computer problems....

have kept me writing at home all week by hand in soiled notepads. Weird writing by hand instead of seeing the sentences coming together on a screen. I guess they think it will be done tommor. .. a day which I will be too busy to come back.




















You are welcome to spread my poems by whatever means... they are yours... unless you make some money off of me and then I would like some. Is that too much to ask? No. I have a family, too;.

THE LOST AND FOUND

Weary warriors wante into a twilight of slogans
they are the believers
convinced combatants
drafted into a dream young
raised in the propoganda of violent cartoons

drawn along through video games
that reward virtue and deciet
as equally as our urges

the games make sense of a world

where if u do good you are rewarded
there...
in the game...
in a stoner's dream of an fternoon
spent lazily hitting buttons on a controller

GOD himself has shone a spotligt
on hi s son
sets him up at the middle of the world stage

now the only light I feel are the search lights
of solders and spies and scientists
seeking thru the forest of my mind
for any of the deities thoughts
that have eluded them

I have only to wave my wand
tomake the world's leaders disappear
into the secret pits of bodies
that hide the shames of history

my privations are part of my sentince
in a country of plenty I have enough
I have plenty
enough to walk in my parade of one

I go over all the faces of thepeople who KNOW ABOUT ME
marvel at the cone of silence
they envelop
me within

tell myself many have sacrificed more than I
in my name
paid the ultimate coste to march in this parade

read in the New Yorker about the american jihadist

spewing the spittle of his rage rants
cursing the unfairness of his world
this time around the object of his hate is 'infidils.'

a war between warriors
who believe they are sending
their enemies to hell
& destined to watch tehir own dead
be welcomed by the glorious arms of God

such a convienant message
for the generals to send down through the uneducated soldiers

another easily digested myth
that makes sense
within these stories of lies
we are all weaned on
whether it be christ or allah or buddha or the sanity of our shrink

you can break out of the mold

YOU MUST IF WE ARE TO FORGE NEW MOLDS

NEW WAYS FOR THE CHILDREN TO BE

free of the hateful propoganda of the enemies
free of the old ways of seeing the world as black and white/up and down
good and bannned/blessed and cursed....

I AM A PRAXIS
for plan within plan

a Russion doll that slowly changes
from one visage to the next

the point of change
the hole in the universe
the man inblack who hides in teh shadows of culture
whispering sermons on the downlow
words you are not even sure you heard
which your Holy Ghost takes to heart as gospel

THESE ARE THE WORDS THAT CHANGE YOU

FLIP SWITCHES IN YOUR MIND
SEND ELECTRIC IMPULSES INTO PARTS OF YOUR MINDLONG FORGOTTEN

A SPLIT SECOND CONVERSION....

oh how that dream used to play in my mind

I prayed to be struck down
by the holy ghost
to find myself foaming at the mouth
shaking and screaming that the Lord Is Within me

I was not raised to accept such possession...

science has taken the rituals of conversion
and reduces tehm to bait
to sell the next product

words convert over the years
200 years ago our Enlgish would be barely understood
would blow their mind/keep them hidden away from the obvious signs
that all they knew is dead

I am from this past/// though more immense than you can imagine
I see cemetaries on planets humans could not pronounce

I was swept up into my curiousity
stumbling thru life tripping on famalier objects
running from curio to curion
anything to get me outside of the flesh and its awesome secret

the story traps my flesh
in the public eye forever

there isno backing away from God
not by me... never again

HE WHO CREATED ALL

laughs at rebellion
likes the revolutionary spirit
that gives thehumans
ways of re-invenint themselves over and over
into dreamed up of beins

HE ON HIGH CREATED DIVERSITY

HE ON HIGHT
WILL NEVER ALLOW MAN TO KIL HIS BELOVED CREATION

you will change

startsin america
the imae of Barak Obama
will be beloved
where Bush was hated

a cosmetic change or....

DEPENDS ON HOW HARD WE PUSH


the PEOPLE will be heard under Obama

not the rich few
not the hidden cabals pulling societal changes
that act as pied pipers
to the mindless masses
not those few who control the morst media


NO THE CHANGE WILL COME

I AM THE PRAXIS
THAT FULLFILLS THE PROPHEcies
watch as the being grows ALMIGHTY!!!!!

feel the floods, tornados, hurricanes... the malaise that comes with ignoring me

there is a door that I could walk thru...
a tear in the movie screen
that will allow me to see byond the 4th wall
to where I will stand with those who worshipped me from afar

I can barely consder the day
that I will walk into a room
wehere no one denies me
& we talk deity to human

the demonic lie of secrecy
not longer is needed as a security measure

the games they play on my head
are meant to keep me in check
perhaps they are trying to quiet me
saying anyting aloud in tis wolrd of means the scribes take down my ever utterance

my god
the manpower to pull of this
eclipse of a modern city
by the shadow of a rising diety
thrown down into a worthless silence

the secret on the shores of lake michigan....


ALL IS FORGIVEN....

at fearless radio they would only play two of my poems
one screaming about enraged warriros
who hav returned from world wide wars
to find theclergy they entrusted them children ....

"WE WILL NOT FORVIGE THE PIRENS FOR MOLESTING OUR CHILDREN
WHILE WE FOUGHTYOUR WORLD WIDE WARS"

FORVIVEN EVERYONE...


THIS i meant in the eyes of God
not man...

Man does not forgive likea God
man feels the stings of pain
that are nothiong to a God
yet accumulate in man like radioactivepellets
slowly conjouring cancer

seek the wise and powerful voices of your scripture
for the words of the masked god
playing another part suiting for steering primitive cultures
the infinite complexities of a god...

a a god too far awy from being a man or woman
for his son to even care about his venacular


I remember a church from teh future
see myself standingbehind a pew
spreading white light into my congreataion
that sines so bright the entires worlds sees
that a torch has beenlit in the spirital night

a hand has becconed you intot he dark netherworld
beyond teh easy lies of the day to day
whisperingof what goes on behind the act we play
in teh places where we are truly alone

seperated from our houses, cars, job
all accolades and hatreds turn to dust

i am her to tell you the time has come
TO AWAKEN
FROM YOU SCIENCE FICTION DREAMS
OF gods and monsters and angels

change your minds just enough to look for saints,ministers and angels

see them rising and falling, risen and fallen
they rise and fall all teh time depending on where they are needed

for all enternity
souls slowly being forged
humbled
shaped into creatures pleaceing to Go

creatures that can peacefully enter the heavens
without ufo' approaching to knock down or towers of bible

They aliens could reduce humans back intot he dark ages
taek away all signs that you even existed
patiently as the slowly grinding of the tuetonic plates
to turn you and yours to dust

they could
take away our ability to transfer knowledge from one generation
to another
leave your young in the pits of violence and superstition
three hundreds years tops
and no one would know what to do with the sanitation department

the diseases would run rampant
life spans shrink back to thirty
stopping the fermentation of contemplation that comes with age

can't worry about what I seein the skies
have ti kep my mindon my life nough
to prove worthy of this gift
I am frodo after the ring has been tossedinto the fire
as I journeyed further and further along the seemingly endles
trak to the forces that could meltthe ring

ther temptations of greateness
tried to to try to impose my vision on all
... whoever died be damned

HOW FAR I HAVE STRAYED

from the Indiana boy
who started on this trek without a knowledge of the violence within


Behind the curtain of this fleshthe production practices
various endings....

from apocolypse to peacetrying to fit their
moods and presumpstions
into the words they'll recite
when the audience is finally let in on the secret

my old tv partner is sparking up a movie deal

Switching glass for celluloid


Toledo native C.J. Bahnsen turns screenplay writer with film titled "Put-in-Bay"
Toledo native moviemakers hope 'Put-in-Bay' film takes off

by Rick Claypool

published May 23rd 2007

What are the chances? Two Toledoans, a pair of St. Francis de Sales alumni who graduated four years apart yet never met one another, get swept up in the star-studded world of Hollywood filmmaking. Producer Kevin Cooper, executive producer of the praised 2003 film “Secondhand Lions,” starring Michael Caine and Robert Duvall, met Chris Bahnsen, a freelance writer for the O.C. Weekly and contributor to the LA Times and New York Times (and Toledo City Paper editor in 2000) on the front lines of the pop culture heartland.

Think they’d turn their backs on their hometown and never look back? Think again. Bahnsen wrote a screenplay titled “Put-in-Bay,” set on South Bass Island and Toledo. Cooper nurtured the project as creative producer. Now they’re working hard to attract a director, actors and investors, hoping they’ll be able to shoot the film in the Midwestern city they’ve called home.

“I always wanted to do a story about Toledo,” said Bahnsen, a graduate of the University of Toledo’s English program. “And I’ve always had a thing for Put-in-Bay. I didn’t appreciate living on the water — the Ottawa River, the Maumee, Lake Erie — until I moved to California. I could have set the story at the ocean, but I really wanted to write a fresh-water story.” Today, Bahnsen, a regular contributor to Diving Magazine, is obsessed with all things aquatic.

Though it’s Bahnsen’s first venture into screenplay writing, freelancing has offered him ample opportunity to live through story-worthy experiences. A prime example: swimming in a shark cage. “I did a travel piece at Guadalupe Island, 120 miles south of Baja California. It’s a great white shark haven. You’re breathing through this hooka, and the claustrophobia from being in a cage under water can get to you even before the sharks arrive.”

