Generic Short Title
ello...this is a test.
This is a test of the emergency broadcast system.
This is only a test.
If this had been a real emergency, you would have probably been outside pointing at the alien spaceships landing in your neighbor's front yard. Your dog would leap at the cosmic visitors and be dematerialized by a green laser ray shot from the alien's eyes. Poof!
But this is not an actual emergency. It's just another way of filling dead air time that this network didn't, or couldn't, sell to advertisers. There used to be three channels on television and three good shows in each time slot. Now there are three hundred channels on television and zero good shows in each time slot. Mankind is advancing?
Another question: What does this have to do with the story?
Nothing. Think about reality for a moment. Does everything that happens to you have a sort of cosmic connection to everything else? Life is like a puzzle-but you only hold six or seven pieces. To get more pieces, you go out and meet friends and get married; but none of this matters because the cat stole half of the pieces and kicked them under the refrigerator.
Walter Jenkins and the Pope ate cucumber sandwiches and played cards every Saturday night, as was tradition in their slowly fading working class neighborhood. Walter usually lost though, because the Pope had God on his side.
"He sets the deck!" claimed Walter.
"Let's just play, okay?"
"Okay."
The Pope dealt Walter three sixes, a queen, and the ace of spades.
"Hey," said the Pope, "Is the game on? Turn it on, would ya?" Henry did.
The television buzzed in the background as the two men played their hands. The Pope won.
"I thought you had a dog, Walter," the Pope asked arranging his cards.
"I did, but he was dematerialized by the aliens."
"Ah yes, that's right."
"Pope," began Walter. "Could I get you to do a favor for me?"
"Sure Walter."
"See, the thing is I need you to talk to God for me."
"I see. But Walter, anyone can talk to God. Have you ever talked with God?"
"Well, several years ago I began to hear his voice in me. I though he spoke to me. Then the doctors just said I was a schizophrenic-you know, hearing voices and all."
"I see," said the Pope. "I can talk to him for you, Walter. No problem."
"Great," exclaimed Walter.
They played another hand. Full house for the Pope and a pair of sixes for Walter.
Walter asked, "Do you take credit cards?"
"No, sorry."
"Who do I make the check out to?"
"Oh, just make it out to me," said the Pope. "I'll talk to God for you once the check clears."
Back to the archive 
Return to.... SSC