Mike and James with a New Radio Show on Saturday!

Dodge Intrepid and the Pages of Time

The Hunt for the Tome of Fire

Saturday, July 28th

7:00pm - 9:00pm

Cafe Kolache

402 3rd St., Beaver PA

Listen to the trailer

Listen to the prelude (Dodge: I.L.L.)

Wilson and Duncan, Bradley and Merman, Pappy and Me

Well, Wilson and Duncan just paid me a visit. You can only pivot and parry so many times before the knuckles of a Mormon gallop on you door.
I was snoozing to the tune of E True Hollywood Story: The Curse of Poltergiest when I was spurred. Remember the scene in Poltergiest 2 when the creepy reverend who resembles Tom Petty circa 2007 waxes prophetic seeking entry into the Freeling household? Coincidentally, just as we learned in history class in 5th grade, crappy scenes in dull Hollywood movie were about to repeat.
Wiping boogies from my eyes allowed focus on two profound dolts in matching pedophile ties and enough khakis to gorilla slam khakis itself. I thought it was Halloween.
"Sorry we woke you."
"I gave my last Kit-Kat to the Safari hunter who sped off in the brown elephant."
"That was the UPS guy."
"Oh. What do you two want?"
"We are Mormon Elders Wilson and Duncan."
"Wilson and Duncan, the conjoined whistling trapeze twins ?"
"No sir, we have come to preach the good news about the Restoration of Jesus, and The Book of Mormon."
"The Book of Merman! I'd love to read an autobiography written by underwater overlord of Eternia."
"No, we are Mormon's, I've sure you'd heard about us."
"Shawn Bradley was a Mormon, He was like a 7'7'' white guy who played for the Mavericks. Is he Jesus?"
According to Wilson and Duncan, Shawn Bradley is definitely not our Lord and Savior; apparently 3.4 blocked shots a game does not even qualify one to be a disciple, besides a disciple of the facial. However, Wilson and Duncan conduct a well-rehearsed seminar concerning the real Jesus' re-emergence in the Native American community (remember the Indian in Poltergiest 2 who played Chief Broomstick in One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest?...huh?) and subsequent revealing to John Smith who sought asylum amongst the dense vegetation of the forest from undersexed pilgrim women whose fingers were calloused from husking corn.
Wilson and Duncan were deliberate and articulate, describing a humbled John Smith in the presence of the ghostly yet awesome images of both Jesus and the Father perched on the highest branches of a towering hemlock. They paused and incited inquiry.
"Why would Shawn Bradley and Merman leave the paint and Snake Mountain respectively to visit a guy with the most common name of any White Angelo-Saxon Male? Can Shawn Bradley dunk on the Space Needle? Do Mer-men live in the watersheds of MY community?"
"The anointed John Smith can throw-down nasty on the skyscrapers' of mankind's immorality." This shambled on for a tick until they settled on probing me for personal tidbits.

Eventually they asked me how I earned my penny and I told them I mediated child support conferences between Mom and Dad for the Allegheny County Court of Common Pleas. "I bring the mother and the father into my cubicle with the best intentions. Sometimes I can manipulate a civil agreement between parties, but most times they tickle me by playing leap-frog using ill-tempered shouts, followed by the occasional pit-fight between parental prize-fighters in which case sheriffs have to intervene or parties are either escorted into the waiting area or chastised, and often the debacle spikes." Duncan shed light, "Must be entertaining."
That's it! I do everyday at work what God must be doing in the clouds. Okay, I will refer to God as Pappy, since God is our father, or something. In my most earnest summation, Pappy invites us into his cubicle everyday in the best interest of fair-play and mutual tidings. However, a gross majority of these invites lead to foreign objects in the tights, off-limit eye gouges, head-fake then cock-punch, foot-on-the-ropes while you are pinning a guy, bell shot to the back of the skull, foul play. And Pappy must be simply blowing Dr. Thunder out his nose and making little squirty crap tracks in his tunic because it's that entertaining. But sooner or later Pappy's nose will be too seared or pants will be too soiled, and he'll fumble for the panic button.
Like George Bush famously thinks to himself every night, "I can get closer to god by climbing the bodies."

I'm not quite converting my swimming pool into a fallout shelter yet, Wilson and Duncan will have us all crapping our pants for a long time.