Pick Me

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Strike me down hard, bolt of pure blue, laser focus square, blast of hydrogen nuclear, knock me on my keister, blind me down, oh Lordy Lord Lord.

And that little seed, little holy fella in there, sprouting up all Jesuzzy in Snooky Lee Le Blanc, mill worker turned hydroponic salesman, Medocinio Seed and Feed, Laytonville branch, that little bud will walk the earth again, a Holy Grace.

So what if I’m a male of the species. I don’t care. And Our Father Who Art in Heaven Hallowed, you shouldn’t care either. Mary said nothing about nothing, dopey tweener, air head, too simple to keep that fool Joe from all up in her knickers. So why not me?

Georgia Pacific brought Daddy and us up from Louisiana in 1973. But since the spotted owl and that shaggy arm pit, Butterfly Hill, hugging up the redwoods and all, nothing’s been right. Planters are all that’s helped, see. If the Feds leave off with the growing raids, business will pick up at the Seed and Feed, but for now, everybody but has moved to Santa Rosa and points south.

Boozing’s what’s to do around here, and used to be could choose between Boomer’s and Red’s Recovery Room to drink. But Red’s went south, and I never liked that Boomers anyway. Billy McQueen, that mean son a bitch, pissed on me once in the can, and it was fight and get my clock cleaned, or walk away. Well, I’m no fighter, so I walked.

So there you go, your Almightyness, I am a peaceful type, like you like. Drinking’s not the best pastime anyway. You ought to be able to find something better to do. I could drive over to Fr. Bragg where the hipster lovers gush over over the scenery. They say it looks like Ireland, but I’ve never been so I can’t vouch.

I thought of becoming a mean son a bitch myself, piss on people like McQueen does or vomit on the street, but that’s not for me either. So I am presenting myself to you the Exalted on High. I will be a good spouse. Got a nice hot pasta dish I can do for you Mr. God, and can scramble up a batch of eggs and Bisquick wafflers to make your mouth water, and get you a nice cup of coffee, and keep the kitchen clean.

I’m still a virgin, if that’s what you’re worried about. But a baby’ll always have a cute smile and friendly gurgle for Snooky Lee Le Blanc. And I’m ready to be the mother of God again. I even got a name; if she’s a girl, we’ll name her Isabelle.

Come on your Everlasting Glory, shoot it on down. That’s right. There you go. Bolt of blue lightning; shake the earth; rumble the core; freight train coming. It’s me, it’s me, it’s me, oh Lord. Pick me. Pick me.

 

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