In “Put-In-Bay,” an overly amorous fresh-water surfer named Bobby leaves his parents behind on mainland Toledo to goof off and live with his estranged grandfather on South Bass Island. There, he falls for a tough-as-nails beauty and fish farmer named Maricruz.

Bobby pursues her while working for his grandfather’s fishing business — hardly goof-off time. In the process, he gets swept up in the fight to preserve the business, which is threatened by a greedy mayor eager to “develop” the quaint island into a resort destination for the wealthy.

“This screenplay is part ‘Fast Times at Ridgemont High,’ part ‘Breaking Away’ and part ‘Flamingo Kid,’” said Cooper.

“I was particularly drawn to Chris’ writing and similar passion to make a film about growing up in northwest Ohio.”

Without local support, Cooper said a studio might try to shoot it more cheaply at “some lake in Saskatchewan.” The producer estimates the budget will be less than $1 million, and he plans to scout the Put-in-Bay islands for shot locations this summer.

Still, a long time may pass before filming begins. “A project like this can take 10 years to develop,” said Cooper, who is actively seeking local investors. “One of our biggest concerns is not only to make a great story, but to give something back to the community.”

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comment left by Pamela Crabtree on May 26th 2007 at 07:21pm:
I truly believe these two local gentlemen can find a company to film this treatment. Both are to be commended for their loyalty to the hometown area.

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You are welcome to spread my poems by whatever means... they are yours... unless you make some money off of me and then I would like some. Is that too much to ask? No. I have a family, too;.

day to day Jesus

what am i supposed to write about?

should I be pointing at something?

should I whisper or shout?



i read in horror of brain washing techniques used in the cults
religion becomes just another predator/a competing show

a salesman who only loves you when he's selling



I worry all the time
how could i not


reading over 22 thousand people have perished in a storm
in a dictator country that isn't even together enough
to accept humanitarian aide

what the hell is wrong with this picture?
The PEOPLE NEED TO BE THE LOUDEST VOICE

the children must be given the right words to whisper
to conjour love and religion without losing sight of themselves






scamatologists
want you to lose sight of yourself
pretend you can become a super being

I am the only 'super being' that I have met on this planet


I am the revealed truth


I understand people need a framework to live within
a religion of sorts
some transcendent truths that make sense of the randomaness of muggins
and hurricanes and whose government you happen to have
accidently been born into

Every one fears a one world government

I would like to see one world ethic...

on the simple matters we all agree

peace is better than war
justice is better than peace


I am the revolution

the walk of peace
the deity riding in on an ass

this ass I have been in my days
the faulted one
acting the idiot
struggling though always to grow
into something better

years and years of therapy
sitting in twelve steps groups for decades

I am thankful I learned that drinking sucks
I am thankful I did not smoke weed while I was going to school

I have always been all or nothing.



I wander now through this shell of a life
wondering how this is all going to end


will I just grow and grow quietly inside
until finally I explode out into the spirit?

Is the planet just headed toward the inevitable
the lifelessness that happens now and again on planets
turns edens to cold, dead mars?

I speculate like this all the time... do the what if this is true?

The truth is so slippery in this world
especially my world
where I am constantly lied to and tricked

I want to believe the best about people
still do

if there is some armeggedon coming
then I will do my best to weather whatever storm
stay close to God
and Trust

All In God's Time

I bow only before Him

I ask no man to bow before me ever....

Period.

last year....
a memoriable time of poetry coming from everywhere at once
knowing the radio station and the revolution have somehow swept me to the front
of some parade
the world finally listening i AM DESPERATE to say everything at once

free of the need to even write anything down
my scribes the government and other powers bugging my apartment
waging some mistaken war
against peace activists


preaching manically in my apartment
from my messy podium on Sheridan Road
during the period when I was interacting with television shows
and falling headlong into this wondrous emergence
amazed more than the entire world that I AM

me.... the christ... of all people.... not me...

tduring the startled few months
when I realized my words were now having immediate effects

people knew I was supernatural before I did
the same people who still

keep me ingorant of the worlds' reactions to me


I have lost interest in politics altogether '
just knowing they lie to me like this
that Obama and Clinton just go along with the monstrous conspiracy
to keep me ...


I tell the hidden cameras
"They wanted a working class king....
I did them one better,
gave them a working man."

today,
in my dim apartment
as spring blooms un-noticed behind my drawn shades

i send a few more furtively out onto the net

and wonder
as I always do

is there a calvary riding into calvary?

Or will I face this life essentially alone
with my perceptions
surrounded by guards and actor/spies and the totally ignorant?

a few words of truth are gold
a million words of lies ain't shit

some will rob you with a six gun, some a fountain pen...

sang Woody Gutherie
on Pretty Boy Floyd.

He sings of an outlaw that some know, and some don't. Everyone who has been in a tough jail, like they threw me in for my impunity of challanging them, leaving me unmedicated for the first time in ten years of chronic pain from all the back surgeries and radiation they blasted me with after the wings growing. Or they just messed up one surgery really bad... or all the bones were weakened by the radiation to stop what they always told me were tumors... Until this awakening started.

Jail. I was treated by my fellows quite fine to my face, for the most part. They assumed I am a junkie, because I was hurting without those pills, and the only time I got any sleep was after a super hot shower, then walking across the cold domitory... laying down for about the twenty minutes the pain died down... only to awaken with the pain in another hour or two. I took so many fucking showers. And I guess that people do this when they are 'jonesing,' which never happens to me because I simply take medication, and have always avoided addictive drugs.... when not using them to alter my senses, and feelings, which I have done inthe past simply because the drugs are so readily available to me. I am very legitimate about everything in this world...'

To the criminals types I was in jail with, I was either a pillhead lying about being addicted, and people respected someone for just balls out denying any crime... or I was really sick. They went back and forth until I finally got my pills and turned into a normalish human being....

Now, before I describe the ward I was on, let me say this is not one of the really shitty ones. There were no gangs trying to control everything, or steal... which is rampant on other floors, I guess. The gangs there even make you trade food to get toilet paper. They try to steal peoples food, and will if they do not fight back.

So, understand that though I was with some people who have killed people in gang fights and shit, they were all fine inside. People just want to get along without conflict. And on this ward, they actually shut out the lights for a few hours.. on the other wards, there tv's at both ends of the rooms night and day. This ward was particularly run by a big guy who mopped and cleaned every day. I could tell he had some thing going with the guards because he was in charge of giving out the food and calling little meetings and shit. He had been in there a year... his wife, meanwhile, on the outside got a settlement and quickly lost 4 grand at the boats, and could not bail him out.. this happened a couple days before I came in and his mood was dark but he was nothing but gruff with me. I liked him. He could not believe I really was ignorant of what person is supposed to be like in jail.

Like they taught me to scavange peoples mattresses, blankets and pillows when they left... you had to have this all set up. A lot of the guys there were nice to me, and I ended up having everything I needed and enough to give out to new guys who came in like me, on my first night, with half a pad of foam and a worthless scrap of grey cloth.


but this was not one of the worst areas in this jail by any stretch....

They were not the violent types in the medical ward, though they all seemed to belong to some gang and have been in jail before, and a surprising number had been shot. I was just amazed by these young kids, barely 18, acting like they were at camp. They were just hanging out with their buddies, trying to have fun. They all prided themselves on this jail being nothing. Bitching, I learned in there, is a thankless sport. It always makes a situation worse to sit there bitching about it, and being in jail is not one of those problems you can clear up with a phone call or a a prayer.

During this period, psychically, I should write, for the sake of the continuity of when I went to jail, that it was during the period of which I write, I had just come off the drug that made me feel like I was losing my mind and made me act like a lunatic.... I do resent them drugging me a lot. I am still in some kind of cone of disbelief on a lot of what the government has done since I was suddenly done since I eposed myself.

I never in the least considered myself a threat to anyone. I wrote kind of violent humor, but that was a character... a mean character, who was meant to take the sting out of writing about actual killings, and such. The Itchy and Scratchy Show... in a way. THough I have no idea how much I have been influenced by the Simpsons, I know it to be no small amount. MAtt Groening's other cartoons run in one of the more popular free newspapers here in chicago, and I love his work. I try not to draw direct correalations to influences, because I do not like to think about what influenced me and what did not. I sponge inthe entire world, then drip it out onto this page.

So there I am in the Cook County Jail Medical Center. THe first night there, I was given half of a foam mattress, and a filthy, tiny blanket with a huge hole in it, making it preactically worthless. THe first day there, as I began to be asked what my story was and I explained my hellish pain, which they could see -- a lot of them were hurting in the med unit, because the medications they give are nothing. They all told me it would take a week to get my prescription filled... except the ambulance driver who came onto the locked dormatory to pass out the pills, who always acted like my asking where the medication was the problem. Such a bitch. THe guards were all outside, mind you. They came in and did a count a few times a day.

There was no violence on the ward during the ten days I was there, though I did come close to punching people a couple times. Especially this one dude, who I would have got into a fight with, except it was like three hours before I was getting out and there was no way in hell I was going to jeoperdize that fact. When you are in jail, your entire life ripped away and all the social customs you have learned kind of tossed out for a criminal code... you do not want to be in terrible pain.

