Yep. With nothing on my conscience (ever as clean as the proverbial, as pure as the driven snow) I still sent such tidal waves across our waterbed that The Spouse got up quietly and sneaked off to the sofa. Took the teddy bear too, dammit …


So here’s a repost, taken from my more light-hearted site. Make of it what you will, and if any offended religious folks feel moved enough to challenge — come get me, Tiger!


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No gods, goddesses, or long skinny mysterious ethereal things were harmed in the process of writing this tale. No offence is intended to anyone, alive or half-dead. Just enjoy (if your religion will allow).

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In the beginning all was void

and without form. Then after a very busy few days and nights God created Man, in His own image.

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(Ooops … bugger!) (Rewind, try again)—

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That being the gospel truth, must then mean there’s a feminine variant of God …

Now flash forward some years (about six thousand by some counts, about 14,000,000,000 by others) to ME in the here and right now:

Knock knock!

“Who’s there?” Damn. I’m busy, delegate—



“Can you get that, please?”

Mutter mutter mutter … click, followed by indistinct voices.

Door closes, two lots of footsteps.

Uh oh. A visitor, and me up to my elbows in old-fashioned pen and pages—blasted power cut. Damn again … curiosity:

“Who is it, Toots?”

“No-one you know — it’s Mrs God. She says she’s calling in person to see you after your recent blog posts. Who’ve you cranked up this time?”


“What’s she want?”

“Just a chat. Says she knows you’re busy and will be until you finish that commentary on polar bears — I didn’t know you wrote about polar bears?”

Poop. Other than me no-one does, I’ve just started it. Oh! Mrs God, of course.

“Tell her I’ll be right out—”

“In about twelve minutes, She says. I’d offer Her a coffee but the power’s still off — oh, not a problem, She’s got the jug going.”

“It’s still off in here.”

“And here — it’s only on at the jug. Weird.”

“Whom did you say it was?”

“Mrs God … … … … … … oh!

That might explain something.

“Can you get Her to—” My computer boots into life.

“—thanks. Appreciated.”

Again I marvel at my own ability to accept the unacceptable at a moment’s notice. Okay, miracles sometimes do take a little longer, no problem. Now, polar bears, something important in the great scheme of things … aaaah.

Still marvelling I shift from pen to keyboard, momentarily resenting that She hadn’t called earlier. Honestly, some People …

“She says She’s sorry about that! A minor miracle was needed at short notice in Afghanistan to stop some more Buddha statues being blown up. Took a bit longer than She expected. Bloody heathens.”


A thought—

“Couldn’t Hubby have done it?”

“She’s not speaking to Him right now. Something to do with His ‘holier-than-thou’ attitude, She says.”

Coffee noises float in through my doorway, followed by a heavenly scent. Blue Mountain, my favourite, how did She know? Oops, dumb questi—

“Omniscience, She says. It can be a bit of a pain too, sometimes.”


“Buddhas? I’d have thought She’d be happy the competition was being blown up?”

A loud appreciative slurp is followed by Spouse’s voice, tinged with deepest appreciation (think orgasmic, only more so).

“She says that it’s Mr God who’s the jealous one, she’s more the live-and-let-live type Herself. Anyway, competition is healthy, lowers the costs, so the believer benefits all round.”

Ye gods. A capitalistic free-thinking God? Goddess?

A thought.

“What’s She look like?”

“She says just get on with your writing — and to stop hammering anthropogenic as being too man-made, it’s a lost subtlety.”

Gone. Just like that, a whole morning’s scratchings.

Rip. Shred, tear, rip. Control A + delete. Start again.

“Does She have any suggestions?”

“Argie, She’s gorgeous! And says to use your own free will, She’s not going to write it for you … eh? What? … Oh! (Okay, I’ll tell him) … but your article on revamping NZ politics sure stirred ‘em up!”

“I haven’t written one!”

“Next week — She apologised for mixing the dates up, says being in next week as well as here and now can sometimes get confusing.”

NZ politics? Now there’s a thought.

“Should I come out there?” I know the Spouse, her idea of gorgeous means absolutely divine. Oops.

“No point, She says. You have to believe first. Disbelievers can never see Her.”


