Let us Prey

It is with much shame and humiliation that I've come here today to admit that my computer is a faithless piece of trash. The cold, hard truth, with which I've been forced to come face to face, is that my computer is an atheist.
I have seen the light from the glow of my monitor, but that light only led me to the harsh truths I stand before ye today and speak of with such meekness. Can I get an amen here, please?
Thanks
You see, I was doing some research on my Darwinian PC. I wanted to know more about a news story that had appeared on the Fox News Network on Monday night, about this church in California where images of Jesus, Mary, and a host of other Biblical characters keep appearing on the walls. The holy pastor, Wynona something or other, admitted she was a little skeptical when she first was told of these miraculous images. But then when people started paying to come see 'em, she became a believer.
What a blessed woman, she. And, I know she must be telling the truth about these images. Think about it. If a lady of God says there are images appearing in the water stains and on the dirty vents of her church, who am I to be so lacking in faith to question her. I wanted to see. I wanted to have my life altered as have countless others who have seen one or more of these images. I've been hoping for a raise at work. Maybe catching sight of the image would be just what the doctor ordered to rustle me up a nice raise. And, I feel confident that with said raise, I'd be more willing to go out and help the poor.
But, no, not gonna happen. My PC, who I now refer to as Ol' Beelzebub, wouldn't show me even one miraculous image. Oh sure. I saw water stains. I did think that maybe I saw Alvin of the Chipmunks in one stain. And, he does sing that wonderful Christmas hymn about the hula hoop. So, maybe I'm being too hard on the monitor. But, hey, I wanted to see a real honest to goodness Jesus and Mary image.
The pastor lady says they've even had images of Moses and Peter show up from time to time. My problem there is that even if my computer hadn't renounced all belief in God, I probably couldn't tell which one was Peter and which one was Moses. In all of the photographs I've seen of the two gentlemen, they look so much alike.
But it's a mute point (that is a point no one can speak about). It's all academic now, because, as I say, the best image I got was of a rodent.
But that's not the worst of it. I thought well maybe my eyes are bad. Maybe these images were showing up but it was due to my eyes (or lack of faith) that I wasn't seeing Jesus. And, heaven knows, I really was hoping to see him.
But, again, I stand before ye brethern and tell you that it wasn't me. It was this heathen Dell computer.
You see, even though I couldn't see the images, I did see that this church has a website (bless their bytes)for people to go see more of the images. The website is miraclewall.org. So, I typed the url in to my address box and do you know what happened? Do you want to know what happened? YOu're not going to believe it. Nothing happened. No website even came up. I guess that's proof enough that my computer is of low moral character.
I know, I know...some of you doubt. You say, "Steve, it's all a hoax." But, I say, "A hoax? Would a church do something like that? And you say, "But Steve, would God really waste time playing pictionary with a bunch of nuts?" And I say, "You tell me."
Anyway, here I sit, weeping openly. All I asked for was a glimpse of miracle wall, and all I got was this error message. My computer must die! As soon as I can afford a new one.
Well, so much for the computer. I have better things to do. My neighbor has a chihuahua who can bark How Great Thou Art, and I don't want to miss tonight's performance. I may just get that raise after all.

Random Thoughts, Once Again (Or, in other words, I haven't had an intelligent thought in days)

