snorpy bits

Praying Alone In The Cupboard

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sat, 04 Apr 2026 23:00:00 +0000

Dork energy, dork madder, dork mutter. Something like that, all over the place, but at least it's not slimy so I think we're ahead.

Ebola instant noodles — I missed that one, and now it isn't trendy any more. Back to NFTs, I guess.

Fred didn't do it. I have this on good authority and the big finger now points at you.

For my first magic trick I will sit here quietly and not thumb a cell phone. And meanwhile you can fuck off.

For the first time in years I've come up short of ears — I'm in arrears in the department of ears then. Feel OK otherwise.

Hey — Dwarf hamster v hammerhead shark, round 2. I'm betting on the shark this time.

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Me? Never constipated, except mentally sometimes.

Not Scared Yet, If Ever

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Wed, 01 Apr 2026 23:40:20 +0000

We don't want to scare you too much, but Boo! (Damn that felt good.)

We seem happy enough, as a species, as individuals, on this train to deathland.

We're not here for a long time. We're here for a good time. (Defined as those days I'm not on fire.)

Weasels don't waltz well.

Wee Willie Winklevoss's guide to losing a fortune: "Easier Than You Think". (Comes with its own crayons.)

Wembley Dildron, inventor and patent holder of the Wench Wrench, professional mumbler, missing person, and no one cares about any of it.

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Me? Tedious at times, yes?

Wildly Calm Lately For You Too?

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sat, 28 Mar 2026 12:34:22 +0000

There were all too many hubcaps rolling down the street this week, most of them disobeying lawful orders to stop. Whatever is the world coming to?

There's a tiger under my bed. It kept me up all night, counting sheep. There's that pile of dead sheep to deal with too.

There's no point in continuing to horse a dead beet.

Thesserelda Woofenpickle once appeared briefly on the Rocky & Bullwinkle show around 1960. I still dream of her. And what is she up to now anyway?

Things got strange after my kindergarten class roasted and ate our teacher Mrs Lee. The flavor was off. That should have warned us, but we kept it up with every replacement they sent in. Now I've given myself the farts again.

Thinking of you fondly, whoever you are. (Not really.)

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Me? I'm just buzzing with excitement these days.

How So?

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Wed, 25 Mar 2026 23:40:34 +0000

There are flies in here. But no one is wearing pants. Very suspicious.

There has never been a public monument to hormones, and no one wonders why. Conspiracy?

There is no cure for asparagus poisoning.

There seem to be lots of rats in my apartment lately. I haven't sold that many tickets either. Will have to find out who's letting them in without paying.

There was a crooked man who had a crooked smile, and walked a crooked walk and farted a lot too. Generally the sort of person worth avoiding, if you know anything.

Then what?

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Me? I'm around here somewhere.

Life Hums Along To Its Own Tuna

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sun, 15 Mar 2026 22:02:00 +0000

The mucus conspiracy choir — coming to a sofa near you, real soon now. Watch where you sit!

The monkey finally came home to roost. (He likes chickens.)

The music in this restaurant is definitely too loud. One of the waiters just burst into flames, but they really don't take it seriously. The rest of them are clustered around, hopping to the music and roasting marshmallows on sticks. I can't wait for dessert. After that, they'll remove the cuffs and let me out. If they weren't fibbing for chuckles.

The music piped into this restaurant is so loud that my toenails fell out. Which drew dozens of rats from somewhere, all swarming like crazy, chittering away. That happens all too often in these parts.

The twelfth of April. The day I finally admitted that I am an ape. And have a pretty decent butt for an old creepy ape.

There is a door across the street, in a building, and the door is closed. I don't know what this means, but it could mean something, at least in an alternate universe where doors are really significant, high-status artifacts that people worship, and leave snacks for, and so on, but I don't think that things work that way around here. Am I right, or just clueless?

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Me? Not that flexible any more.

Could I Do It Without You?

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Thu, 12 Mar 2026 01:59:07 +0000

Thanks. I don't know what I'd do without you. Even though you're imaginary. Right? Am I right? Still, even so, I can assume that you taste good.

That chipmunk that tried to set me on fire? Honest mistake. It only wanted a roasted nut.

That giant eyeball in the sky has been watching me again. At least it isn't the giant runny nose always trying to sniff my pants. I hate that.

That thumping sound in the background — it's a thumper in the background, thumping. My neighbor doesn't know how to do anything quietly.

The food on the menu tastes funny, and there isn't enough of it. Maybe if I order some on a plate it might be better. At least it would be on a plate. I suppose. One would hope, eh?