I watch in disbelief as a coffee floats in through the doorway and parks itself neatly between keyboard and mouse. Coffee at least is real. My hair fluffles to an unseen soft touch and I feel a light kiss on the back of my neck. Instant goosebumps.

“So you believe in God, Toots? I never knew that.”

“Not in God, no. Mrs God, yes — it’s a girlie thing, you wouldn’t understand.”

Witch. Thanks for the coffee, anyway. A thousand questions flood my mind. At last, a chance for some answers.

“Argie! She’s grabbed her stuff and is heading for the door—”

Damn! So close, yet so far.

“—She says that if you’re going to get all metaphysical on Her She’s out of here—what have you done?”

Me? Nothing. Yet. Eek.

My keyboard explodes into life and this post finishes writing itself before my eyes in mere milliseconds. I lean forward and obediently sip from the coffee floating in front of my lips while the keys rattle on. Cute.

The script switches to bold italics — goody, I like italics — and this post finishes itself just as the front door closes with a gentle, final, and perfectly omnipotent CLICK.

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so do we kiwis.


We read about others and it makes us feel better … and now: fresh in from the most significant others (America!)—

Headbangers Inc


 My neighbor got a pre-declined credit card in the mail.

CEO’s are now playing miniature golf. 

 Exxon-Mobil laid off 25 Congressmen.

I saw a Mormon with only one wife.

McDonald’s is selling the 1/4 ouncer.

Angelina Jolie adopted a child from America.

Parents in Beverly Hills fired their nannies and learned their children’s names.

A truckload of Americans was caught sneaking into Mexico.

A picture is now only worth 200 words.

When Bill and Hillary travel together, they now have to share a room.

The Treasure Island casino in Las Vegas is now managed by Somali pirates.

And, finally…

I was so depressed last night thinking about the economy, wars, jobs, my savings, Social Security, retirement funds, etc., that I called the Suicide Hotline. I got a call center in Pakistan, and when I told them I was suicidal, they got all excited and asked if I could drive a truck.

Moi & bucket zzz

Can too … but not just yet zzzawwp …



—and the feeling that God is playing out His hand, all the way to the last trump*:


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With due honours, salutations and gratitude to the Gatherer for that gem. As for any questions it may raise or social commentary it may make; I leave that to you. (Your choice, use it wisely.)buzzard vulture copy.png


Line, green

* No reference to any presidents (alive, or half dead) intended, not even by the most oblique of allusions. So there.




Moi copythe other one—it has bells!

(For those not in the know, this is to suggest that I feel a bit irked by a wannabe humorist.)

Moving on, and


I found and snipped the below images from one of the many u-tubes I plough through—some of which offer pearls, others poops. With any such it’s always our own call but these images were presented as genuine “samples of ancient artworks” of “possibly oopart* dinosaur imagery”. The enthusiastic narrator burbled about how the site had oodles of such images, which apparently look a lot like dinos. But~

but no humans were around at the time such dinos trampled our planet underfoot; which could be bit of a worry—

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Oh, yes! And/or WOW~!

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But truly, I’m not convinced. Not at all—a bit bloody pathetic and he’ll be getting the rest of us Cranks a bad name …

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Didn’t even make me smile.

Line, green

* Oopart, being OOPART, being Out Of Place Artefact.



The ol’ insomnia has kicked in so I may as well while away the wakened hours with a couple of u-tubes … and while so whiling I happened on this (again) (seen it before but don’t remember posting it) —

It’s not brilliant but I love the sentiments. And the real Greta looks so like her Mum!

dodo copy dodo copydodo copydodo copydodo copydodo copydodo copydodo copy                           dodo copy


Death chatteringIN ANCIENT TIMES …

that we lack today?

The link below takes you to an intriguing relevant article, probably worth the visit.


For the ‘ancient times’ bit you need look no further than the ‘Holy’ Scriptures—where some of those guys outlived several of this Japanese infant’s span.

Perhaps  her longevity was due to a rice diet—(for, or against?).

Either way, the years (without which we’d all be skellingtons now) can do unwelcome things … but paradoxically most of us seem to want to collect as many of them as we can~?

Weird, these humans—

—and now:down there

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Frankly, for myself, I’ve made my peace with Dog and happy to go at any time. The resisting of encroaching antiquity seems a vastly overrated pastime …


“Sure beats the alternative, though, Dog?”



    Yup! And brrrrr