Sailboat Semaphore
The sailboats. They’ve got to be stopped. Every Tuesday night, on the lake in front of my house, there’s a whole armada. Oh, they’re quite clever. They didn’t think anybody could figure it out. But I did.
They’re spelling things. Oh, it’s really hard to tell, because you have to be really high up, and at the right angle. And able to read ancient Hebrew. But they are spelling things. I figured it out.
They’re sending messages to God. They’re telling him that they’re ready for the apocalypse. And, apparently, according to them, which I got on good authority, that’s all God is waiting on – to be asked.
So we’ve got to stop them, because if they are wrong, then they’re making a mockery of all that’s holy. And that just ain’t right. But if they’re right, then maybe we can stall God from killing us all. And if we can stall him long enough, maybe he’ll change his mind.
.... Just One of those days, Due.
Thank you for the fluor ... errrr ... flour engineering yesterday, Day. *w*
Finally, brethren, whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good ...
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