One fine day while drinking java, our Humble and Mighty Lord Bowser Master of Altoids,
Imperator Primus of Fresh Breath had a vision of unprecedented Magnitude: He realized All
the digits of pi.
One fine day while lighting a Cuban cigar on a nearby star, our Fine and Magnificent Lord
remarked that the Surgeon General did not scare Him. It was the
little white mice that troubled the Mighty Sage. "What an awful life it must be... to be on the treadmill," He portended.
One not so fine day, our Omnipotent Prophet clenched his fist in anger and spake unto us:
"Unbelievers! I wish I could suck the life force from thy pathetic little corporeal forms!"
We shuddered to think of the unimaginable wroth of The Mighty Bowser that could befall us,
had we been Unfaithful.
One fine day while gargling, our Wholesome and Fresh Lord thundered thus, "America's
definition of success is paltry--like the life of little white mice. Electrical shocks for cocaine... electrical shocks for cocaine." Then, He turned and Spat!
Until His World Wide Web Page went public, our Fresh Father thought worshipping himself
was a rather lonely office.
"Beware," Bowser cautioned, "for people who do not know when to hold thy tongue are
cursed to bear unpleasant breath."
"Harken my Altoids," reverberated our Righteous and Clean Saviour, "for Nietzsche spoke
Truth. Listen to his words:
To live alone one must be an animal or a God - says Aristotle.
There is yet a third case: one must be both - a philosopher."
While pondering His java cup, our Angelic and Revered Lord professed: A "bottomless" cup
of coffee should have infinite weight!
The Wise Bowser, Master of Altoids, Imperator Primus of Fresh Breath whispered in
admiration that Fat Man and Little Boy were clever and insightful names for devices of
hideous destructive potential.
During sermon at The Village Inn, our Ecclesiastical and Pure Deity scoffed at the price
of Yankee Pot Roast: "$6.99 the bastard thieves!"
In the Dark Years, when first true contact was made with this universe, Bowser followed
in the classical mold: He sent forth an emmisary; someone to die for our sins. But, perhaps Bowser erred. He sent forth his one true plant, a lush Boston fern. Somehow this didn't quite cut it with humanity...
