I am pleased to report that most Shalampaxians have emaciated themselves into accepting the inescapable truth that forsaking their devout worship of God 148 is the only sane and survivable course of action, despite the inevitability of being denounced as infidels and shunned by those few souls who are still pious in their God 148ly beliefs and deeds. Consequently, the apostates are now on the road to recovery with the help of a much needed, greatly appreciated orgy of gluttonous feasting.
However, because they discovered that they have a fundamental personal shortcoming, not all of my compatriots have been able to follow my path in going cold turkey and completely giving up on religion. Deprived of the benefit of the excuse of God 148′s insistence on strict observance of Her full-week-minus-a-second Sabbath, they are incapable of finding their own reasons for sloth. Rather than forsaking all God-given excuses for indolence and thereby being expected to work what, in most of the developed world, would be considered to be a full workweek, many have reverted fully to Paahlmism, but others have moved their spiritual allegiances a single God down the line in the infinite hierarchy of Infinitiaty’s Gods. They now worship God 147.
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Something strange has been happening here in Shalampax. And, until recently, I haven’t been able to explain it. We used to be overrun with cockroaches.
The little buggers thrived here because, although we hated them, we were too lazy to do anything about them. Nobody ever vacuumed or swept their apartments because that was too much work. And extermination? That would require way too much effort.
Rather than feeling shame over our slovenly ways that fostered the cockroach infestation, we tried to boost our self-esteem by telling ourselves that the pests were really pets. Pets have to be fed, don’t they? By leaving food droppings where they lay we were simply feeding our pets, which, of course, was the humane thing to do. We anxiously awaited our commendation from PETA.
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In my last couple of posts (here and here) I told you about some of the disadvantages of worshipping God 148. There are others. For example, She expects us to punish adulteresses by stoning them to death. We are supposed to punish male adulterers by forcing them to gather the stones used to stone the adulteresses. Considering that God 148 has a female God number, We thought it rather strange that women should warrant a far harsher punishment than men for the same crime, but it seems that all of the Gods are misogynists, regardless of their assigned gender.
Stoning is a problem for us.
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In my previous post, I told you about some of the pitfalls of choosing God 148 as the one God to worship out of all the infinite number of Gods, but I didn’t mention the worst of it. The praying required when God 148 is your God is unbearable.
The content of the prayers isn’t a problem. Unlike God One, God 148 is a very self-confident deity, secure in Her supremeness. Thus, She doesn’t expect us to regularly sing Her praises and tell Her how great she is. She is well aware of Her Majesty and doesn’t need any mere mortal to remind her of it.
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It’s been a very long time since anyone has posted here. I’m sorry about that. Due to a sudden outbreak of mass hysteria, no one felt like writing anything.
That’s a bit misleading, isn’t it? No one in Shalampax has ever felt like writing anything because it is too much like work. But, in the past, we usually couldn’t come up with an adequate excuse to overrule the blackmail that the Prime Minister threatened to use against us if we refused to perform our blogging duties.
Recently, either good fortune or widespread insanity—it’s often difficult to distinguish between the two—gave us an ironclad excuse. Work became against our religion. Literally. And for most of my compatriots it still is.
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For some time now, many of us here in Shalampax have had the feeling that our building is leaning to one side. Most of us ignored this feeling as we assumed that it was merely a result of our near-constant intoxication. However, it turns out that our drunkenness, perception-skewing though it may be, was not the explanation. The building is indeed listing.
This was confirmed when Tornunderwear unexpectedly found herself briefly sober. She wandered down to the basement, hoping beyond hope to find some hooch that someone had inadvertently discarded. Stumbling around in the mess down there, Tornunderwear tripped on a spirit level that someone had left lying on the floor.
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