After a couple days of laying in bed getting all the pills I could from fellow prisoners by trading away all of my food -- the food was so disgusting i didn't eat for my first couple days there. Between the pain and the withdrawels, I lost like ten pounds in those ten days. I tried to get through with a lot of prayers. I could not believe that God had allowed this to happen to me, though as soon as I was out i KNEW I was a better man for the experiences. I will work for prison reform for the rest of my life. These other guys were in there mostly for drug and drink related crap. THough quite a few were also in for hitting somebody. THey were in for all kinds of things really. One guy had come in to serve some kind of ten day sentence, and, so he told me, his cane got switched with another guy's at some point in the check in process... and when they xrayed the one he ended up with, it was stuffed with cocaine. I guess they do this to people, because they know that there is going to be a point where they take all the canes from people and throw them aside. Another guy told me this guy was lying, that he had tried to smuggle in the coke.

They were all quick to denounce each other behind their backs, all of them telling me 'that guy is just trying to get shit out of you, man,' so don't trust him. One guy I played scrabble with over and over. There were only two guys who played, so I got in on the games. THey had both done a lot of time, and played board games all day to pass their time. Over and over. They would play a few hours, do something else.. one guy had the official book... scrabble acknowledges all these strange words, and these two had all of them memorized. I didn't much care who won or lost during these games, which bothered the other two. They thought I would feel better if I beat them, etc. I won exactly once. Played probably fifty games.

They finally medicated me three days before I got out. And they gave me two weeks worth, so I immeidiatly began sedating myself with extra neurontin. Like three cons mentioned it was nice to see me sleep. By then they all knew me as hurting... they were a little surprised how normal I became then, when I had the pills. Oddly enough, just before I got them, I had had my tangled hair cut off. After growing it all those years, I could not stand the shit. The stupid half comb they give you just broke into peices when I tried to use it.

I found out, during the period after I had some medication for the pain again, this one guy started telling me that everyone said I was a pill head. I understood then, how I had been looked at by some of them. I mean, they all had motrin, because you come in with it. And the trading of food for shit goes on all day. They commissary is once a week, and they all get these chips and snacks and stuff --- some get enough to trade for weed and smokes. This was rare, but I knew a few people who were getting high. I do not want to say how they got the drugs, but it was ingenous and complicated and required the entire dormitory to mind their own business.

I came out that jail determined to make clear with a lawsuit that cook country cannot treated sick people waiting for trial to a week without their medications. People were havingt seizures and shit during this week. Various lawsuits have been brought and the people always win. I called a lawyer on this point, and they kind of acted all tricky and then never called me back. People think I am going to run to a lawyer at some point and try to sue people for what has happened to me. I just want them to let me go on, give me a fair shake selling my books, provide for my family.

Of course, I would like more than that. I want to save the world. And that will always be my goal, but to do so I must exist here now as a man... and trust that God My Father has his own plans, and that he will reveal to me what I need to know when I need to know it...

I dwell on the recent past too much. I could think of nothing else for months. And I mean that literally. Days would go by with me just laying on the couch going over and over the extrodinary events that have happened to me. What a world I live in. What an undiscovered mish--mash of truth and lies people live by.

So, people, remember your relatives in jail, make sure they have some money in the commissary. God bless the prisoners.













You are welcome to spread my poems by whatever means... they are yours... unless you make some money off of me and then I would like some. Is that too much to ask? No. I have a family, too;.

the complete tale of our god ralph

This is a story I awoke while still deep in my sleep. Aware now, and able to see how people perceive me as the son of God, I can see how they read much into this work that was not supposed to be there. I was working on it, as some of my last comedy, when the entire eruption of the deity within me began. From there on out, I did comedy on the radio, and came home and wrote these long tortured poems in notebooks. Some as long as thirty pages. Enough, I guess, to put together the book, Waking Up Christ... which I may just back to waking up jesus, but for now... I have them both up with the same stuff on my lulu site, where I never sell any books. I want the manuscripts to all be better. Take this story, for instance.. I wrote it all over the place in the blog. New chapters would hit me and I would be in the mood to write about Ralph....

But then, when poetry seems to flowing down through your hands from God himself, I could only work on it at home. The comedy on the Radio show sure suffered. Oh, well. I learned better than to work in some company without a contract. YOu have to know that people promise all kinds of things, but they deliver if you have a contract you can sue them for breaching. Oh, well.... I learned a lot about improving up characters and doing voices. I think any experience helps.

So, why is this story in this blog, instead of the ones I write under my not so secret identity?

Because I want you to know, a bit of what I was writing before I began this poetry. I think the contrast of some of my humor will make for a better book in the end.




OUR GOD RALPH

Chapter One: The Rise of Ralph

The Rise Of Ralph essentially began one Million, two hundred thousand, four hundred and twenty seven years ago, a group of hunter gatherers were on the run from a larger, and thus more aggressive tribe; chased from their traditional stomping grounds, they faced many perils out in the unknown wilderness; lost good friends and
family to beasts human and otherwise; in the end though, as was want to happen back then, when there were still great tracks of land unspoiled by man, that after nearly a year of barely scavenging up an existence and seeing the very young and old die off, the weary survivors of the tribe came to a fertile plane of rich, black dirt nestled between three mountains and accessible by only two small paths; their elders searched the nearby creeks and woods and finding dung from deer and bear and beavers a' plenty (and, more importantly, no signs that other men were living in the valley), they decided to settle there and start planting corn and beans and raising dogs and cattle.

Near where they settled was a grove of majestic, ancient Cedar trees on a small
Hill almost dead center in the otherwise flat plane of a valley, and there lived the god, Ralph. Or at least he was there that day. Back then Ralph had a lot more plant than animal friends. The villagers discovered their God one sunny afternoon when they decided to harvest the cedars and suddenly found themselves being hit by lightening. The villager’s asked the spirit for forgiveness, and of course never messed with the Cedars again.. After the initial shock of losing a few men to Ralph's wrath over what he saw as his friends about to be killed by some new infestation, the tribe got together and decided their best course of action was to win the god over.

As was the way of people back then, they were used to the gods who inhabited various streams, rivers, mountains, animals, and etc...
Like people still, they had always wanted a God of their own, and here, purely by chance, they had stumbled on a God without the usual religion filled with humans who drove them off as being ‘unchosen.’

Ralph himself was somewhat uncomfortable with the situation until the villager's turned him onto a type of moonshine that they made out of whatever local fruit they
could scavenge. Ralph, like all gods, loves getting a good buzz on and
the idea of humans bringing him booze on a daily basis was too much for
him to pass up. They asked him for small favors that were nothing to him .. a lot of it was just normal, like the change of the seasons. What he could do for them, mostly, was make rain if they needed. For a myriad of reasons the least of miracles for Ralph was changing the weather…. Or at least this was a miracle that Ralph could be counted on to do. He refused to let himself become some kind of tool for the humans to use. He knew some gods who did this, and it had always lead to them having their followers attacking someone to take over more land, win more followers… because God’s could actually gain strength on the weird plane the humans existed on by having followers… inevitably they ended up all too tangled up in human affairs for the interest of Ralph.

of mankind’s progress moved on and on….

The God’s took a celebrities interest in how their humans looked at them… or at least, most did. Ralph was as unique as all Gods are and he had different notions on things. Live and let live, he had always told himself. Fight if you have to, but…. He was not about to spend all his time being a war god…. No, he liked to party, tell jokes, zip around the world seeing the sites.

Most gods, being basically like needy performers with, for lack of a better term, 'god complexes,' were always trying to one up one another by smiting this and that follower of another god, or making someone else a saint . . . Ralph was almost unique in being the
one god who really didn't have much ambition, and so he stayed out of all of this
religious tomfoolery until he discovered the wine… and Parties… a genuine fondness for the humans. They completed him in a way, though mostly their perception of reality was one Ralph liked to slide along using to remain in the humanly realm, instead of having to go to the bother of making up his own universe, which was a lot more bother than this
God was about to go through. He is a beast of great passions and loves and endlessly curiosity, which gives him enough charm to almost make up for his lack of real power in the pantheon of gods.


As will happen when power is splashing around the ethereal plane, a few
Gods rose to the top of the heap, like Allah and Yahweh and Morton Smeed
(the latter who is now forgotten, though he was once worshiped all across
the planet in complex call and response ceremonies that were made up
entirely of 'burps,' which are known to historians to have been not only
quite transcendent, but also cured warts on or about the left toes).

Ralph thought the gods who were scrambling around gathering worshipers'
were wasting time better spent playing with puppies or kittens or little kids, at times… in others banging on a set of drums he had… particularly after drinking a lot.

Elders of the Church, admitted, in fact, that Ralph. was kind of a slacker when it
came to Godding. He really didn't care if he had a lot of followers or
not.

God's need only a few followers to exist, and Ralph had enough for his purposes, and would have lived and let live if the other, nastier gods, would only let him. . .
He simply wasn't into all the blood and gore that the other god's seemed
to get off on -- bringing them back to life intact was a simple matter for the God, though quite unsettling for the humans involved.

In fact, he was the original pacifist God, at one time… or at least he had gotten drunk and talked to Jesus about how non-violence was the best path for humans, period... Jesus took a lot of Ralph's drunken sermons and pieced together the Sermon on The Mount
-- which is why they are so oddly peaceful when compared with the curses
Jesus was known for throwing on people for the slightest of slights -- you
did not want to serve him cold soup, oh no... that was leprosy, at least).

