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Permission granted by author for anyone to distribute this
writing free of charge (including translation into any
language)...under condition that no profit is made therefrom,
and that it remain intact and complete, including title and
credit to the original author.
Ezekiel J. Krahlin
http://www.gay-bible.org
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TALE TOLD ON A NAPKIN
(A True Tale From The Castro. Eat your heart out, Armistead!)
© 1997 by Ezekiel J. Krahlin
(Jehovah's Queer Witness)
Genie pulled the magic pen from a shirt pocket and began
to scribble on a napkin. RandyZeus rolled his eyes to the
ceiling and muttered through a mouthful of bokchoy: "Never a
dull moment, Lords preserve us!" Then set down his chopsticks
to lean across the table and kiss his good buddy on the
temple. "Give yourself a break LittlePony," he pleaded, "your
dinner's getting cold."
But Genie, absorbed in the napkin, waved him away: "In
a minute Dad, in a minute," and wrote:
My FruitOfTheForbiddenTreeOfKnowledgeOf-
GoodAndEvil underpants turned into a jockstrap
made of communion wafer dough (stolen from the
Church of the Holy NuRedeemer only five blocks
from my residence), due to a genetically
engineered, artificially intelligent enzyme that
escaped from the lab of a mad scientist (the same
one that released AIDS), who was now trying to
turn base metal into gold by way of NanoBiological
experimentation.
Not yet perfected, the NeoEnzyme could only
turn cotton fiber (or cotton/polyester blend) into
Manna; but, being intelligent enough to escape--it
escaped.
Shoving aside the plate, LittlePony unfolded his napkin
for more writing space, flattened it on the table, and
continued (while Randolph tried to figure out how to open his
fortune cookie):
It was a dark and stormy night. The enzyme
first sneaked upstairs to discover an empty,
gloomy hall leading to a grand room bejewelled in
stained glass and lit by a solitary candle. (As
it turned out, the mad scientist also fancied
himself a priest just because he had the papers,
and lived in the Holy NuRedeemer rectory. His
"lab" was in a basement sacristy.)
The excited enzyme grew thirsty from
apprehension (fear of being caught, or eaten by a
bacterium, and stumbling upon a world it never
dreamed existed)--and discovered an enormous lake
at the top of a marble pedestal. Cooled,
refreshed, and resurrected, it swam twenty laps
before exploring other lands.
Genie paused to ask the waiter for a bunch of napkins,
but the waiter misunderstood and returned with only one. "How
many did you say?" asked the incredulous matre d'. Meanwhile,
Randolph discovered the corner of a tiny strip of paper
sticking out of the cookie (and wondered how to eat it without
swallowing the fortune), as HisDarling resumed the napkin
tale:
Of course, you and I know that the water it
swam in was not a lake, but a baptismal font. As
a result, being intelligent enough to receive
grace--it received grace. It was now a
SoldierOfGod, and the mad scientist (it now
realized) was TheBeastHimself: TheBeastOfThe-
Apocalypse, TheDreaded666!
"I must secrete myself somewhere safe to
figure all this out, and plan my strategy of
attack," it thought, and soon found a gold chalice
in which to hide. After armoring itself in chain
mail, sword, helmet, shield and lance, thanks to a
communion wafer resting in the goblet (for the
enzyme could turn food into base metal), it left
its secret sanctuary to slay the DragonBeast and
begin its Quest4TheHolyGrail.
But this being a strange new world, it
quickly lost its way and stopped before a place
called "Badlands". In the distance it spied a
mountain of feces guarded by a swarm of ferocious,
GossamerWing dragons, and declared: "Aha!
TheBeast leaves a trail!" So it marched in the
direction of Castro Street, but lost the trail and
found itself in a Chinese restaurant at the
BirkenstockNOT feet of a diner who sat scribbling
notes on a napkin. The enzyme ducked for cover
under the JordacheJeansNOT cuff of the patron's
leg, as a huge, white boulder suddenly fell from
the sky (in reality, a single grain of cooked
rice).
Ascending the leg like a rock climber
(rappelling itself up from springy branch to
springy branch) in pitch dark, it finally reached
a dead-end plateau: a musky-smelling cavern with
nowhere to go but down. "Gee it's hot in here!"
complained the enzyme, who explored the darkness
for a source of water. Instead, it slipped on a
puddle of viscous matter which, to its delight,
proved not only to be an edible form of protein,
but ThristQuenching as well. "Yum! Tasty!" it
thought, "And it doesn't even need soy sauce!"
Genie lifted his pen: he was stuck, didn't know what to
write next. In frustration he scribbled:
Since Genie's underpants was now an edible
jockstrap--due to a chemical exchange as a result
of the hungry enzyme's SalivaDrool mingling with
CrotchSweat (and consequently absorbed by the
cotton underwear)--Daddy gobbled it all up in
sweet lick after sweet lick.
RandyMan, upset by his boy's now-cold dinner (the bright
red sauce had jelled), tapped the lad's arm to break his
napkin reverie. "Jehovah's jism!" he pointed with a firm
DoAsISay finger, "Eat your dinner now, so I can eat your
jockstrap later!"
The SonOfMan dropped the magic pen and scarfed up all his
Sweet&SourPrawns in record time...for LittlePony was a
VeryGoodBoy (and a VeryGoodBoy was he)!
Exiting through Genie's YvesSt.LaurantNOT
sleeve (resting on the table), the CrusaderEnzyme
continued its holy mission, marching across a vast
tundra of dark earth. The only trees seen
numbered four, and were felled (in reality:
chopsticks). The bare land was scattered with
oblong boulders, tiny green ponds, and crimson tar
pits (whose amber grip of death contained
countless bodies of MiniCenturions that had failed
in their quest). "Yes! Yes! Signs of TheBeast!"
proclaimed the HeroEnzyme, "Hot on the trail once
more!"
It finally reached a broad mesa, scaled it,
and stood before the fortune cookie, sword drawn.
"Come out, come out, you ScalyPervert! I avenge
my brothers!" Its voice echoed through the empty
land. EnzymeMan stole up to the CookieFortress and
peered in: vacant! "Hmmm! Well-lit, cool, cozy
and secure! Time for a brief respite!" it
thought, and entered, covering itself under the
single thin blanket for twenty winks.
At home, RandyGod extricated the cookie fortune with a
tiny tweezers from his SwissArmyGibbeler, uncurled it, and
read:
VeniVidiVici.
---finis