Wednesday, July 19, 2006

The Bible II: The Adventure Continues




THE NEW OLD TESTAMENT

The Book of GENESIS, Chapter Two (The Phil Collins Years)


Wherin WULAD's heaven-sent re-imagineering of thy favorite source of childhood nightmares continueth, as the Garden of Eden turns into a swingin' primordial bachelor pad, whilst the First Man asks for some company but gets A LITTLE MORE THAN HE BARGAINED FOR, with Godlarious results!

When last we spake, the Lord God Most High and Salesman of the Year at the Great Datsun Dealership in the Sky had recently crafted a not particularly distinguished pile of cat vomit into a nice Jewish boy named Adam, who happened to be the originator of your species and actual inventor of the Fosbury Flop (history books be damned). You’ll remember that Adam’s last name was Arkin, but the tB:ii:hB legal team has advised us that perhaps a different divinely-inspired name would be better... so, verily, spaketh the Lord:

Forget that part where I named you Adam Arkin. Your real name is, and always has been, Adam Ant.

Meanwhile, Adam still lay recently-formed in a puddle of his own steaming schmutz, his brand-spankin’-new synapses just beginning to assess his surroundings, which, he thought, didn’t look like much of an improvement on the form and void.

“Lord,” said Adam as he began to clean the schmutz off himself with some primitive Sani-Wipes, “you remember the bathroom at CBGBs in the 70s? This place is worse.”

The Lord let Adam’s anachronistic comparison slide and focused on the sentiment, which He had to admit was justified. So, after some knuckle-cracking (which, incidentally, is where black holes come from), the Lord sayeth...

Let this place be nicer than the can at CBGBs, but not so nice that Adam gets all high on the sacrificial hog, like he owns the place.

And with a flash, Adam was surrounded by a wicked awesome garden, complete with a kickass patio, a rockin’ gazebo, a sweet Weber gas grill, a pool/Jacuzzi combo, free weekly delivery of organic fruits and vegetables but no peppers which give him gas, and a home entertainment center stocked with the first three seasons of “24.” Adam was so pleased he schmutzed himself again, and shouted Highlandishly, “You’re the man now, God!”

Pausing to settle into his La-Z-Boy recliner, Adam popped open a bag of delicious Bugles® and said plaintively, “the thing is, Big Guy, I sort of wish I had somebody to share this killer pad with, you know? I mean somebody with a body--no offense.”

God tapped His imaginary temple, and reasoning that He’d gone about as far as He could with the cat-vomit sculpture medium, started to brainstorm (which, incidentally, is where meteor showers come from) about a better way to create sentient beings. Play-Doh? Sculpy? Shrinky-Dink?

Ah ha! shouteth the Lord, and snapped His fingers (and somewhere, a solar system was destroyed). He reached down into Adam’s torso, pushed aside some partially-digested Bugles, and yanked out a rib, which Adam would later describe as the “worst pain of my life, until I had to pass a kidney stone in under two minutes in the bathroom at LaGuardia so I could catch my flight which proceeded to sit on the freaking tarmac for three hours.” (God would later admit in group therapy that this was in retribution for Adam's calling Him a “c*cks*cker” after a bad day at the track.)

The Lord, meanwhile, using His holy whizbangs, morphed Adam’s gooey, schmutz-dripping rib into a 5’7”, 36-26-36 stack of smokin’ she-goodness, most likely inspired by a certain lingerie catalog He had been stealing from the mailbox and stashing under his bed since the age of 14 (million). God’s eyes--not like the craft project you made in art class with the sticks and yarn--promptly shot clear out of His head, which had temporarily turned into that of a whistling cartoon wolf. (This resulted in the total destruction of several small galaxy clusters.)

I dub thee, sayeth the Lord, EVE.

Eve looked at the sky and cocked her head saucily. “Oh, you dub me, do you? Did I axe you for a name? Maybe I already got a name. Which you would know if you axed me first, which you didn’t, but I’ll overlook that, and you lucky ‘cuz my name happens to be Eve. You’re welcome.”

After hearing this, Adam started to think he maybe had someplace to be, and told God and Eve he would catch them later, as he was going to look at some swatches for a new color scheme for the gazebo.

Meanwhile, Eve fixed herself a Fuzzy Navel and settled into the La-Z-Boy, just in time for the beginning of a “Surviving Nugent” marathon. The Lord took advantage of the lull in the conversation to whip up some cosmological constants and a glass of Strawberry Quik®. Here endeth Chapter Two, brought to you by our sponsors, who remind you...

"To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heavens;
a time to
Crunch, a time to Munch;
a time to
Just Do It, a time to Do the Dew;
a time to
Eat Fresh, a time to Think Outside the Bun;
a time to
Make Friends with Your Fast, and a time to Where You At?"
Until next time...