No, Ralph did not care for domination at all, though his ideas on
pacifism did change after the human population explosion. In fact, as
more and more species became extinct around the globe, the god Ralph grew
more and more misanthropic and partial towards killing for whims, like
most gods.

Ralph wasn’t big on telling people what to do…. either. The other god's couldn't
get enough of making up laws about this and that, and sometimes they even
thought they were doing the right thing; but way more than half the time
when a priest asked Ralph a question about the after life or whatever, he
would just kind of shrug, and then make it out like 'man wasn't read to
know,' though anyone who knew him well knew they were just being blown off
because Ralph was bored with the conversation. People expected all the mysteries of the God’s to be revealed to them and that simply couldn’t happen, human brains were simply too small to even begin to explain the mysteries of the universes, so Ralph barely bothered, though he certainly was a strict advocate of animal rights, and did enforce a number of laws about how they were treated.

Ralph could see a bit of the future, of course, like all God's, and through the hundreds of peaceful years his tribe co-existed with him, as he protected them from the elements, did a few water to wine tricks… etc… and basically grew close to the humans, he knew that one day the peaceful tribe would be taken over by one of the blood thirsty armies of human's that the other,
power-tripping Gods and Men were always putting together in their never ending
need to enlarge their audiences, and thus feel more loved and worthwhile
and powerful in the earthly realm.

The material earth existed on the only plane not actually created by a god. A chance event that none of them had foreseen, because before earth they had forever lived in planes of their own creation. Come together here, on what started out as essentially neutral ground, the gods were only as powerful as how many human entities they could draw energy from during prayers and other, sometimes surprising, human activity
-- such as bowel movements.

Ralph liked earth because he didn't have to make everything up himself.
In the forever time, he had grown a little bored with concentrating on
keeping a universe together, and when the earthly plane appeared to them,
during the event humans call the Big Bang, he had welcomed a chance to
watch something besides what was essentially his navel. He also liked
having someone to talk to. Gods had never thought to talk to each other.
They started doing so only on earth. Ralph was in fact the first god to
inhabit the earthly plane, and was the first to learn that making friends
with creatures like trees would let him remain on the planet. It was a
small step from there for a god to look into a human and see the
implications of the dawning consciousness for an answer to the question
that had begun to haunt them in apehood --- why do we die?

Early on, some years he would get behind on the harvest and the
villager's would literally spend days in prayer getting him to come down
and make their fields grow, yet on the hand he never asked for sacrifices
or really much of anything beyond the occasional dinner invitations and to
be present at all parties. Hardly any of the villagers seriously even
considered converting.

The day came when the inevitable army of men covered in steel rode
stallions down into the village and began cutting down the men, raping the
women, and stealing the children and wealth, as the Christian and Muslim
god's had them doing a lot back then -- as well many, many gods long
forgotten by man.

Ralph did what he could, but he wasn't very powerful
when compared to the other prayer inflated gods. He gathered up one
family and took them into an astral plane, keeping them there until the
marauder’s had all passed and the vengeance of the attacking God died down
and then landed them in a safe village
afterwards, where he was able to conjure up a job for the father.

Ralph followed that family then, all down the eons, to present day...
part of their secrecy was to keep all knowledge of Ralph from the
children, who were only told on their eighteenth birthday about their god,
Ralph. Ralph tried to make a good impression at such times, usually
would shave and tuck in his shirt and make himself smell like something
pleasant, like sandalwood. He had a hard time keeping a straight face
through all the mumbo jumbo that the various priests had built into the
ceremony over the years, and this seemed to endear the new recruits to
him. He would give them a few miracles to seal their faith. Something of a guardian angel, and something of a smelly houseguest, the God Ralph has all the normal tenants and rules of any religion, but Ralph could seldom be bothered to remember them in the best of times, and for the last few hundred years he had been smoking weed around the clock. Huge fat Rasta joints that never burned down.

Ralph requires one person in the family to write down his exploits, as must be done for god's, so that when he gets bored he can read back on his accomplishments (god's do this a lot more than they ever admit). He chose Mugully Foolip for no other reason than alliteration.

Everyone told Mugully that there was an honor that went with being the scribe of a god... But Migully was not so sure... there was the practicality's of bunking with Ralph, -- who could be meddlesome. He also refused to pick up after himself or clean the bathroom -- and for a god like him to do a task like cleaning required about as much effort as half a human thought. He could just think, 'make it clean.'

Mugully bitched at him at first... but bitching at a god is a tricky thing. Ralph was known to lash out and give people an extra arm, or make one of their eyes explode. Migully learned his lesson the day he tried to get Ralph to clean up after his nine cats and was turned into a large turd for the day. It was not a mistake he made again. Like most human's, he just ignored his god when he could, and dealt with him when he had to... which was more than he liked, because of the scribe thing.


"Someone is at the door, Migully." Ralph didn't like the sound of the doorbell, and it was an annoyance that he blamed entirely on his scribe.
"Who is it?"
"Okay, I'll check... fucking Mormon."
"That's like the third this summer. Don't you think it's about time that you smite one of them? You zapped those scientologists on their first trip here."
"Man, can't this wait until there's a commercial?"
"He's going to ring that doorbell again in a second."
"Okay, okay... there, I just made him spontaneously combust. His fellow missionary is on the lawn right now hysterically wetting himself. Shit, I deserve Nachos or something like that when I answer prayers."
"Really?"
"Yes, that is a tenant."
"It is not."
"Sure... something like, Verily bring unto my altars nachos slathered in near-cheese."
"I've been your scribe like less than a week, and already... well, you’re tempting my faith, Ralph. God's aren't supposed to lie."
"We don't lie, we change the truth. It's really all the difference in the world. Remember that day that I made you into a cat terd?"
"I still gag when I think about the inside of my mouth being cat terd."
"Unless I get some nachos, you are going to be terded out for like the next week. You can write that up in your scriptures and preach it, man."
"Really?"
"What did they tell you?"
"Anything you want me to write down, I write down."
"It's scripture now, baby."
"Are all the god's as... cavalier as you?"
"Would you rather I rule on abortions, or nachos? Keep the peace, man.. A lot of those gods who you think have all these cool rules, have no better idea than anyone else how you humans should live. You came into existence. You need to just exist, without us telling you what to do. That’s slavery, dude…. I’m mellow like this … the exception, because of the kind of grove that I originally inhabited."
"Cedar, right?"
"No, we just put that in after that movie Reefer Madness came out. It was a grove of pot. Nice red, hairy buds."
"Really?"
"No. But that sure would help the taste of those nachos. Put that in there, too -- verily, nachos must... something like, come with holy weed and some sort of smoking device that is not a pop can and a bit of aluminum foil poked with holes."
"Look, I'm sorry about that, okay?"
"Tell you what, get the nachos and put a bong on my altar, and I'll forgive you."
"Okay."

Later in the day, after weed and nachos, Thus Spoke the God Ralph: "I am sure that you have heard of De-programming, Muggily, where a cult member is taken to a hotel and fed big Mac’s and forced to watch soap operas and Jim Varney films until they are as normal as the rest of you humans? Well, why doesn't anyone do this with, say, the Mormon's? Or Seventh Day Adventist? I mean, you could even show these Catholic priests a little hetero porno and maybe save some little arse's from being sluiced with Jesus juice. Why not just deprogram whoever you want and then program with a better religion… one that gets pot legalized and shit. Humans have to vote such things, and you know I don’t have the power… I'll need your help snatching enough people to make this effort worth my while."
“Snatching people? What does that mean? NO, the Cult Awareness Network got sued over deprogramming scientologists or something… why go to the bother. “
This was the kind of moment Mugily dreaded... everyone had warned him to be careful when trying to dissuade the god from one of his nefarious whims, and he had already spent a day as a terd after complaining about the cat smell. "Uh, Ralph, and wait a minute, isn't the Mormon god a little stronger than you?"
"Man, you don't know shit, do you? They all become like mini gods…. That's why I can smite them."
"Like the Jehovah Witnesses?"
"No, they have a god, he's just too into coke and Viagra to give much of a shit at this point. Like Buddha."
"I was an atheist until I turned 18 and we had the Shumbagogo. I never would have believed in any god, let alone you. The more I get to know you the better off I think I was."
"Careful, Mugily, as a god, I think of killing you as only slightly more serious than swatting a mosquito... slightly, ever so slightly. So, scribe, just listen to me... a couple I have now gone back in time and a couple months ago I decided that it was high time to start deprogramming some Christians. I thought and thought and thought about things that can radically change someone’s life; something they could convert to instead of their silly myths; something that would hook them, like religion did... finally it came to me -- I'd make them crack addicts. I figured, once I got them addicted to crack they would have to steal and prostitute themselves to support their habits, which would cause their moral compasses to shift all over the place, eventually shattering their lying paradigms and breaking them out of their little 'Denny's Prayer Brunches Mania.'"
"Man, you really hate Brunches."
"Let no man say other.... they really are soul killers, those brunches. You throw in backgammon and you are on your way to the hell realms, boy. Here's my plan for deprogramming thee twerps, okay? I started with two Mormon kids, a scientologist, and a kabbalah -nut... the Mormons were the first, because they were riding along the street, so I took this van and ran them over, breaking enough bones to make them easy to push around and get in the van and all. I then drove them to a crack house, and had them shot up with heroin, making their pains all go away. Now, I have them on a constant diet of porno and south park, and they seem to be responding well, going from having gag reflexes and shaking their heads to laughing maniacally and masturbating with impunity. The others are coming along nicely, too."

