the many many things the invisible being Who controls hurricanes told us to do thousands of years ago as documented in the Old Testament, my lie about my day is a great service to my darling. The people around me don’t need to hear whining about how terrible my day was.

I’m doing unto her what I would have she do unto me.

9/18/03

It’s tomorrow now, and the wind’s picking up. We’re getting the first little bits of Isabel. It was a clear day yesterday. Then as night came it wasn’t so clear. We may lose our power again. Our alcohol supply is low. I must get more today.

There’s an alcoholic drink called a Hurricane. I believe it originated in New Orleans. I heard dat shit’ll FUCK you up BOYEE. A man named Dream who lives in Los Angeles told us a story about when he was on tour with the Circle Jerks: Keith Morris, the singer of the Circle Jerks, drank several hurricanes before a show in New Orleans. When it came time for him to perform, he was so wasted. He was wasted. He was out of his head so much so that he was unable to do anything but sing the same song over and over.

And here’s the nutty part: The people in the audience LOVED it! You can’t even get people to enjoy music when you are sober and hitting every note any more, because of music videos or something.

I think it would be a funny thing to order a Hurricane at a drinking establishment from a bartender named God. He would make it strong or weak, depending on how good a bartender he is. He’d control the hurricane. Instead of praying to him, you’d give him tips. Tips are extra money you give to waitresses and bartenders. If you tip enough, they will become your friends. If you tip poorly they will treat you like gum on the bottom of a shoe.

That’s exactly the way the invisible man who controls hurricanes works, according to Pat Robertson. It’s all economics. If you close your eyes real hard and say “PULEEEEZE!!! PUHLEEEZZZEE God!” like a little spoiled brat, then God gives you more stuff. God likes shallow people. Look how many he made.

The difference between God and bartenders – God controls everything. We’re his puppets, according to the hilarious Christian Broadcasting Network. Bartenders survive from our tips. God just hears our prayers. Bartenders might still be dicks even after you tip them, but that’s okay, we understand. They work hard and put up with a lot. They suffer because they aren’t supreme beings who control everything.

God might send us to hell or kill us in a hurricane anyway, even if we pray really hard and are good to everyone. And, unlike bartenders, He has the luxury of controlling everything in the universe. If he wanted to give himself 3,183,630,319 penises so he could have sexual intercourse with all the women in the world simultaneously, he could snap his fingers and make it happen. Yet he still gets pissed off enough to let little babies contract cancer and send people to hell to burn forever. If that isn’t the biggest asshole in the universe, I don’t know what is.

I contracted the number 3,183,630,319, the number of people with vaginas in the world, from a website which measures world population - http://www.ibiblio.org/lunarbin/worldpop. That is one half of the world’s population at 11:53 a.m. on Thursday, September 18, 2003. By the time I finish this article, the world’s population will be much greater.

Overpopulation is a problem. People are going around fucking all the time and making babies. China is doing something about it. They made a law where people were only allowed to make one baby. If they make more than one baby, the baby is ground up and marketed in the United States of America as General Tso’s Chicken. General Tso was a general way back in ancient China who build the great wall out of baby bones and deep fried their flesh in butter and orange sauce or duck sauce or whatever that shit is.

Other forces are working to make less people live on the planet. Latex and the Pill are doing something about it. AIDS and cancer are doing something about it. So are earthquakes and floods and hurricanes. It’s a team effort.

I don’t think Hurricane Isabel will do much in the way of curbing overpopulation. It might work wonders for raising the price of insurance. What a bitch.

Good thing my computer screen isn’t facing the window, or she might have seen me calling her a bitch. I’d better not even look up. She might suspect I’m writing something about her.