Wednesday, May 20, 2015

Bad Spell, an Underfable



     Bad Spell

          Once upon a time, a zealous Cockroach skittered up to an I-phone and scritched out this email to some secular Soldiers:

          Hay you luzrz!!!!!!! Stop makin trubble 4 us holy folk!
          Whats this bout seprashun uv church & state? There aint no seprashun uv church & state; I kno cuz I reddit on teh Internets. Me and any other theocrat agrees that sum kinda Lord oughta run teh gummint; which spissific Lord we’ll figger out later, mine uv corse haha.
          So fork U 4 blockin churchs power 2 forse relijus indoktrinashun on sojers. Also 2 grab summa them $weet gummint $ub$ideez 4 travelin & caterin & consultin & whatnot. Whats relijun 4 but 2 get stuff 4 free?
          ’Sides, MY Lord reely IS teh 1 troo Lord uv sojers. That’s cuz war is Hell, & He is Lord uv Hell.
          So U betta stop yur lawsoots or else my luvin Lord, in His holy h8, will send U 2 teh Other Place, 2 freez on icy cloud-tops & wear lame-o robes, sandulls & halos & strum on untoond harps & sing kiss-ass jive 2 that commie hippy peacenik do-gooder kike & all his spic cunt faggot beggar nigger saints, 4EVA & EVA & EVA. Meenwile me & my best frenemies will be down deep, toasty warm, throwin a PARTEEE!
          HALE SEITAN!

          The Cockroach clicked ‘send’, and scurried down the table-leg to the floor; but before he reached safety, a Human stepped on him.
          His indestructible cockroach soul instantly teleported to the throne-room of Hell. He chittered, “Lord, I did it! I sent the email you asked! To those troublemaking secular soldiers! Didn’t I do good?”
          Satan closed his eyes, accessed files, then said, “Ah, yes, that email.” He opened his eyes. “No, vermin, you did not ‘do good’.”
          “W-what did I do wrong?”
          Satan said, “Take the first three words. Only two were misspelled! Why not all three? You failed to use a capital U for y-o-u!”
          “I forgot! I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”
          Don’t grovel!” Satan raged. “You know I don’t like groveling! And what’s with those multiple exclamation points? Only seven?  Didn’t I directly order you to use thirteen?
          “B-but the main text, Lord! Its smugness, illogic, greed and hate!”
          Barely adequate,” Satan said, teeth gritted. “And you flirt with honesty! Which is against Company policy! And worst of all…”
          “…yes?”
          “The ending. Hale Seitan. H-A-L-E! S-E-I-T-A-N! What, am I healthy wheat gluten?
          “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”
          You cringing idiot!” Satan rose from his throne and pointed his left arm straight at the former Cockroach. His fist was clenched, his middle finger extended. He intoned, “For your incompetence, I hereby devolve you to an even lower life form!
          He shot a lightning bolt out of his middle finger: ZOTZ!
          The former Cockroach groaned and said, “Where am I? What am I?” He looked down and saw two arms, two legs, a business suit and Guccis. He looked around and saw studio lights, TV cameras, choir and audience. A banner on the wall read Dominion Gospel Hour. He looked at his hands; his right hand held a microphone, and his left wrist bore an oversized gold-plated diamond-studded wristwatch.
          The former Cockroach wailed, “Oh no! I’m a Televangelist!

          Moral: Haters will prate.

          Comment: This Underfable emphasizes the importance of correct spelling. It is dedicated to Bonnie and Mikey Weinstein, founders of the Military Religious Freedom Foundation, discoverers of a nest of Dominionist theocrats in America’s armed forces. They are true heroes of the Republic, if only for reading through hate mail spelled even worse than what’s here.
          The Cockroach was twice almost honest, in the last sentences of the second and third paragraphs of his email. I leave evaluating the fourth paragraph to theologians and soldiers. His threat of Heaven is as convincing, and in a similar spirit, as a televangelist’s threat of Hell. His cascade of vile slurs climaxes with ‘saints’.

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