"What do you mean, you . . . started?"
"Yea, I went back in time, just now.... and started this last Tuesday. You have to remember these conversations for later, scribe. Okay, where…after their bones have healed in horribly mangled ways, they will be in pain for the rest of their lives and thus horribly messed up on pain drugs and as ready to hate god as some... I don't know, wombats, I guess... they are the real hardcore atheists of the animal kingdom, of course."
"Really?"
"Mugily, you will believe anything, man.?"
"Where are these Mormon's and what did you say... scientologists and kabbalah-nuts... that you're experimenting on, exactly."
"Oh, I took them to this place I know across state, so you wouldn't get up your brethren and start meddling, like you did when I was growing that Mau Wai."
"You almost got us all arrested."
"Like I would let that happen."
"We never know with you, Ralph. Sometimes you are right there with what color to paint the car, and the next day you can't be bothered to save the dog's life."
"I have never let one of your dog's die un-naturally."
"Just the humans?"
"There are too many of you, Muguily, by the reports of your own damn scientists. Next I am going after a catholic priest. I will attempt to change his sexuality, and if that works, break their Bingo addictions."
"I think you should just go to a movie or something."
"Too late. Just write shit down and enjoy the ride that is Ralph, okay? Got the nachos and weed?"
"Is that all you ever consume?"
"Yes."

Mugily sat down in the cat scratched black leather coach that had been so pristine when he bought it a year before and had been totally trashed after just six days with Ralph’s unruly, spoiled felines. The room was beginning to smell from the litter again. He was having to change it almost everyday to keep up the illusion that the place did not smell of cat, like he secretly suspected and was indeed correct about, though he would never know because his friends and relatives were just too damn polite to tell him -- not to mention, they all kind of felt for the scribe in Ralph's life.

Scribe's often came to bad ends, a miracle gone awry -- once only half of a scribe showed up in Puerto Rico for their annual Smiggly Soo Pen reunion... the other half of the poor man never was found. While Ralph could easily have fixed such errors, he sometimes simply was not 'in the mood,' and there was no reasoning with him at such times. He was a creature used to playing with his moods, trying to keep what he often referred to as, "The Big Chronic."

"Hey, I don't see you going out to the kitchen to make me an offering of Nachos?"
"Can't you just conjure these things up?"
"You know, I'll bet no one makes Jesus get his own nachos."
"Can you introduce me to some of these other gods?"
"What, you shopping around now?"
"No..."
"I was kidding, but you are only particularly so... Sometimes reading your mind makes me fucking sick. Oh, don't go there even in your.... now your just thinking nachos, in cheese sauce, trying to throw me... oh, chili and cheese. I think you need to go down to the Tex Mex Chix and get some of those Beaver Meat Cheese Nacho Supremes and I'll ... bless you, or some damn thing. Verily, verily, I say -- goeth in search of Nachos... but first, get something to poke the resin out of my bong and change the beer in there. Verily, verily, I have spoken... whoo, whoo, whoo."
"That used to make your priest’s shiver?"
"No, shit. It was funny, man, so... you are not scared enough of me, you know? That will probably lead to my accidentally killing you. Well, half accidentally killing you. Oh, I'll see it coming a few days before hand, and I'll think about changing time, tell myself I should... then, it'll be too late and I'll content myself with a new cleric."
"Uh, okay... really?"
"Sure."
"Did you really get the munchies and turn a scribe into Taffy and eat him?"
"Now... I can change anything into Taffy, at any time... why the hell would I waste a scribe?"
"I just wondered."
"Is that in the scripture somewhere?"
"I don't think..."
"A lot of that shit, I was way too drunk to remember much... you know, how you get all serious and melancholy sometimes... well, when you're a god, you get like this, then you get to exaggerating, as gods do... next thing you know, you've got the book of revelations. Yea, that was me. The Christians pretty much took whatever they found, drew a smiley Jesus face on it and called it their own, you know?"


Mugily's neighbors are just the normal, salt of the earth kind of folk that you find out here in the heartland of america... There is Ritlip, molester of plants and hater of noises from small children. He is haunted by his super power -- the ability to hear his neighbors tiniest doings.

In the apartment above him was Hiplo, who is obsessed with pouring tins of left over tuna water on panty displays at upscale boutiques (most of them have his picture up in the break room with a 'mace on sight' order, and he indeed gets maced all the time). In his spare time, he lives out a disability he got after taking some psych tests once when he was thinking about joining the army... or the navy... he couldn't remember after awhile and was known to occasionally get stoned on cough syrup and have one or the other branches of the armed services tattooed on his body. In his spare time, he likes to sexual stuffed animals.

First floor front apartment was Jakolp, a hot shot, celebrity janitor with a local cable show where he displays pictures of what clogged up various celebrity drains and toilets. Shocking and grotesque, his show is the highest rated in the public access market, with two or three letters a month pouring in from fans. He is a Yugoslavian immigrant who was a reknown heart surgeon in his own country, and resents like hell that he is treated by the stars as their 'toilet toy' (though he was not above copywriting the name, putting it on business cards, and all the other sound business practices that it took for him to take the celebrity janitorial world by storm).

In the basement apartment, which is even with the streets, lives a foot fetished out freak, Kiplo, who has paintings and busts of feet filling every space of wall in his place. Suspicious stains on the carpet in front of some of the paintings are explained away as 'glue spills,' though no evidence of actual use of glue has ever been discerned. He is the seeker among the dullards, a guy who thinks anyone who gets a job and has kids and lives a normal life of decorating the garage with power tools was part of a vast conspiracy that was vaguely related to a plot by Beavers to cut human water supplies and return their god to the throne of earth, which he was knocked off when man developed opposing thumbs. He is sure that one day he will find enlightenment, that it will come as a surprise in a box of cereal. This he eats all day and night, and weighs around four hundred pounds...
Kiplo covers his walls in tin foil so it looks cool with colored bulbs, and though no one can stand the cold, cerebrial yet ever so slightly trashy look of his apartment, his neighbors are too afraid of pissing of 'a crazy' to say anything more than the usual polite nicities.


Their lives were basically your normal one. They had allegeince with a local gang for protection, paid the cops off, kept up on our health insurance, cashed theirr govchecks and used their stamps. They hadn't even had a water abuse ticket for like three years, before Ralph.

Their tranquilty was shredded the day his eleven cats came ripping into the apartment... he even brought a dirty, disgustingly full litter box with him.


In less than a week, Ralph had started a religious experiment with brain washing, purely to try to get them to stop ringing his doorbell, though after all the trouble he caused for the humans around him Ralph would have hardly admitted such a thing.he had managed to bring the full wrath of the Mormon church down on their heads. The High, High Mormon, Morman council was convinced that all of the residents of the building were part of some 'Ralph Cult,' as the newspapers were calling them. There sort of was a cult, too, so this made defending themselves against this charge all the harder, of course (though the cult was actually a mind control experiment of Ralph's, where he was deproggramming mormons). Soon the Scamatologists and every religion that Ralph had experimented on, were searching to snuff out the poor residents of Mugully’s building. Tying their fates, inexctractibly, from Ralph == they kept getting killed and having a God around to resurrect is a big boon.


A lot changed when the Bush Monarchy took over the world and the rich moved to the moon (finally answering the question of why they didn't mind polluting it all those years -- they'd been planning on moving to the moon for hundreds of years, and considered the environmental destruction of earth 'a jolly good joke on the disgusting, smelly masses’). No more wars, no exploitation, no working sewer systems, and few jobs... luckily, with the rich gone, the mechanical types easily created machines to do all the work so mankind could spend more time exploring such subjects as daytime television soap operas, Some god's were so appalled by Bush letting their beloved earth fall into disrepair that they tried to stop the family from taking over the world and putting a monarchy back in place. . .

Ralph was among them. They lost. Too many atheists and people who refused to stick one deity and a lot of the other developments of the twentieth and as losers were kind of just left on earth forgotten. A lot of god's perished outright that day, as people faced down the environmental catastrophe and cursed them. Ralph was lucky in that he was the primary weed connection for one of the young members of his church, or he might have been cursed away as well. Cursed away entails of course being sent to the nethers, where nothing is substantial unless the god's make it -- which is a lot more work than Ralph wants to do on any given day. They could come back as different gods, and often did, though the more powerful gods by then were careful not to let any upstarts gain followers.

As per Ralph's rather slipshod godding, they had barely escaped from the Mormon's, who had found out about his cult breaking business and attacked the apartment house with surface to air missiles. At the moment they are in a bus at a very high rate of speed, blowing through red lights and in fact ignoring what is generally thought of as the rules of driving... at first, whenever a cop got on their tale, Ralph was killing them in spectacular flame filled accidents, until Mugily protested that they were just doing their job. After some grumbling about how the human population was causing suffering to the penguin, who Ralph made clear were to be revered as 'nature's goddamn clown, man!'. “But you are right, Muggily… I’ll resurrect the dead cops and send the others across state. No, to Tahiti. There. That’s fucking good karma, which is bullshit.”

Ralph was no great driver in the best of times, and as he flew down the highway at 120 he was also drinking a beer and rolling a joint. Muggily was by then quite sick of being killed in accidents and resurrected.

