Flashing crotch pantsFlashing crotch pantsFlashing crotch pantsFlashing crotch pants


Anacin is my favorite breakfast food. Let me try and explain why.

 I studied mathematics at university, but I found all the most intriguing women where studying sociology. So I tried to combine the two in my conversation like:

 That god created man in his or her own image is a big tenet of most religions. Few people realize that it is true merely because that was the law on the planet where god lived. The law had been put in place to try and curb a run-away rise in the number of active lawsuits on the planet. One god had figured out that he could make a creation where the inhabitants were actually in the image of an enemy of his, and then he could make those inhabitants stupid and smelly. And this practice had caught on. It was a difficult issue to prove that lowly bits of some creation were 'in the image' of some particular god. The government there eventually decided that it would be best to place the burden of proof about that on the creator rather than the potentially slandered. So they passed the new law.

 Before a god could begin a creation he or she was required to submit a notarized document arguing why the contents of their creation were in their own image.

 But Pat, who created our world, was crafty. None of the other gods had thought of using evolution so generically. It was often used to add some variety to the life forms and stuff. No one would have enjoyed making the millions of species of insects by themselves. But the bigger things were easier to craft directly, rather than figuring out how to force them along through evolution. Pat put in the little extra effort. So, at the time that she submitted the forms the inhabitants did look a lot like her.

 A few million years later though they had changed. They had begun to look a lot like her neighbour Jack, who always had thousands of half disassembled universes lying about in his yard, leaking ether all over the place, smelling of neutronium. And then suddenly the inhabitants, who were now in the image of Jack, acquired other skills as well. They learned how to talk between themselves, how to write things down, how to begin to imagine that they were important. Some of them even began to come up with philosophies that suggested that no god need have existed to create them. These creatures were the perfect buffoons.

 Pat would probably have been able to get away with this piece of fun forever if she had kept it to herself. These little creatures where yelling and wreaking havoc as fast and furiously as they could, but nobody would have noticed. Pat couldn't keep her excitement to herself though. She had to let a few close friends have a quick peek under the curtain. And they were so impressed that they told their closest friends in strictest confidence. Who had to come over for a look too and tell their friends. Eventually Jack just came over to check out why there was a line-up outside Patís door.

 And he didn't find it at all funny. And took her to court. Pat had hoped that she could somehow fall through a loophole in the law, but that didn't turn out to be the case.

 She was sentenced to change her own image to match that of her creations. The creations still look a little like Jack, but they are dead ringers for Pat. She's still pretty pissed off. And has found one of the few things that can amuse her any more is to pluck up a few of the little creatures and juggle them for a bit. She isn't able to actually hurt them. There are laws against that. But the laws don't cover psychological trauma. It is in some ways a backwards planet.

 I know the chances are still less likely than winning the lottery, but I've been keeping inside more lately, away from any large fingers.