Ramblings from the Desert

The man who trades freedom for security does not deserve nor will he ever receive either. ~Benjamin Franklin

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Location: New Mexico

Author of the urban fantasy novel, The Music of Chaos, and the paranormal romance, The Canvas Thief.

Thursday, March 23, 2006

The Devil In A Korean Piece Of Shit

My commute takes my past a couple of churches, both which are fond of stupid signs. Now there are some cute church signs out there. Like the "Don't Make Me Come Down There Billboards." But the signs at these churches are neither cute nor terribly clever.

For instance one says, "Forbidden Fruits Make the Most Jams." Eh? Boysenberry, perhaps? Plus, the sticky, gooey imagery in combination with "forbidden" is rather naughty.

But my all time favourite stupid sign is this one: "Don't let the Devil in your car. He might want to drive."

Okay so first, this makes me think of those signs you see on highways that run by prisons. "Don't pick up hitchhikers." So I start looking around for a crimson-skinned hitchhiker with a bifurcated tail. Next, I think just how silly the sign is. If the Devil wants to drive, it's just desserts for all the infernal traffic construction perpetrated in his name. Let him deal with the delays and irritations.

I start to imagine how a conversation with the Devil--him in the passenger seat--might go:

"Okay. Fess up," I say. "George W. Bush. Is he your guy or..." I point toward the sky, "the Big Guy's?"

The Devil pulls a face. "'The Big Guy?' What does that make me? The Little Guy?"

Whoops, cheesed-off evil deity. Fix it Kirby, fast. "Uh, I thought you were The Guy Downstairs."

"Big Guy Downstairs," he corrects. "I like that. Has some nice sexual innuendo."

"George W. Bush?" I remind gently, steering him back on topic.

He grins, flashing some really nice white teeth. Hell has a great dental plan. "Mine all mine."

I hit the steering wheel with my fists. "I knew it!"

He leans toward me and I get a whiff of brimstone. "Get this. I told Dubya I was You Know Who." He gestures skyward with a long red finger. "And he bought it. Hook, line and sinker."

"Oh, God," I say.

"Dammit!" The Devil claps his hands to his ears. "Don't use His name in vain."

"Oh, sorry." I look ahead and see a tiny forest of orange traffic cones approaching. "Would you like to drive?"

"I thought you'd never ask."

My mom's coming up for a visit tomorrow, so I'm dousing the carpets with Carpet Fresh, pet formula. I debating going straight to the source and dumping some on the dogs. The Rat Dog is snuggled up in her little bed, oblivious to horror awaiting her. She's getting a bath.

Friday is near.


Graphics and Content Copyright © Patricia Kirby 2005