"Ralph, there is no need to go this fast. The Mormon's are never going to catch us."
"Oh, I'm not worried about them. I already know when and where they are going to catch up us, remember, I’m a fucking God. I'm just kind of getting off on driving fast."
"You know, that is fine for someone who is impervious to pain, Ralph, but when us humans die, that shit hurts. I mean, you reattached my head three times today.... and I'm going to puke if I see my intestines splattered on another road. Seriously."

"Man, I should fucking smite you for pissing on my buzz. In fact get out ..."
"No, not the scripture..."
"Hey, you are the fucking scribe of a god, have some respect."
"Okay, don't give me a second asshole or something... "
"A second asshole, eh?"
A shout of surprise from Kibo in the back made clear to Mugily that the temptation of surprising someone with a second asshole had been too much for the god. "Oh, let their asses be, dear lord, Ralph."
"Don't get sarcastic with me. Uh, oh... looks like a gas truck up ahead. Get ready to fry boy... "
"Noooo.... ahhhh... ugh, ugh... huh..."

Once Ralph resurrected and healed everyone, including the truck (which took him mere seconds), Mugily was once more sitting in the front seat, staring down at the road pouring into the windshield, dreading his next death... when Ralph suddenly spied a sign for strawberry pie and changed the truck into a helicopter which kind of zig zagged over farm houses and fields before smashing into the parking lot of a small country restaurant. After resurrecting and healing everyone, they all sat down to some scrumptious pie, and none could help but thank Ralph for the particularly tasty strawberry's, and while he was quick to accept their praise, he had nothing to do with it...

On the run from the vast Mormon Mormon High High Counsel, and a crack team of ninja scientologist lawyers, some crazy Kabbalah killers lead by Mad Donna, Assface Kurcher and Demigod Moore, the God Ralph and his often unfaithful followers are trekking across the welfare and robot-worker propped up 'Land of the Once not so free but now really a bit Too Free,' post-Bush world (meeting culture after culture that had sprung up among those . . . 'left behind' . . . when the Bush Monarchy moved the rich to the moon and created The Very Very White World). After three days of driving at speeds upward of 150 miles an hour and causing dozens of accidents that forced Ralph's followers to go through numerous painful resurrections and healings, came to a part of the country that is filled with trailer parks.

Trailer parks stretched throughout the mid-Americas for thousands of miles on all sides, and little was known about the inhabitants. Leading into the labyrinths of mediocrity was a road filled with bags of garbage, old car parts, and a number of surprisingly well kept up garden gnomes in various holiday themed outfits. Ralph of course sped up when he saw the barrier and was disappointed when the bus smashed right through.

Immediately the world almost seemed to turn on it's side... all the people they were seeing were grossly malformed.... eight arms, three heads, four huge ass cheeks... and not some few of them seemed to have goat horns, and a few had their legs, ears… All of them were extremely fat.
"Yuck," Mugily said. "What the hell is wrong with these people?"
"Descendents of hillbilly's and white trash and the meth armies and…. Basically, the normal were eaten by the deformed and stupid enough not give a fuck… plus, there is no government in place here to stop inbreeding… and the walk to the neighbor's was too far for them. gGoats were closer than the neighbors too. Usually that doesn't result in offspring, but all the inn-breeding and this strange beer they drink has actually managed to make their genes stupider than normal. They all weigh over three hundred pounds. You notice that?"
"Of course, I noticed. They look like huge warts on the landscape."
"They would probably look better as warts. Yes... they... would."
"Ralph!!! Do not make them . . . into warts… you just act without thinking, and though I know you know the future… I actually go through deaths… and…"
As he spoke, two mountainous women in tube tops and short shorts standing outside of a trailer became huge, bloated red warts. Mugily expected this to enrage the others, but instead they non-chalantly began breaking pieces of the warts off, rubbing them on their genitals and then eating them."
"Oh, god… Ralph, tell me they don't consider that seasoning?"
"They're just seeing where the wart fits best. You fucking humans and your gland rubbing and juices spurting... " The one thing that Ralph found disgusting was human sex. The gods looked at it like humans were basically puking vile juices on one another while flopping about all slapstick -- Mugily suspected this masked Ralph's jealousy over not being able to connect on a deep emotional level, but he was wrong.
" They'll eat the evidence in ... wow, they devoured those warts."
"Can you bring them back?"
"Why?"
"Yes. Good point. What's with all these obese Elvis statues?"
"They worship the older, dissipated Elvis. They try to look like him. Mostly they just watch soap operas, drink beer and have family oriented orgies. Very Zen people."
"Don't stop anywhere."
"We have to. I've already told Elvis's ghost that I will talk to these people on his behalf. He doesn't like being the patron saint of Gravy and Biscuits. He wants Cadillac’s. I'm going to see what I can do. I loved Hound Dog. Once played it for fifteen years straight. I'm going to give them some more warts to eat, to ... uh, make friends."
"Ralph, don't piss them off. Can't you see they all have shotguns in their pick ups and those little confederate flags that on their bumpers, the ones that declare -- 'Too Stupid For History Class."
"Mugily, my scribes usually do what I tell them."
"And look where that has gotten you Ralph? We've got Ninja scientologists, mad cap Mormons... that whore Mad Donna... all trying to kill us. They've already succeeded like twenty times and I am so sick of feeling my own death.... and they'll kill us again if you keep warting these people."
"I'm just trying to make following me fun. Forgive me for enriching your pathetic little human life. Well, I guess we should stop and talk to them."
"No, let's just keep..."
"Hey, look, a statue of Elvis with a chicken wing hanging out of his mouth.... Oh, reading their minds is pretty gross... all they think about is beer... and their sisters, mothers, uncles... wow, I thought you were sick, but these humans. . All they eat is gravy and biscuits... barbecue their dead at big, ritual parties where the women flash their breasts and the men flash their... these guys have big asses."

As the unwieldy crowds gathered around the Bus, Ralph took the PA and began speaking to them: "Listen, we don't have a lot of time... first off, I am Ralph, a god, and I am here with news from Elvis. He wants you to give up goat fucking, first off."

Hearing their beloved goat fucking maligned by an outsider pissed off the Elvi Peep's (as they called themselves). Enraged cries of, "What? Take away goat fucking? That's blasphemy!"
"Only one touching my goats is me, and peoples who can trade a sheep or a large cat." "Get him!!! Make him fuck a goat!!"


Ralph waved his hand in the air and bongs suddenly appeared in the hands of one and all... "Here, this is my special blend. I want you to put down your beers, inhale the weed, and lose your four or five extra asses, okay?"

Beer cans and rocks and small children began to pelt the bus as the angry crowd threw whatever was close at the interlopers who were threatening one of the profound tenants of the Elvi -- 'No Goat Shall Go Unsodomized."

"Look, you walking warts... Elvis has spoken to me, okay? Why the hell else would I come here?"
"To fuck goats?" One of the crowd asked?
"No, you see... I'm here... "

A commotion on the edge of the crowd caught their attention. Then a group of black clad ninja's and hippy looking people with red garrotes could be seen trying to fight their way to the bus. The commotion died down almost as soon as it began.

"Ralph, what is it?" Mugily asked the now seemingly bored god.
"Oh, the wart people are eating the scientologists, cabalists, and Mad Donna and her hanger ons. They're already sending out replacements after us."

"People of the trailer world,” Ralph told the crowd, "We brought this offering of folks to ritually sodomize and barbecue as a way of showing our friendship. Now ... there... you are cured of your impulses toward goats and relatives."

Cries of approval immediately began to come from the crowd.

"Hey, Elvis never shared his drugs..."
"Will you bless my gravy and biscuits?"
"Thanks for making me despise my uncles asshole, Ralph."

And lots of other affirmative remarks which helped to quell the trembling in Mugily's bowels that he had been feeling ever since learning he was distantly related to the white trash that he was sure would eventually ritually sodomize them, which they called ‘stuffing,’ and then cook him up in a barbecue.

Later that week, as they drove out of the other side of the trailer park, the ghost of Elvis tearfully saw them off, then went off to be reincarnated as a common, garden variety toad, which had been the earliest and most pure dream of his childhood.


After curing the inbreeding and goat fucking tendencies of the Elvi-Peeps, Ralph and his not really all that faithful followers drove the RV through miles and miles of beet fields. The beets were getting on everyone's nerves, as beets tend to do. . . especially evil beets, as these surely were. Ralph finally changed them all to bushes growing little lamb heads but no sooner did they kind of laugh at his miracle then there was a loud crack of lightening, the sky turned black, and the beets were back -- and this time they seemed even more menacing.

"Shit." Ralph looked about nervously, which made Mugily the Cleric very, very, very nervous, because he had never seen or heard of Ralph getting nervous.
"What is it Ralph?"
"Those damn Elvi-Peeps are praying to me... oh, no... they've made me THE PATRON SAINT OF NOT FUCKING YOUR Uncle’s ASS.... Jesus is jealous. You know all the 'no god before' me crap he is always preaching. Their prayers have unwittingly made me powerful. Getting the attention of the man is the last thing I need, Mugily."

A thousand foot high visage of a storming and raging Jesus Christ appears in the road in front of them, surrounded by millions of angels armed with swords spewing orange and yellow fire.. Under his breath, Ralph whispered to Muggily, "Jesus is such a fucking drama queen... hey, ooh, I'm Jesus, watch me cure some leper's. . . there is nothing to curing lepers."

