The Gospel According To Roger

[The Good Reverend Roger]

I've decided to let RWHN have this bit, since he wants it so much.  I'll just give it to him and keep my thoughts on the matter to myself.

http://www.principiadiscordia.com/forum/index.php/topic,32776.0.html

I take a bit, based a little on reality, and start working it.  Asshole swipes the bit, turns it into a pun thing.

Fuck this noise.  I'll write it for myself and save the fucking thing to disk.

Well, I'll still riff, if it's good with you. It's a good thread, and a I like the idea behind it.

Go right ahead.  I'm out.  And there's nothing in the fucking world that will convince me that this wasn't intentional.

[AFK]

Probably not, but I'll say nonetheless that I didn't read the OP.  My thread is just a fun pun thread.  I didn't realize   only one person at a time could create death-related threads.  I'll be sure to check the thread registry more carefully next time.

[The Good Reverend Roger]

Probably not, but I'll say nonetheless that I didn't read the OP.  My thread is just a fun pun thread.  I didn't realize   only one person at a time could create death-related threads.  I'll be sure to check the thread registry more carefully next time.

Just fuck off, RWHN.  You've succeeded in your mission, you fucking win.  Just fuck off.

[The Good Reverend Roger]

Fucker swore straight up that he wasn't gunning for me, and then he starts pulling this shit.  Again.

Lying-ass bastard.

[Freeky]

I've decided to let RWHN have this bit, since he wants it so much.  I'll just give it to him and keep my thoughts on the matter to myself.

http://www.principiadiscordia.com/forum/index.php/topic,32776.0.html

I take a bit, based a little on reality, and start working it.  Asshole swipes the bit, turns it into a pun thing.

Fuck this noise.  I'll write it for myself and save the fucking thing to disk.

I've decided to let RWHN have this bit, since he wants it so much.  I'll just give it to him and keep my thoughts on the matter to myself.

I'm not feeling nearly so generous.

RWHN is a sack of filth who lives to steal neat ideas and turn into drama bullshit, and I for one hopes he dies a lonely, painful death.

In a fucking fire.

Too quick and meme ish for what I was thinking.

[Nephew Twiddleton]

Funny thing about Saturday night. Right around Friday, when the tedium of your labors are done, you start to remember where you are. It's not all right away. On a Friday night, sometimes you just want to fuck off in front of the tube. Dead eyes looking at the screen, dead eyes looking back from the screen.

And then the next day it gets to be a bit much, you know?

Then you remember when you first got here. Sort of. You don't really remember how you got to Tucson (truth be told though, The City is whatever city you happened to die in. To a dead New Yorker, Hades is Manhattan with its overwhelming stench and neverending bustle. It's the city that never sleeps because no one is allowed to in that part of the Underworld), but you remember one specific thing. The River Lethe.

Everyone's heard about the River Lethe. You go there, you drink some nasty river water and you forget everything. The myths lied about one thing though. When you drink from the Lethe, you don't forget your life. You forget that you're dead. Just for a little bit.

They omitted the truth about another thing. The Lethe's not really a river.

So it's Saturday night, and you open the door. You take a seat in the lonely establishment, and your good ole' barkeep Vergil is there. Some nights it's Dante. It's a good night when it's Sybil, because she always shows a bit of cleavage. You know she's just doing it for the tips, but you're trying to forget you're dead. Either way, they all know what kind of Lethe you want. You're here every Saturday night, because that's the night everyone remembers that the Great Heartland is called Asphodel, and the President and First Lady are named Dis and Persephone.

There's a reason why those who venerate the dead offer them booze- the Neoceltic types offer them whiskey, the followers of Santa Muerte use rum, the gangsta pours out a 40, even those who don't realize what they're doing raise a glass and say, "here's to [name of the recently deceased]" etc...

They just never figured out why. But it doesn't matter if the living spill a drop on our graves. That's not the rain that actually feeds the Lethe. That's just a token symbol. The Lethe is bottomless, and ever flowing. Always there, even on a Monday, to help you forget that you are dead.

[Anna Mae Bollocks]

I've decided to let RWHN have this bit, since he wants it so much.  I'll just give it to him and keep my thoughts on the matter to myself.

http://www.principiadiscordia.com/forum/index.php/topic,32776.0.html

I take a bit, based a little on reality, and start working it.  Asshole swipes the bit, turns it into a pun thing.

Fuck this noise.  I'll write it for myself and save the fucking thing to disk.

I've decided to let RWHN have this bit, since he wants it so much.  I'll just give it to him and keep my thoughts on the matter to myself.

I'm not feeling nearly so generous.

RWHN is a sack of filth who lives to steal neat ideas and turn into drama bullshit, and I for one hopes he dies a lonely, painful death.

