The Booming
Voice of Goddess
by Albert Russo
Today she would be sued for
being a child torturess. As for honey, I
only accept to swallow one teaspoon of it when I
have a sore throat; it supposedly stops you from
spitting mucus shmukus, yuk, at the
person next to you, in my case, my immediate
neighbor is Unky Berky. Actually he is a sweetie-pie,
coz with him I can get by with murder. Keep that
to yourself, ok! If you don’t I’ll run
to your folks and tell them all the disgusting
thoughts you have, setchual, as well as
the other stuff you oughta be ashamed of. I can
read minds, remember?
As good ‘ole Moses,
aka Moshe (pronounce Mow-shay, not moshee moshee
anow-nay like in Yapaneez!) was hesitating, all a-twembling
and frightened he was that such a Mighty Goddess
deigned to speak to him personally, he who no
longer was an Egyptian prince and who now wore a
cheap sheepskin, which had never been washed and
attracted buzzing dung beetles that sometimes
drove him bonkers.
“But, Your Sacrosanctness,
what if my people don’t want to follow me
and prefer to be beaten up and to serve pharaoh,
on account that there, in the country of the Nile,
they know at least how many whiplashes they get
each time they want to sit and take a break,
whereas I won’t be able to prove that Your Sanctimoniousness
spoke to me, with the po …po … promise
that we shall finally have our own lil country,”
uddered the now lanky, long-haired and
cassocked shepherd.
“Don’t you trust
me?” Goddess growled, hurling a few
deafening lightnings across the cloudy sky. You’d
better start obeying me if you don’t want me
to turn you into an old wandering beast. That’s
where the phrase ‘Wandering Jew’ came
from.
Hey Goddess, yeah this is
another one of my asides - ooh, who just
whispered backside again? Stop it right now or I’ll
crack your skull and make bonecorn with
it, ok! - what kind of a cruel sadist are you to
have thrown your Chosen People on the dirt roads,
under the rain, the snow or the scorching sun,
for two thousand swiney bloomin’
years? I’m warning you, yeah I dare you pick
on me or on my frail, pussymoussy uncle,
coz I choose who I want to be with, where and
when, and it certainly ain’t with thththou!
Since Mo’ still wasn’t
sure whether he had heard right, he started to
play with his staff and bore holes in the sand
like a nervous lil brat. Then all of a sudden the
long wooden stick struck Mo's head, almost
knocking him out, and instead of his staff he
found himself face to face with a swishing snake
thrusting its slimy fangs left, right and center,
trying to sink them into Mo’s forehead.
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