Without bothering to stop the bus from careening down the road at a hundred and fifty miles an hour, Ralph flew up and out in front of the huge Jesus face and told him, "They are not worshiping, me, man... they are just confused by the loss of Elvis, like all Hillbilly's they believed he was immortal."

The bus carrying Ralph's followers crashed into a viaduct and they were trapped in the gnarled wreckage slowly broilng to death.

Ralph tried to explain to Jesus that he was in no way trying to get followers or anything of the sort -- "You know me, man..." He told the enraged deity, " I can barely remember to keep my fifteen alive. Half the time I can't even remember to do that."

Jesus, seemingly having none of Ralph's explanation, raised his arm as if to smite.... The sky turned black and a howling wind blew up... then, the Robed one started laughing and all the angels' joined. Ralph, we had you shitting in your pants, didn't we, Ralph!!!?? Ha, good old Ralph, never too quick on the uptake are you?"


Ralph explained all this to his followers when he next resurrected them to continue eluding the Mad Donna, Assface Kurcher, Bouncing Tommy Cruise and the Demi-God -- who have already killed them all dozens and dozens of times, and more than likely will again and again...


The Blessed Rv was stopped at a boarder crossing run by seven foot tall, burly pigs. They spoke perfect English, in mannerisms that were recognizable as human. The guards were looking for Jewish or Muslim names, and then forcing them, in small tent chapels set up just for this purpose at every crossing, airport and train station in the country, to either convert and pledge allegiance to the god of the pigs, Porky, or simply disavow human religions all together. No one was actually thrown out for having one of the two prejudice filled religions, because everyone knew the policy; people who were unwilling to say a few otherwise meaningless words simply stayed out Pigland.


Mugily had no idea such a beast existed and at first thought Ralph had changed them into pigs, and he half expected them to look at their hooves and start screaming, then kill him again. Constantly being killed, often horrifically and slowly, had torn Mugily's mind a bit-- broasting in the burning RV once for forty excruciating minutes was a particular motif in his reoccurring nightmares. A twitch under his eye bothered him immensely, got him to habituate, when talking to other people, to holding his hand up over the offending tick -- an un-natural position which actually emphasized the tic to whomever he was talking to.

Others were showing much more outward signs of stress of being on the run.. Kiplo the food fetishist had taken to stringing shoes around his neck, waist, arms... he had red high heels and black, shiny combat boots and slippers and moccasins. The Toilet Boy To The Stars, the once cocky and proud celebrity janitor, was constantly cleaning the Rv, often for up to 36 hours at a stretch. When he was asked why, he would get all abusive and superior, once telling Mugily, "You can live like this if you want, but not me, man. I will not live in filth. You think you know shit. You don't know shit. I know shit. I seen some shits." He would then keep up his mutterings for hours. It didn't take long for everyone in the RV to learn to just step over and around him as if he were a sleeping dog.

Ralph too was a little disturbed at the moment, though not about the deaths of the humans, which he considered insignificant since he could resurrect them. To his god ears, the humans complaints about the agony of their deaths
was pointless whining about the human condition. When Ralph talked to Jesus,
he thought he was talking to an old friend, until it was revealed to him, in the cruelty of the practical joke Jesus had played on him, that they were less than friends. Indeed, Ralph had realized then and there that the other gods thought he was stupid. All because he had chosen to just be a part of the physical environment, to accept and kind of relish it, rather than attempting to make it like his own realm.

After the pigs passed them through, a shaken Mugily started to ask Ralph a question, and as always as his mouth started to open... the answer appeared in his mind.


The Rising was behind the first pig out of the blur of a low intelligence. They believed that just because humans were the first species to employ the benefit of high intelligence and speech capabilities, that gave us no right to effectively stop the evolution of other animals by keeping them tightly penned and stupid in a life track going quick from a womb to the slaughter house. They conducted their experiments completely off the map, on a small island in Indonesia patrolled by a vicious private army.

The first Pig, Heeply, after being educated and socialized, was quick to accept that they had been eaten -- after all, the pig had never been above eating a human. The hatred of the Jew and Muslim, though -- that still lived on, even a hundred years after the eating of meat was effectively banned by the Un. This riled the pig, like any prejudice will the demonized party, and after many years...they started petitioning the Un to stop the Jews and Muslims from spreading slander about how they were 'unclean,' and other vile words that were peppered about their holy books. The Jews and Muslims still refuse to touch the pig. Won't shake their hands, allow them into their holy places or delis or cafeterias.

There were problems with the first pigs, a lower intelligence than expected resulted. The Rising Group rushed through the experimental phase to trials on pigs, and then when there were problems with the intelligence of the first hundred, none of them would have even considered killing off the mistakes.
The pigs were raised as secular speciest... and would have perhaps easily integrated into the World Culture if not for their finding out, and then reading up on, the Jew and Muslim prejudice against them. The idea of a religion itself intrigued them, unfortunately; they had been deep spiritualists before the group gave them intelligence and an education. Some of them longed to be one of the Before pigs, the ones lacking the genetic askewing, but when they themselves were running their own labs, and discovered how easily they could just damage their brains, none of the pigs were willing to give up who they were.

Two hundred years into the Awake Time -- as the pigs called the period before their DNA was supercharged, the slow simmering anger against the religious prejudice against them finally exploded. Three pigs were protesting in front of a Mosque in Iran and a religious nutshot them dead with an ak-898 (a seventeen year old who later claimed in court that he had been sexually molested and then indoctrinated into an illegally controlling religion--laws had long since stripped the con-pastors of their ability to use brain washing techniques to convince people of their mania, and some of the perpetrators indeed were jailed) . After this, the pigs all moved, in mass, to one of the communities emptied when the Bush Dynasty moved the wealthy to the succulent playground of the moon, where the god Jesus was the sole deity worshiped.

There was a little known fact about the situation of the gods, one known only by a few, mostly Jesus and his pals and Ralph-- who it was assumed was too stoned to remember what other god's talked about, so they spoke in front of him about matters they otherwise would have kept secret. The secret was this: Jesus was not actually sustained as the most powerful god by the worship of the Moon dwellers, like was popularly thought. It was assumed, because of a mind habit picked up during the eons of human social evolution, that the power of the rich man's prayer was somehow worth more than the poor mans, yet in truth it took almost all of Jesus’ followers on earth, plus those favored by the Bush Dynasty, to keep his supreme throne.

And even through Jesus had made it out like it was a joke when he almost smited Ralph, he could sense that there was some kind of probably unconscious reason Jesus had chosen just that moment to play his damned joke -- Ralph had been inadvertently picking up followers. Probably not him, but Mohhama-mohn, or one of the other powerful gods, might make a play to get some followers on the moon if they knew they merely had to convert a few hundred poor ass humans -- who most gods knew could be bought by answering a few prayers.

The moon was a garden paradise entirely constructed from the memories of the wealthy into polo grounds, golf courses, airports and large gated communities dotted with specialty shops -- and was indeed coveted by the other gods, especially after the destruction of the earth's fauna and sea life made most of the earth thick, lifeless mud.









Ralph and the crew stopped for breakfast at a diner. The celebrity janitor took one look in the door of the dingy room filled with small troughs containing various types of gruel and said, "No! I will not eat in a fucking restaurant called The Pig Sty."
A pig just inside the door heard him and his hat actually rose up off as his head from the hairs on his neck bristling in rage. "What," he yelled at the startled celebrity janitor, who despite his physical job was actually weak and scrawny and prone toward lovers handles and a small, though quite noticeable, belly flap, "is wrong with eating in a Pig Sty?" Then he screamed in a squealing, high pitched voice that turned the heads of pigs walking all down the city block and further, "We got us a Muslijew!!!"


Ralph was stoned and the munchies were a raging and he was intent on getting pancakes smothered in rich, real butter and thick syrup into his stomach. He waved off the pissed off pigs in a way that sent their anger wafting away on an invisible breeze. "He is not a Muslim or a Jew. You know, you would think, victims of prejudice like you pigs would just get over prejudice altogether, rather than going down to their level and actually becoming part of the problem. Do what you want, though, I don't care as long as someone else makes me breakfast because, even though I am god and could just make the food appear, then there is no anticipation involved. . . lacking that, things simply aren't as relished, and if you don't relish, well . . you might as well have not been born at all, eh?"

The pigs around the table were impressed by what they thought were Ralph's words, though it was as much a reaction to his getting rid of the anger in their minds and tweaking the hormones that would make them receptive, so Ralph could get his breakfast quicker. Mugily and the other disciples had come to rightly fear the uses of Ralph's powers. Something usually happened to them, as if they were in a bad horror movie or a twilight zone with a Faustian air, where any use of magic brought a price in pounds and pounds of flesh. At the time, though, it seemed like their breakfast went on to take off without a hitch . . . What they didn’t know is that the pig that was pissed off was the son of the ruling porker of Pigland. Hoppy had actually already been pissed off when the God and his entourage walked in.

As his father explained to him two days before, and set off such a quivering in his son's soul that he had been riding aimlessly around Pigland on a motorbike ever since, "We have film of a rabbit that bested our god. A rabbit. Even a little wild pig could kill a rabbit, let alone with that gun... but no, our god is a baffoon."

