Pox on a Biscuit

Periwinkle Chronicles, tales of the citizens of Periwinkle [because all the other colors were already taken] County:

The Rev. Dr. Randall Nathan, (Retard), which is how they pronounce retired in Periwinkle County, or at least that’s what they tell him, was in his usual booth at Good to the Last Meme Coffee Shop and Paradigm Shift Center with four-year-old Clara Wembley beside him, to keep anyone from sitting with him, lest he lose points in the Hermudgeon of the Year competition, hermudgeon being a conflation of hermit and curmudgeon, Clara’s pre-school teachers not requiring her presence except when it is time for her mother to pick her up, when Dominic Inoe and Elizabeth Rall came in and slipped into the booth across from them.

"What the hell do you think Dom Inoe and Libby Rall want?” Clara asked Dr. Nathan in as quiet a voice as she can muster.

“Hey, why the stage whisper?” asked Libby.

“It was really more like sotto voce,” said Randall.

“They look more like Sacco and Vanzetti,” said Clara, who is familiar with such people because her pre-school teachers, who have doctorates in history and so work in child care, often accuse her of anarchism.

“We need your opinion, Randy preacher,” said Dom Inoe.

“If you must use title and given name together,” said Dr. Nathan, “I prefer Preacher Randy.”

“Irrelevant,” said Libby Rall. “We need a tie breaker. Last night at the Quadrennial Theory Debate at the Persimmon Palace, Dom Inoe espoused his usual theory that any change always leads to a succession of worser things, like if you have public TV that will lead to Sesame Street and that will lead to Communism and then nobody will work.”

“And Libby Rall,” said Dom Inoe, “espoused her usual theory that change always leads to something better, like if you develop plastic bottles eventually you’ll have squeezable pancake batter and women won’t have to cook and they can be on reality shows and send their children to pre-school.”

“But why do you need my opinion?” asked Rev. Nathan.

“The judges couldn’t decide between our theories,” said Dom.

“Yeah, they said they couldn’t decide until anonymous people made 60 second TV documentaries pointing out the flaws in each other’s theories,” said Libby.

“That sounds like one of those shrimp shows on TV I’m not allowed to watch,” said Clara.

“I believe she refers to prawnography,” said the retard preacher. “Clara sometimes gets her diphthongs confused.”

“Hey, you won’t catch me wearing one of those things,” said Clara.

“Perhaps,” said Randall, “neither theory is right. Perhaps each action is discrete, leading to nothing else, and should be judged on its own merits rather than what it might lead to.”

“That’s crazy,” said Libby.

“Yeah,” said Dom. “You follow that theory and we’ll end up with a half-black president.”

“Or a Mormon one,” said Libby.

“Either one would be a disaster,” they said together.

“I suspect your theories are in for a severe challenge,” said Pastor Nathan.

“Why are grown-ups even allowed in those debates?” asked Clara. “Pox on a biscuit.”

“Isn’t that pax vobiscum,” asked Libby and Dom.

“No, I think Clara’s analysis is correct,” said Randall.

Clara raised her hand. “Pox on a biscuit to you all,” she intoned.

***

The similarity between the activities in Periwinkle County and events in other places is rarely coincidental.

 [“Christ in Winter,” Reflections On Faith For People In The Winter Of Their Years, can be found at http://christinwinter.blogspot.com/]

{If you would like to receive PC or CIW by email, let me know at jmcfarland1721@charter.net, and I’ll put you on the list.}

The Frozen Chosen Race

Periwinkle Chronicles, Tales of the Citizens of Periwinkle [because all the other colors were already taken] County:

The Rev. Dr. Randall Nathan, (Retard), which is how they pronounce retired in Periwinkle County, or at least that’s what they tell him, was in his usual booth at Instalube Coffee Shop & Car Spa, with a copy of The Hundred Best Persimmon Pork Rind Recipes on the table in front of him, to keep anyone from sitting with him, lest he lose points in the Hermudgeon of the Year competition, hermudgeon being a conflation of hermit and curmudgeon, when Hyman Perbole, the rabbi of the synagogue of Memphjus, the seat of Periwinkle County, came in and slipped into the booth across from him.

“Oy,” said Hy Perbole. “I feel just like Joshua after he fit the battle of Geritol.”

“I thought that was Jericho where he… uh, fit,” said Randall.

“Oy, vey,” said Hy. “After a battle like that, he needed Geritol, just like me.”

“You’ve had a battle?”

“The worst type of battle, even worse than the synagogue finance committee. It was the Frozen Chosen Race, and it was your nephew, Daniel, who did us in.”

“Oh, yes, I recall that St. John the Catholic Baptist Church challenged the synagogue to a race around Frozen Lake to see who would be the chosen people for the coming year. Daniel said something about running in the race. But I thought he was on your team.”

“Oy, so did we. We didn’t have twelve runners, to represent the twelve tribes of Israel, to counter St. John the Catholic Baptist’s twelve disciples of you know who, but we needed only eleven, because we had to keep one spot open for Elijah in case he showed up to run, but we still had only ten, but your Daniel had a yarmulke from when he sang Sunrise, Sunset at a wedding, which sort of makes him an honorary, and he said he would run for us, representing the tribe of Dan, of course, and we believed him.”

“Didn’t he show up to run?” asked Randall.

“Oy, vey, did he ever run. 40 times around the lake we ran.”

“Oh, to represent the 40 days Israel wandered in the wilderness? Or the 40 days Noah was on the arc?”

“No, we’re American, God bless us. The 40 times around the Frozen Lake represented the 40 days Joseph “The Brigand” Olds wandered in the town of Hope’s Promise looking for a Taco Bell. That’s in the Book of Norman. And your nephew, Daniel, ran so fast that he won the race for us, even though the rest of us ran so slow that we finished in places 14 through 25, counting Elijah, who was dead last. The St. John the Catholic Baptists finished 2 through 13. We’re the damned by God chosen people again for another year, and who wants to be the chosen people? You know what that means—chosen for more suffering. And it’s all your nephew’s fault.”

“Maybe he didn’t understand that he was supposed to run slowly so you could avoid being the chosen people again,” said Randall.

“Oy, vey, it wasn’t really his fault,” said Rabbi Hy Perbole. “We didn’t know his parents were African missionaries and he was raised in Kenya. You know how those people run. Well, at least it should be a help if he runs for president.”

***
The similarity between the activities in Periwinkle County and events in other places is rarely coincidental.

[“Christ in Winter,” Reflections On Faith For People In The Winter Of Their Years, can be found at http://christinwinter.blogspot.com/]