Well, in true rambling form, I just have a few random thoughts to share. First of all, did you watch the new show on NBC tonight? Clash of the Choirs? Talk about not living up to the hype. I was under the impression that this was some sort of WWF or WWE or whatever, RAW type of battle royal between local church groups.
I was looking forward to some hymnal hurling, robe ripping action, and all I got was horrible singers singing horribly. Maybe I didn't pay enough attention to the advertisements, but I was miserably disappointed.
Also, what's with all this stereoid hullabaloo. Hey, these guys are high paid ball players. I'd be surprised if they DIDN'T own stereos. I'm sure many even have I-Pods. So what's the big deal? These dedicated professionals give everything they have day in and day out during the long, grueling summer season. Sometimes, I feel sure, they go beyond what might be considered humanly possible, at least to you and me.
I think it's amazing to see such marvelous specimans of humanity...men, who even after they have passed the prime of life, continue to grow even stronger, and bulkier. So, if, in their off time, they want to chill to some stereo music, I say, let 'em chill.
I'm glad I don't walk around with an attitude like some people I know, including Bart Giomatti, or whoever that guy is who says he's like the big wig of baseball.
I say live and let live.
Speaking of which, so what if Barak Obama wanted to be president in kindergarten. I can't see how the Clintons could make a big deal about that. And, if, at the same time, he was dealing in drugs, I'm sure he's put that all behind him.
I hear some people saying Hillary is slipping in the polls. I find that hard to believe. I mean just look at the woman, she looks presidential. In fact, she looks very much like some of the nation's earliest presidents, although I'm not sure I could put names with faces.
Personally, I believe Mrs. Clinton has the nomination locked up, but a lot can happen between now and the Democratic Convention next summer. For instance, if there's some big scandal...like, for instance, if someone catches Bill Clinton having sex with Hillary, then I say all bets are off. But barring that, and I feel that it won't be a problem, I say Hillary is a shoe in. Unless of course, the nod goes to Obama or that pretty boy with the southern accent. I never can remember his name.
And, speaking of politics, I can't believe what the Republicans are doing to each other. I read somewhere that many of the candidates have come right out and called Mitt Romney a moron. Hey, when you're named after a glove, maybe you deserve a little ribbing, but a moron? Really! Some people.
Well, I gotta get back to watching the news. I try to stay up to date on world events so I can better help you, the little people out there, better understand what's going on. Don't thank me. I consider it an honor.

Tis The Season, Tisn't It?

So, I'm minding my own business, just sitting at my desk, when the phone rings. You can probably guess who is was. Yep, Lochru the Druid, who for whatever reason only comes out this time of year. He's kind of like the groundhog in Pennsylvania only earlier. Anyway, I answer the phone, and he says, "Steve, can you help me out?"
"Sure," I say, because as everyone who knows me knows, I'm always looking for ways to help people out.
"Well," he continues, "you remember a few weeks ago when I played some of my Druid Carols?"
"Yeah, how could I forget?" I say.
"Well, anyway, I got some complaints."
"What sort of complaints?" I ask my favorite Druid.
"Oh a bunch of people wrote me," he continues, "and said since I'm living in America now, I need to act like Americans."
"And what did you say?" I asked him.
"I asked them if they meant I needed to speak Spanish."
"Quick thinking," I say.
"But that irritated them too," Lochru tells me. "They said that Druidism is yesterday and that I needed to have the Christmas spirit."
"So, what do you think?" I asked him.
"Well, I want to get along," he answers. "So, I did some studying up on Christmas. And, then this morning I was listening to Sid and Melissa on Q-94."
"You listen to Q-94?" I asked incredulously. "I bet you really skew the demographics. What are you, about 500 years old."
"You're too kind," he answers. "Anyway, I was listening to Sid and Melissa talk about a Christmas party they went to last night. And it really helped me to understand what Christmas is all about."
"Well, that's great," I say, "but you asked me for my help...?"
"Yes," Lochru says. "You see, after doing my research and listening to this morning's program, I sat down and wrote a Christmas song."
"I'm sure it's lovely," I say.
"Again, you're too kind," he says. "May I sing it to you so you can share it with your millions of readers?"
"Why not, after all, I am writing the column. I need something to finish it off."
"Okay, here goes," he says. "I call it The 21st Century Christmas Song, and it goes a little something like this..."


Employees puking in the garbage can
They’ve had just too much Christmas cheer.
Tiny tots listening to Q-94
Say, ‘Hey Jesus must really like his beer."

Co-workers hooking up in the ladies room
This Christmas party is really something swell
But if what Pat Robertson says is the truth
Then the Q-94 staff will burn in hell.

This Christmas thing is kinda weird
Is it about baby Jesus
Or this fat guy with a long white beard?
And all the revelers are going to try
To get really drunk but yet not die

And so I’m offering this simple phrase
To all you party goers drinking the 100 proof fluid
Although it’s never been said
At any time or in any way
You’d all be better off if you were Druids

When Lochru finished his song, I wiped a tear from my eye and hung up.