In a fucking fire.

Too quick and meme ish for what I was thinking.

Slow is only better if you can set it in motion and walk away.
Do not feed the attention whore.

[Freeky]

What? 

It could be something simple, like colo-rectal cancer.

[Anna Mae Bollocks]

What? 

It could be something simple, like colo-rectal cancer.

The simple solution is often the best. 

[Nephew Twiddleton]

The dead often remember their childhood. It's the nostalgia of being alive of course. Childhood wasn't perfect but you remember that wonder, the discovery, that everything was new, and you had an imagination. Surely, a child is always alive. You remember your first crush, every time you see a redhead. She's the reason you like redheads anyway. Ah the 6 year old crush, the beautiful misery of having no idea how to express your puppy love. It helps drown out the voices of the nuns, who bore you to death, or look at you cockeyed because you forgot to return your library book (or is she looking at John? Neil? Shannon? I don't know man, shit, my mother remembers this goddamn nun...)

"Dear God, I am sorry for all my sins. I am sorry for the wrong things I have done. I am sorry for the good things I have failed to do. I will try to do better. Help me to show your love. Amen."

I am sorry for the good things I have failed to do

I am sorry for the good things I have failed to do

I am sorry for the good things I have failed to do

There's one thing the Catholics got right, and it was their afterlife model. Mostly. I mean they did crib it from the Romans, who in turn cribbed it from the Greeks. See, you got three places. In modern parlance, Heaven, Hell and Purgatory (if you want to be a classical snoot about it, Elysium, Tartarus, and Asphodel). What the Catholics got right is that most motherfuckers go to Purgatory. What they got wrong is that most people get out of Purgatory.

I am sorry for all of my sins.

That's easy. No one wants to be an asshole. Most people aren't intentionally assholes. You can always appeal to a sense of remorse in most people.

I am sorry for all the wrong things I have done.

No one wants to make the world a worse place. Everyone has good intentions. Good intentions....

I am sorry for the good things I have failed to do.

Ahhhhhh Aha! This is how we all got here, my friend. Slainte by the way. My Lethe tastes like Old Thompson right now. I have some penance to do, and those above forgot about extending plenary indulgences to the dead. October 31st is only four months away though! What does yours taste like oh nevermind when I'm forgetting that I'm dead you can't shut me up.

Here's the thing with Asphodel. It's insidious. We're here because of the good things we've failed to do. It's easy not to be an asshole. It's also easy to sit back and say not my problem. Well, shit, we're all here at the same bar trying to forget, aren't we? We all got here for the same reasons.

We sat back. We watched. We thought Heaven was unattainable (I'm not talking about God's country club. No, I'm talking about something more glorious that a glorified bathroom stall with a glory hole with a new angel to take over when the previous one's mouth gets sore. No. I'm talking about something else.) Brothers and sisters, Tir na n'Og is ours for the taking, and we can storm Valhalla and make it ours! These are places of personal glory!

But it's important to sit and talk about this storming Valhalla thing. We can never have enough sitting and talking and planning, yes Sybil, we'll have another round. Here ya go beautiful. 

[Nephew Twiddleton]

Thoughts?

[The Good Reverend Roger]

Thoughts?

I'll read & respond tomorrow, if you don't mind.  My head is no longer in the right space for this.

Catch me in the AM.

[Nephew Twiddleton]

Thoughts?

I'll read & respond tomorrow, if you don't mind.  My head is no longer in the right space for this.

Catch me in the AM.

Will do.

[Nephew Twiddleton]

There was this one time when I realized that there was more to the city than my own little boring section.

I hoped onto a bus and took it as far as it would go.

I got on the train and I took it to the center. The center of the world, the center of the galaxy, the center of the universe, I don't fucking know man. Just the center. Tartarus.

I looked around. It was brighter. Noisier. Smellier. Just -er. More of everything. I could get the same Lethe here than back home. It had different flavors though. I went into a bar. I was a little scared to. The people here look different than me. That's not the reason I'm scared though. People look that way around my part of Asphodel too. That's the problem though. This ain't Asphodel. This is Tartarus.

I come up to the bar. The barkeep has an eyepatch.

"Hey, what's your name, my good man?"

"Pauly Famous"

"Double shot of Jameson"
"Double shot of Jameson"
"Double shot of Jameson"

"You doin' alright there kid?"
"Your voice is real raspy dude."
"I'm dead. You're dead too."
"Listen Polyphemus," I slur Pauly's name, "what's your favorite song?"

Pauly smirks. I get the sense he hasn't heard his favorite song in a while.

I put the money in the juke box and...

[The Good Reverend Roger]

Very nice.

This wasn't where I was going with it, but very nice.

I may have been a little hasty last night.  I have one more story to tell.  Perhaps a little later.