Saturday, October 02, 2004

Boy-Faced Gremlins

I am the God of Snot!

And while I am a benevolent god, protective of my children, I am also the Lord of the Malignant Encrustation. This is the tool of my wrath and it has been roused this day...

I was making my home from the Sacred Place (where I upload this Web-Bible), when I heard the screaming... the awful high-pitched, knicker-wet chittering of pre-pubescent pop-zombies.

I slowed to identify the man-mediocrities that indulge in this sort of fan-base. But such was the glut of girly-serfs surrounding their tour bus that I stood not a chance of eye-balling my enemy.

For my enemy they were. Anything that inspires pre-teen placards that say “F*CK ME, H*RRY!” fully deserves to have its name etched into the Malignant Encrustation, their days from then on a lonely march to their own Ultimate Doom!

And while I could not see my enemy, I knew them just the same. For nothing escapes the Divine Guile of the God of Snot! And lo, I did discover my enemy in their vanity, for they had sold each of their fans’ parents powder blue t-shirts bearing their mark...

...THE MARK OF MCFLY!

But in their blind groping at the flickering fallacy of fame, the boy-faced gremlins had come upon their nemesis. No, not Busted... ME!

As I waited for my train to arrive, I did discover the full extent of their insidious inspidity. There was a boy – nay, a misguided shade of a boy – stood in the Metro station. And he was wearing a powder blue t-shirt, bearing their mark... right next to his man-parent! I will not call this fool a father, for what father would steep his own son in such corruption?

In my ire, I resolved to punish this man-parent, for it is one thing to be seduced by the Miasma of Mediocrity, it is another entire to force it upon another. I summoned a sufficiently slimy snotling, and whispered my will to it. Then I set it upon the floor of the station and watched it slither toward this man-parent, up his trouser leg, then a couple of seconds later out the top of his own powder blue t-shirt (the cretin!) and into his ear.

He began to stumble toward the edge of the platform, a curious look on his face. Relief, possibly. And there he stood, gazing at the tracks, occasionally turning his head to look for an approaching train. The boy-shade tugged at his man-parent’s arm, but that man-parent was in my thrall now, and nothing would sway him. Or so I thought, until...

“You! Gazing at the tracks on Platform 2... stop it!”

The man-parent glanced up at the voice coming from the loud speaker. ‘Twas a voice I knew... the voice of His Omnipotence, the God of Health and Safety at Work! Damn you, I muttered, as my snotling crawled out of the man-parent’s nose... Damn you and your unreasoning obsession with people not dying!

On the train home (the right one, this time) I consoled myself with thoughts of what the Malignant Encrustation might have in store for McFly. There would be no intervention from His Omnipotence for them. Even He despises boy-faced gremlins... MOCOS!

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