My Dog Blog

I need to set the record straight on a particular issue. Let me go on record right now as saying that I am not a dog hater. I love all God's creatures, except for camelback crickets, of course. They're the meanest insect on earth. If you try to step on one, it will lunge for your throat. Believe me, they've come after me on more than one occasion.
But, back to the subject at hand...dogs. I don't hate them. True, it's not like I'm best friends with any of them, but I don't hate them. I'm just not crazy about them.
My wife loves her dogs and I think she secretly views me as an inferior life form because I don't share her emotions. She has two dogs, Toby (a male) and Tory (female). We've had the dogs since they were puppies. Someone had abandoned them, and my wife, bless her heart, took them in. They're about eight years old now.
I told my wife recently that while I liked Toby, I wasn't all that fond of Tory. Her voice is too shrill (Tory's, not my wife's) and she whines about everything (Tory, hmmm, oh yeah, I do mean Tory). "I wish we could find a loving home for Tory," I say (wink, wink, nod, nod)
"Well, Toby would miss her so much if I got rid of her," my wife says, agreeing with me that Tory can get on your nerves.
"So, let me get this straight," I say in reply. "You have Toby as your pet, and Toby has Tory as his pet. Is that the way it is?"
She didn't answer. I guess, bottom line, my wife really loves both dogs. I'm not saying, or even suggesting that she loves them more than she does me. But, on rare occasion, if she gets irritated with me and raises her voice, she immediately comforts the dogs. She never reads my columns, so, unless one of you has an exceptionally large mouth, this will be our little secret.
My wife doesn't insist I love the dogs, but she does want me to treat them nicely. It's not like I kick them, and I swear I am no supporter of Michael Vick, but I have a hard time talking baby/dog talk to the dogs.
When I come home and kiss my wife, she will say, "Speak to Tory."
"Hi, Tory," I'll say rather matter of factly.
"No," my wife will say. "Speak sweetly to her."
"How was your day, Tory?" I'll say, still devoid of any deep emotion.
"You can do better than that," my wife will scold me.
So, in the same way I speak to my infant grandson, I'll muster up the courage and say, "How is da wittle doggie doing today, huh Toreeeee?"
"Did you hear that?" my wife will say to Tory. "Daddy loves you."
And Tory, being exceptionally dumb, will believe my wife and get up and come over and try and lick my face. Yuck.
Like I say, I don't hate dogs, but I do hate being licked by a dog. Now, I know that dog's saliva is supposed to be as pure as Ivory soap, but I just don't want to be near it. But, Tory, who has no appreciation for human subtleties will immediately be convinced that I've suddenly converted to a dog lover just because I speak sweetly to her. She'll totally ignore the fact that only moments previously we were just two warm-blooded creatures who passed in the night.
Toby, isn't much better, but he does have a good disposition. Oh sure, he loves to kill a cat or a possum on occasion, but except for a little blood lust, he's not a bad dog. He's a big, black lab. I really don't mind him. I just know that if I speak nicely to me, he'll want to be up (all 100 pounds of him) on my lap.
I just want to explain my position. If you should ever hear that I hate dogs, don't believe it.
In fact, just this morning, I went into the dog's bedroom to dress. Yes, my closet is in the dog's room. When I cut on the light, at about 6:00 this morning, Tory looks up at me, like what the heck are you doing here?"
"Sorry, Tory," I say sincerely. "I didn't mean to wake you up."
Then it dawns on me. What difference does it make if I wake the dog up? It's not like Tory has a really hectic schedule today and could have used an extra hour's sleep. In fact, sleeping is what she'll pretty much spend the day doing.
And, it's not like Tory won't be able to get back to sleep because her mind will be racing with all that she has to get accomplished today. I can just imagine Tory lying in bed thinking..."Hmmm,what's on my schedule today. Oh yeah, first I have to lick my rear end, then I need to go to the window and bark at the neighbor's stupid cat. And, oh yeah, there's one of Steve's shoes I have to chew on for a little while. That'll serve him right. I know he hates me. I know he's just pretending when he speaks nicely to me. But, I also know how much he hates me licking him. What a stupid animal he is. But, it's not like I hate him or anything. I'm just not crazy about him."

