Oh Lord - Scroll Three
(July 2022 earth calendar)
‘Since we last spoke father, the apostles unearthed some extraordinary developments.’
‘Goodness, now what?’ Replied The Lord.
‘Well, I touched earlier on the batty pandemic we unleashed. Henceforth, for brevity I shall refer to it as the
bat-demic. The hysteria galloped round the globe faster than one of those nasty little satellite things they sent into space. Incidentally, they were going to call the very first satellite 'Spunk It' before we managed get one of our minions to infiltrate their programme. Thankfully, she managed to persuade them to change the name. We really didn’t want something with a name like that hurtling around the universe.
Anyhow, we wondered how they would cope in the longer term when we sent them a health glitch. After all, it was just a variant of one of the thousand other viruses we had sent. We didn’t expect too much reaction. However, further information about how they handled it has been unearthed. Forgive the pun.
The logical thing to have done was to get themselves healthy and look after the older specimens, especially those with various conditions or diseases. Instead, they gathered together a group of the greediest, most unpleasant people they could find and told them to engineer an expensive solution. What did they come up with? A never-ending series of injections that’s what. Untested, previously unknown, new technology that didn’t even work. In fact, they appear to cause more problems than they solve. Honestly, you couldn’t make it up!
On all the planets we’re monitoring this is probably the most bizarre behaviour we’ve ever seen. Except Xion 32 of course which blew itself up trying to invent a food processor. Remember that?’
‘I do indeed.’ Said The Lord. ‘What a shambles that was. Chicken liver all over the cosmos.’
‘Mind you, it shows how technologically advanced the Xionites are. The earthlings couldn’t even make a dent in their planet with their biggest bombs. Not yet at least.’
‘There’s now’t more peculiar than inhabitants.’ Said God the Father, knowingly.
‘Aye, you can say tha again.’
Jesus sighed and shook his head before smiling and continuing.
‘Just this morning we’ve received extraordinary footage from earth showing thousands and thousands of humans walking around bleeding steadily from all the pricks they’ve received. If that wasn’t bad enough, they trying to disguise themselves by wearing netting-type things on their faces. We can only assume that they are hoping to remain incognito through sheer embarrassment. The face-wear certainly serves no other purpose.
Overall though, it does appear that the pandemic is slowing and the furore dying down a bit, though it’s no thanks to their earthly interventions. The problem is that there are a minority of earthlings, perhaps as few as three percent, intent on maintaining chaos. It’s amazing how few people you need to influence everyone else. It appears that if they shout loud enough, a section of the most gormless even glue themselves to roads as a protest. Quite what lying in a pothole is going to achive is anybody's guess.
Seems they’ve now started a campaign to try and change the weather. Of course, we built temperature fluctuations into their long-term plan, to see how they would cope with change. In addition of course, these climatic changes shuffle the other animal and insect species balance, makes it all a bit more interesting for us watching.
Turns out these activists, who are opportunists at the end of the day with little better to do with their time, have jumped on the latest minimal temperature increase to see if they can create a state of fear and panic.
They are being led by a root vegetable from an area called Scandinavia. She’s an impressionable, peculiar-looking creature who’s been persuaded to stand in front of crowds and shriek. What we can ascertain is that one mouthpiece yelling loudly enough can encourage others into following the message. Particularly if there are enough present who are a) gullible enough to believe anything or b) who refuse to listen to any sensible counter-argument.
It's been quite amusing really. We chose a region containing some of the most moronic individuals and just for devilment turned up the wick for a few days to see what reaction we might get. It’s a collection of badly-matched ethnic groups called, quite incomprehensively, United Kingdom. You’ve never seen such a manic over-reaction in your life. Just about the whole place ground to a stop and they sat inside their huts watching endless televisual repeats. Every other piece of news was put on the back-burner (to coin a phrase) as the propaganda machine they call the media went into meltdown and blamed the blip in the weather for all sorts of bizarre events. Even when somebody set fire to a house they blamed it on the weather.
Of course, this was manna from heaven (literally) for the climate lunatics. They claimed that because an old man in Bournemouth (called Arthur) was using his gas boiler to have a shower the country was suddenly sizzling. It was termed by the climate zealots as Arthur’s Indiscretion - more evidence that the selfish old gits are wilfully destroying not only their own retirement funds, but more importantly, the entire planet.
One theme that madam root vegetable wails about repeatedly, with her face scrunched up like an un-ironed vest, is that people like Arthur have stolen her future. Frankly, me and the Apostles are slightly non-plussed about this allegation and do consider it to be somewhat of an over-reaction. There are patently lots of honest people who don’t steal anything. When we investigated, one of the scribes found the following:
Not far to the south of where the root vegetable howls and wails there’s a place called the Menen Gate. It’s on the site of one of their fierce historical battles. Thousands upon thousands of people died fighting for control of a desolate patch of mud. The Menen Gate monument is the final resting place of nearly fifty-five thousand people who died in the battle. Every year many more thousands come to see the memorial. We found that, without exception, not a single visitor believes that those remembered in the memorial stole anything from anybody, ever. In fact, they appear quite resentful of the accusation.
The spirits of those who died look down with sorrow. They wonder if the present generation understands the sacrifice they made. But wondering is all they have. Because they are no longer earthly, they cannot respond. They do understand that the vegetable believes she is fighting her own battle, but question if it’s really the right one.
OK father, so as not end on too serious a note let me tell you about one consequence of this batdemic that brought smile to the Apostles’ faces. It concerns dogs. Remember they made all kinds of incredibly restricting rules at the beginning? Particularly about going out in public. Well, one of the dafter variations was that you could only walk out with a dog, and no more than two people together at a time.
Back then not that many people owned dogs, so the rule initially seemed a little unfair to those without. But humans proved resourceful if nothing else. They started a bizarre dog-share scheme where people could borrow (or lease) a dog for the duration of a walk. Sometimes this was not that far it has to be said, largely because many people hadn’t actually walked with any purpose for decades. Now, suddenly allowed out for fresh air by the establishment’s outdoor benevolence, they grabbed a dog and off they went.
The problem was for the poor dogs. We used to see the same dog go round and round a circuit, each time with different people. Initially, the dog was spry and full of beans but as the day wore on it turned into more of a drag than a walk. Having completed one daily marathon, one hound of literary bent coined the phrase, ‘kennel fire, I’m knackered’.
The dogs revolted and things changed. People started to see profit in dog ownership, not only from an exercise perspective but also renting them out. In fact, pre bat-demic people used to pay for someone to walk their dog, now they could rent them out. They would never make an actual profit because the price of these animals rocketed.
So now, rather than one dog between twenty people, it was a dog each. But of course, this explosion of dogs had to be trained, often by people who had no experience with them at all. Karen and her super-internet-highway came in useful here offering coaching advice. Unfortunately, anybody can add to Karen’s info-drivel so some of the advice was spurious at best. More often than not advertisements were placed in local shop windows seeking dogs that had refused to answer to the name of Chardonnay and set off over the horizon.
Anyhow, that’s it for now Father. I hope that has been useful.’
‘Thank you son, that was very informative. Perhaps Mother Mary can sell her pharmaceutical shares and re-invest in dog-training academies? Or a canine taxi service perhaps, to ferry dogs to their training centres – Bark and Ride they could call it.’
‘Good one Father.’ Jesus smiled fondly at the old man. ‘Well, I’m off to see if I can get this three-iron to behave. I’ll see you later. It's most frustrating. I can walk on water, but hit a three iron straight - no chance.’
‘Good luck. Bye son.’
© Marcus Cicero July 2022