The sky was full of wizards last week. It was all wizards, everywhere, sky-wise. I don't have any idea what that was all about, but there you are — wizards, all up in the sky, all week, up to no good that I could identify. Not especially noisy, though now we do have wizard droppings all over our roofs again.

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Me? I'm usually like that.

You Ask?

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sun, 08 Mar 2026 01:11:00 +0000

You ask me what I would order if I could have any dish at all? How about a plate of creamed spinach, served on a Maserati? Hold the spinach, but maybe I could use the plate for something, I don't know, not going to worry about it, unless I get really hungry.

Yes, I did meet a woman. I met a woman. Who didn't run away screaming. When she saw me. So my spirits rose. Considerably, mostly. She was in a shop window. Didn't twitch or even bat an eye. They were painted on and full of permanent meaning. I'll have to get back there. See if she still feels the same. About me. This may be my chance. At big romance. I hope, I do.

Yeah — monkey juice is pretty good for a lot of things, but it has to be fresh-squeezed, and you need the unpasteurized stuff. You can tell you've got the real item because it has hair in it. Maybe even some turds.

Would you be doing it if no one was watching? Captain Telepromter wants to know. No one else does though.

Wild Bill Hiccup — could never sneak up on anyone. Later became a standup accountant. Maybe you've never heard of him.

Why is it that composers of classical music are the only ones to have noisy movements? I do too, but nobody performs mine. Or even wants to listen. Even for free. Is it the grunting? The location? Something about me being a solo performer? Should I get a baton to keep time and move things along? Change my diet? What?

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Me? I always keep my flippers well oiled. You betcha.

Closer

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Wed, 04 Mar 2026 23:08:15 +0000

The snorkelbunnies are closing in.

They say that snorkelbunnies are mythical. I wish. No matter what, I can't get away from that incessant restless bush rustling.

Do you know how much smoke an adult snorkelbunny emits while eating the siding off a house? I don't, not really, and don't wish I did, either,

My cat was voted snorkelbunny of the month. I don't have a cat, and don't know what a snorkelbunny is, but the award plaque smells nice.

If snorkelbunnies are not real, then what about God? Must ask the next time I don't see her.

Snorkelbunnies — got a bunch of them waiting for me on the front lawn. Lucky for me that I don't have a front lawn and am also imaginary.

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Me? Always watching where my tail might be.

Power To The Persons

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sun, 01 Mar 2026 00:43:02 +0000

So the power is off today, and before too long we may even forget what electricity even tasted like.

So the power is off today, and my captive firefly breeding program is finally paying off.

So the power is off today, and wouldn't you know it — I forgot to blow dry my hair again first. Luckily, I have just the one, and I usually keep it in the dresser drawer anyway.

So the power is on today, and I need to figure out a way to make it last. Maybe check with Mom and see if she will loan me some of her canning jars. Not quite the same as lightning in a bottle, but definitely better than shit in a bag. (Despite what you may have heard, that really isn't good for much of anything.)

So the power is on today, but the ice cream machine is broken, so I guess my headache will be going away on its own.

So the power is on today. If I had an electric furnace I could make steel, though that might cut into my nap time.

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Me? I'm just like that.

I Am Not A Christian Because

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Wed, 25 Feb 2026 23:56:00 +0000

Because my mind won't accept either hairy underpants or fuzzy thinking.

Because moaning while trapped inside a group of depressed people is nothing like meaningful. And then they expect you to throw money at them for the privilege.

Because I have lots better imaginary friends, many of them wantonly naked at times.

Because OK — so the guy who got nailed to a half-finished carpentry project didn't even exist. It was all imaginary performance art, thought up a couple of hundred years later by a bunch of Greeks as a comedy skit. (They didn't have TV in those days, eh?)

Because I don't have rabies. And you're not going to tell me that people who foam at the mouth and go around barking and being fully disruptive and asking for money and expecting converts aren't rabid? Or vampires? Or used car dealers? Say no more. Please. Say no more.

Because I found lots more better ways to waste my time. Some of them even tickle.

Because I don't want to spend my life being bored and miserable just so I can go to hell anyway. When I'm already there. Even without making it worse by being a Christian.

Because whatever you think of me, I'm not that stupid. Not that stupid. I do stupid on my own, my own way, without dogma. My kind of stupid.

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Me: Who?

Hanging Again By The Nose Hairs

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sat, 14 Feb 2026 13:49:00 +0000

Captain Monkey Turds is no longer invited to parties, because "reasons". And he never was that much fun anyway. Because even more reasons.