Finally Famous After All These Years

Wow! I must be famous. So this is what it feels like. Hmm, I wonder if Mayor Governor Wilder is going to give me the key to the city, or at least give me one of the city’s discarded artist renderings of some really neat place that never got built. That would be cool.
But, I guess I had better slow down and explain myself. How do I know I’m famous? You might be thinking someone asked for my autograph. Think again. The UPS guy did ask me to sign for a package of toner cartridges the other day, but that’s about the closest I’ve come to autographing anything.
Or, could it be I’ve been asked to judge a beauty contest? That might seem to be a logical conclusion inasmuch as all the famous people who get to do that aren’t really all that famous. At least, I’ve never heard of any of them. But, no. No one has asked me to judge anything.
I did get a call from someone with the Miss Virginia Pageant recently, but she only called to complain because I had innocently made the statement that the Miss Virginia Pageant has to be the most poorly produced programming in the history of pageantry. I think I may have said something about the semi-lovely ladies being completely devoid of talent. I hope I didn’t say that. I hope I only thought it. I wouldn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings. But, to reiterate, I have not become aware of my fame due to any requests to judge things.
Maybe, you’re thinking I’ve become so famous that I was asked to be in this year’s Ukrop’s Christmas Parade, maybe even to be the grand marshal. Nope. And, I’m not complaining either. I was told, by our Art Director, Vince Robertson, who watched on TV, that this year’s parade was so bad, Ukrop’s has asked that from now on it be called the Food Lion Christmas Parade. Vince tells me that the Henrico County float was downright embarrassing. Well, maybe he didn’t use that term, but he described the float, something to the effect that it was a tool shed on a truck. Way to go, Henrico! But anyway, I’m not famous because of any parade. Although, it would be cool to have a big balloon that looked like me flying above the buildings. Of course, some people think I look like a big balloon of me already.
So, back to my famousness. Is it because people come up to me and say, “Hey, Steve, we really enjoy your columns”? No, the truth is no one has ever, and I mean ever, recognized me in public, even when I’m wearing a badge that says, “Steve Cook.” In fact, it wasn’t so very long ago, I approached a big wig with the Chamber of Commerce, who, every time I encountered him at a meeting, would always say, “It’s good to meet you.” I spoke to this guy every month at a breakfast meeting, and invariably, every month, he would introduce himself to me, and I’d play along and introduce myself to him, and every month he would say, in the same totally insincere manner, “It’s good to meet you.”
So, at this one particular meeting, I approached him, before he could come up and introduce himself for the umpteenth time. As he was starting to re-introduce himself, I said (and keep in mind, I’m wearing a badge that identifies me as who I am – Steve, in case you’ve forgotten), “Joe, we’ve met before.”
“Yes, I remember,” he says, and continues, “It’s nice to see you again Dave.” DAVE! Hold on, you moron. I’m Steve Cook. I’m famous. I didn’t actually say that. But, I sure thought it, except for that part about being famous. I have never thought that.
But, I have thought about how great it would be to be famous. The biggest thing about being famous is all the free stuff. I imagine famous people are always being given stuff for free, you know, like cars and free hamburgers, and other neat stuff like that. Until now, I’m sorry to say fame has eluded me as successfully as has talent.
But, the day has arrived. And, if you’ve looked closely at this page, you’re one step ahead of me. Did you notice? Yes, I am famous. Because only famous people have impersonators impersonating them. And now, there’s a Steve Cook impersonator out there. Look at the picture. Surprise! That’s not me. It’s Chase Porter, who lives in Smithfield, Virginia, and fittingly, Chase is a real ham.
He does a perfect me, I think. Actually, it’s a perfect mini-me, which even adds to my fame. Don’t you think?
And, if you ever saw Chase do the impersonation on stage, you’d notice he even blinks like me. I’m one of the world’s great blinkers. Anyway, the next time he does one of his popular, “An Evening With Steve Cook (sort of) Concerts,” I’ll let you know. And, if you’re famous, I can probably get you a couple of tickets for free.