The pigs had originally created their religion around what they believed to be the first talking pig. This sad fact was
based on very little evidence -- an amusement park ride and stills from various films showing a brave pig with a gun -- they knew not why he was walking with the gun, and assumed, in the revolutionary thinking that was popular just after the pigs settled Pigland, that he protected his oppressors against the Muslim and Jewish religions prejudice, as well as the Christians and others who wanted to eat them…
Now, Porky Pig had been revealed to be a buffoon in other cartoons, and Hoppy was right then questioning his god and who should walk in but… a god who could wave his arm and stop a murderous pack of pigs from verbally berating a group who looked enough like Muslijews to get beat up in some bars -- and the pigs lived for such moments, which actually never came though they were often portrayed on Pigland soap operas and light comedic movies.

As they drove off Ralph explained what had happened to Mugily and Kiplo and gang. "Yea, they started this religion after finding an old amusement park ride featuring porky. It didn't work, wasn't much left – but they figured it was Porky hunting humans. So that became their churches, you know, rides . . . like the old haunted houses in the traveling circuses with their creaky little cars and chains . . . except a lot better. I think if I ever was to start a religion, I would use this style of worship."
"You have a religion, Ralph."
"No, I have a few humans I half-ass watch out for, a family kind of. I make the religion up for your kids, you know? I helped usher in the whole idea of Childhood, man. Before me, you humans treated kids over three as little adults. And usually little adults that everyone around was abusing, which taught them to abuse the kids. A vicious cycle. So I got the whole waiting until after puberty thing started. I tried to get it raised up to 21 even once, but then I kind of sobered up and wondered where that impulse had come from, you know?"
"So we're not a religion?"
"Sometimes it would be fun to be worshiped, Mugily, but that’s all a big lie. You
humans never really worship anything--- you are really mostly looking for an angle, some
divine sugar daddy who can give you wealth. That's the kind of shit some gods do, man.
Me? I’d rather just state what's on my mind. Hell, I’m going to anyways."
“What is with all these weird houses…”
“Oh, these are people who just live playing the GAME. They get enough money together
to buy these pods, where they just play the game all day. Around here, they knocked out religion, self-help books, lapdog celebrity/wealth worship, sports, and anything else unrelated to what they call here, of course . . . The Game. They hooked up food and toilet tubes, and shit. They consider it going out into society to meet others on the net, as avatars, where they have developed such unrealistic ideas about beauty that they think humans in person are remarkably ugly. They stopped all actual leaving of their houses decades ago. They all live alone, of course; since their parents died and left them the houses. The pigs put them all on government assistance. They really are a lot better at running governments than humans. They aren’t afraid of their impulses. They want to eat, screw, drink all the time, and the only reason they don’t is that The Dream of Porky is drilled into them as the only thing more important, and as such they go to work and keep things going, all in all . . . and they don't actually like drinking until they vomit, which to the food loving pig is seen as a sign of the worst sort of excess."
"Are you kidding me, Ralph?"
"No... Come on, when have I ever kidded you?"
"You had me literally shitting in my pants, after convincing me that Armageddon was exactly eight minutes off. Worse few minutes of my life."
"Visions of a nuclear Armageddon always get you baby boomers

Ralph has the RV stopped in a rest area, overlooking a vista of field after field of the grey, muddy sludge that had replaced the grass and the forests. A warm wind was blowing the stench of a putrid landfill into their faces as they silently stretched their legs.

Ralph occasionally, like just then, had regrets about the way he had played the whole god game on earth. Every time a species died out he had killed a few humans before he could reign in his anger -- DOG FIGHTERS, guys who raised animals for any sport, for that matter…. He let his followers think it was all arbitrary, but he could see just enough of the future to know who he was going to get for what….. he had no idea the gods would destroy something like earth in their quest for power. Power?

Ralph thought of power as responsibility, and that was the last thing he wanted. ... though when the wild animals on the planet were all gone, he had begun to spend a lot of time in the past , going back and revisiting the long lost, dark green quiet of forests, the laughter of clean rippling streams. .. and then, he would have changed the course of earth had he been powerful enough…. The only past he could recreate was one in his own universe, of course… or he would have just taken his followers there. But Ralph, despite his anti-intellectual appearance, was deep enough to feel like there was no way he was going to pretend that he knew what was best for every human on the planet. The gods were forever doing that and always wrong.

Now, after the other gods had grown practically too strong to be challenged, he was finding himself suddenly gaining followers.

He had realized something else about Jesus during the practical joke -- the deity did not take him seriously. Ralph had been surprised at the time to find his old buddy had grown into such an asshole. Standing there looking at what the ruling four percent of humans had done to the earth, he realized that he was gaining followers without even trying, and for the first time ever, he wondered if he should have played the whole god game, been political around the other gods and solicitous to the humans? That wasn't him, but he doubted it was the other gods, either -- at least until they became involved in the power games and started judging themselves and others by how much earthly stock they held. Still.... he might have been able to stop the destruction that turned the look out point from a gorgeous vista of receding pine forests into a place to mourn.

Ralph told his followers only, "I just figured out that I could probably take over the moon, give you guys an Eden."

All but Mugily were awed at the thought of going a place none of them could even think of without choking on rage and hatred at the Bush Dynasty. . . Eden.

"They wouldn't let a black guy like me up there," kiplo said.
"Well, see... the Bushes would have to be... taken out of power, and then... Mugily and me would be setting up new rules... and you guys, too... except, nothing about foot fetishes or cleaning rituals. I have been working a long time to get rid of white and black as labels... You know, I used encourage, back when your family needed to be kings for awhile to protect this valley… inter-racial marriages all the time. I tell people it is purely for aesthetics, actually... you have to admit, you white humans look half finished or something."
"You’re white?"
"No, I am deeply tanned."
The Janitor to the stars spoke next, asking a question that they had all contemplating asking, "Ralph, why does a god like you have to chain-smoke joints all the time?"
"I don't."
"Every time any of has seen you, you have joint in the corner of your mouth."
"I started smoking the stuff after finding out the effect it has on the humans around me. They are a little more creative, a bit sillier, take life and all just a little easier. When I am not around humans, I don't smoke it all... "

Mugily was skeptical. "Should I write that up in the official scripture, or are you going to give me a different answer for this question next time it is asked?"

"This is another one of those things that is too complex for me to convey to a small, human brain."

Mugily knew the last statement was how Ralph blew off conversations because they bored him. Obviously Ralph was getting something out of the weed -- even if it was more pleasant human contact.

"I have another question. You're a god, so how about a little enlightenment for us? When does that happen."
"I'm not going to make you into something that you aren't. Humans are not enlightened, and to make you so would ruin what you are. Now let us silently pray."

Asking for prayer was the most polite way that Ralph demanded silence from his followers -- he had once sent the snoring Celebrity Janitor onto the roof of the bus, where he was blown off immediately. He remained dead for sixteen hours before someone asked Ralph about him.

Ralph indeed had wanted to finish his thought... though it was sure a buzz killer -- if he was willing to clean up his act and be all selfless, he could get enough followers on earth to knock Jesus down a few pegs…. In fact, he had always liked Jesus and felt like he could convince him, if he didn’t have to always watch his back, if all the religions could just get along… then Jesus could do his thing without the violence he knew the deity liked to avoid.

Ralph would then have to spend a lot of his mental energy keeping his flock and all, and nothing would ever be the same.

A black helicopter appears from behind a brown mud horizon, zooms straight in on them fast as hell and begins firing machine guns, huge metal contraptions strapped to the landing gear and spitting a steady stream of exploding bullets.


Soon enough, the invincible Ralph was standing in a pile of dead disciples. He checked to see who was in the helicopter and found the beagle with Mad Donna's head, a couple Assface Kurcher clones and a Bouncing Tommy Death Doll. He flicks a finger and ball of white lightening encompasses the helicopter, smiting them down into a dust of the same grey as the muddy hills.

Ralph resurrected his followers and began the journey down the mountain of mud, to the land of the Specialists, where he needed just a few thousand followers to take over the moon... or, so he thought.


His followers pulled out a bottle of vodka and were doing shots, trying to quiet their nerves . . . they were really starting to get irritated with Ralph's saving them only after they were dead. Ralph enjoyed the spectacular accidents too much to take their opinions seriously. What could they do?


He wouldn't be able to get away with shit like that if he had to win over a large flock of humans. His god mind could tell that he was spreading from pig to pig through their land, a god who they could worship instead of Porky... they even designed a game Ralph The God, getting the human gamers in their lands to inadvertently worship him too. That along with the Elvi-peeps was a good chunk of the center of the Americas. As long as the powerful gods were taking him for a stoner concerned only with the next joint, his conversions would look accidental to them -- since the first ones were. As long as he wasn't noticed by any of them preaching or answering prayers, he could probably keep up the farce for enough months to gain enough prayer strength to toss out the egotist Egoists Gods and find a way to work out something with Jesus, who he really did not want to go to war against. Something glimmered further off into the future than he had before then… a vision of gods and humans sitting down at a huge table… and there was something else, at the table there was another being… something… above even Gods… Ralph heard a voice then telling him, “Go with my son and make the humans live in peace.”

And, the rest is history…




You are welcome to spread my poems by whatever means... they are yours... unless you make some money off of me and then I would like some. Is that too much to ask? No. I have a family, too;.