The Second Coming, Maybe

Some folks think they know something even Jesus doesn’t know. I’m talking Second Coming here. In May of 2012, some radio preacher predicted it. Second Coming didn’t happen. The Mayans had predicted it for the following December. It didn’t happen then either.

Jerry Jenkins and Tim LaHaye, author of the Left Behind books, gave it the old college try. Nostradamus said it would be Y2K, and we know what a bust that one was. Pat Robertson predicted 2007. He first thought 1982 was to be the big year, but he re-evaluated. Edgar Cayce and Sun Myung Moon both said 2000.

The astrologer Jean Dixon even put in her two cents. Said it was to be 1962 according to the alignment of the planets. The planets forgot to check with her. They didn’t align properly and we didn’t get the fireworks she promised. She checked her charts again, and lo and behold, it’s supposed to be 2020. These are just a few of the ones who have blown it. And when they blow it, they don’t admit they blew it. Doesn’t this sound a lot like politicians?

No, they’re like software. They give us an update. Unless they do a Jim Jones and drink some Kool-Aid.

Guess the reason Radio Preacher Guy and the others blew it was because they were getting a little impatient. And they had not read Hal Lindsey’s book, “The Late Great Planet Earth”. Old Hal thought he had the road to the Second Coming down pat. He put his guesses in a nice, neat package and wrapped it up with a ribbon. He even gave it a name. Called it his stepping-stones to Jesus. First we get a temple, then we get an Armageddon. Then a Pope named Six-six-six.

The Catholics disagree on that one. The pope of the Second Coming is supposed to be Peter. And named Peter 2. The Mormons added their own take on the Second Coming. Jesus is supposed to set down in Missouri. Seems Hal didn’t check with the Mormons or the Catholics. Never did Radio Preacher Guy, Pat Robertson or Tim LaHaye.

Well, I think it is time I cleared it all up and gave you the real skinny. I have spent many years studying the hieroglyphics of the Book of the Dead Folks and the cuneiforms from the Tower of Babel. That last one turned out to be a lot of talk, talk, talk. I studied the Dead Sea Scrolls. They were a little dusty, so you can’t always trust them. The Nag Hammadi Codices were really not that helpful. It was hard to read what they said was the handwriting on the wall. Turned out it was written on a cave wall in a sandy spot in the desert. Them Gnostics were real kidders, you know.

I read the Vedas and the Tao te ching. Meditated on Mount Nanda Devi and Mount Fuji. Talked to a voodoo priestess. She read the entrails of a chicken for me. Smoked some, well I am not saying what we smoked, but just take my word for it. The Rastafarians know where the good stuff is.

Checked my Aztec calendar and it seemed to be running slow. Finally figured it was running on Aztec Savings Time. And the Aztec god of whatever, big Q, wasn’t talking. He is very upset that everybody took him to be Cortez. Well, he wanted me to let all the good Aztecs everywhere know. He wasn’t Cortez and he’s not taking the rap for Montezuma’s boo-boo.

Besides he’s been working the Star Trek gig and he is not about to give that up yet. He likes the money. He doesn’t have to work too hard. It’s only an occasional appearance he has to make after all.

I prayed at Olympus and checked with the Sibyl at Delphi. The Vestal Virgins only wanted to party. What else can you expect from the toga lobby?

I went through the Bible frontwards and backwards. You have to read it backwards if you’re reading it in Hebrew. Read the the Torah and the Talmud and the Kabbalah too. I studied the Old Testament, the New Testament and the In-Between-Testament. Read what Enoch said and what Adam wrote. I interviewed the lion that was going to eat Daniel. I visited Elijah’s cave and sailed to Patmos and hung out with an old guy who actually hung out with John when he was writing the Book of Revelations. I consulted the stars and I consulted the planets. Even checked with my crystals.

Finally, yes finally, I came up with the time. Not an exact date but a specific time. It was amazing but it made sense. And thanks to your patience I am about to reveal the revealable.

Before I do let you in on the secret, I have to tell you that none but none of those other guys and girls were right. They were all way off the mark.

So when is the Second Coming to be? You are not going to believe this. It will be the day, the exact day, when the White Sox beat the Cubs and win the World Series. That is also the day when hell freezes over.

Politics in America 23: A Coming-to-Jesus Day

You ever have one of those Coming-to-Jesus days? I know I have. It ain’t pretty. That was the kind of day that Big Al Fresco was about to have.

While Big Al was having his huh moment at Campaign Headquarters, Betty Sue Pudding was back in Weazel Sneeze enjoying a bottle of her daddy’s finest. She was dog-tired and that ain’t no lie. All that muffin baking had putt-putted her putter till she couldn’t putt no more.

She kicked back and rewarded herself with a jar of Doctor Pudding’s Own Home Brew. Her daddy had just made a new batch and this was the best she’d ever had. ‘Course she’d think so. When you’re dawg tired, a jar of likker is gonna taste ten times as good as a regular drink. She sat there, thinking good thoughts about herself, about P F, about America, about the Election. Life was good.

About this time, the phone rang. Betty Sue was in such a good mood, she just knew nothing but nothing would break her mood. Until she picked up that phone.

Al Fresco shouted into the phone, “Do you know anything about a Rapture?”

There was one thing Betty Sue knew, and she knew it for sure. Big Al was not a believer. So what in the name of Goof-off Sneaze was he talking about?

“Do you know anything about a Rapture?” the phone shouted at her.

“Big Al, don’t shout pretty please with sugar on it,” she said into the phone. “You’re about to give a girl a headache. On top of that, you’re about to spoil my day. And I was having such a good day.”

Big Al calmed down as much as a feller can calm down when he finds out that Jesus ain’t taking him to the Promised Land. He took a deep breath and said, his voice speaking real softlike, “Do you know anything about a Rapture?”

“‘Course I know about the Rapture,” she said. “What about the Rapture?”

Panic returned to Big Al’s voice. “I think it’s arrived.”

“What are you tawking about?” she said, confused as all get-out.

“Has it happened?” his voice was exhibiting all kinds of impatience. “I checked the front page of the New York Times, the Wall Street Journal, and the Washington Post. I checked Fox News, CNN, MSNBC and CBS News. Not one word.”

“Why would you think it had happened?”

“Well, it seems that all the Campaign Staff have disappeared. So my estimate is that they were raptured. Because they wouldn’t dare not show up for work on Election Day.”

“They’re not there?” Betty Sue asked.

“Not a one.” There was firmness in his voice as if it was true. “Do you know where they are?”

“I do not.”

Betty Sue headed downtown Weazel Sneeze. She pulled the caddy up to the Do Naughty Campaign Headquarters and parked. She went inside. There were campaign workers sprawled everywhere. One looked up at Betty Sue and pathetically said, “My head hurts. And my body does too.” Around the office there were muffin platters everywhere. All the muffins were gone.

Betty Sue realized that they all had gotten stoned and now they were starting to wake up and their heads hurt like crazy. She knew exactly what was going on. “Been there done that,” she thought. But those muffins had caused this? She thought real hard. What had she put in those muffins that would do that? Then she realized. Weazel grass. Geez, why did I do that?

Quicker than quick, and that’s pretty fast, she was back on the phone with Big Al. She explained about the muffins. She hated to do it, but she had no choice.

“There’s only one thing to do,” she said into the phone.

Next Wednesday The Bottle is Mightier Than the Sword