Captain Mumbles won't tell us the true secret of his actual success, if any, or we can't actually understand him, and it's making us darn cranky. We hope to have some solid news real soon now, or else. Come by in about a week and we'll let you know what we know, if anything.

Captain Never Say Oompah is in the wrong business, I certainly hope. It's so quiet around here since his oompah ban that now we're actually well above my creepy limit. A few firecrackers could liven things up, but that's so ordinary. I may try it though, just to see how many oompahs start to come out from under the sofa.

Captain One-Two, Shuffle My Shoes is still living at home, teaching tango to his Mom's cat, and expecting to make it big any day now, something that he's been announcing for forty-seven years next Thursday, and, of course, we can hardly wait for the grand opening of his dance studio and shoe repair shop, both of which are seriously needed in these parts.

Captain Pants wore out his welcome. He could tell when people began pointing and laughing, which was nothing unusual, but then there was also that new telltale draft.

Captain Priscilla Sparkly-Butt is still doing her thing down on the street corner, as you might have expected from someone with a talent such as hers.

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Me? Comfortably in charge, and if not me, then someone, now, or certainly very soon.

Cow+Boy+Lonesome, Again

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Wed, 11 Feb 2026 22:01:19 +0000

I am the Lonesome Cowboy, a personage you may think you know, or one you have known, but who you have not, surely, for I would remember since such are few in my life, and yet I feel satisfied and entirely fulfilled whether I am here or there, or nowhere, and am one of a select number who can make such statements, who can express such thoughts, and also mean them entirely.

I am the Lonesome Cowboy, and I am no longer quite so alone, for I have recently acquired a companion, a pet, if you will, whose name is still unknown to me, as I do not, and have not ever, palavered in Reptile, but who I for now shall be addressing as "Zard", which is, to me, sufficiently gender neutral, as if that mattered, though it may. Life as we know it affords all too few opportunities to exhibit respect and proper restraint, which I hope I am displaying at this moment, so Zard it is, and Zard and I are currently sharing travels until or unless one of us may choose to scamper off and hide under a rock. So be it.

I am the Lonesome Cowboy, slowly pacing forth and back, holding a bit of twig in my hand, wondering why. Wondering why, something I sometimes do. And time passes. As it does.

I am the Lonesome Cowboy, somewhat thirsty and dry, perched on my stone seat, waiting for rain, watching the wide, dusty basin below me for any sign of movement, of which there is none, save an occasional puff of dust off too far in the far distance. Such is my day. Every day. Every day long.

I am the Lonesome Cowboy, stalled at the moment, redooting my tootle-flute, having a pause in what I may claim as my nightly diversion, namely wootling and tootling, flute-wise, alone and in the dark of night, solitary yet satisfied and self-sufficient wherever I might have camped, under the stars, the many stars.

I am the Lonesome Cowboy, traveling these days horseless, solely on foot, accompanied only by dust, and my single companion hamster, Halliburton. We get along just fine. He sleeps by day and I by night, comfortable in the knowledge that should any danger approach, he would do his best to alert and then defend me, tiny though he is, and I am forever grateful to know, let alone share my time here with such a great soul and true companion.

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Me? Learning lonesome tunes on my new nose flute.

Fishy But True

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sat, 07 Feb 2026 15:17:00 +0000

Efelunts don't really exist. Not the way I do, and I'm the real real. At least until sundown.

Even though I'm waiting to die, and am ready, I still can't find the exact shade of death that I need.

Everybody's favorite most memorable blue anemone, Melody. Melody Blue. Chilling for you. Sweetness herself.

Everyone is hard at work except me. I'm sitting here again, enjoying not being hard at work again. For ever. For ever more, again. (Woot!)

First things second. Today only. Also, half price for anything marked up 100% yesterday. Get it while you can.

Fish farts — recurring mystery or hypothetical excursion into mystical extrapolation? We may never know, but someone does, somewhere.

Fish farts could power the world if we only opened our minds and held our noses.

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Me? Constantly working on imaginating imaginative images. Or hallucinating, which I've been doing long before you-know-what.

Nuts On Parade

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Wed, 04 Feb 2026 23:47:18 +0000

Did donuts ever come without holes? Are the holes an improvement in some way? I wonder what the official specs might be, something, to my knowledge, that has never been published.

Do organic carrots have better organisms?

Do you ever have problems with squirrels getting into your toaster? Me neither, I think. But maybe, some day, so I'm always ready. For The Day. (You know — if ever.)

Do you have a spider collection too? Only the one? Do your little buddies have name tags? Costumes? Do you all watch bug movies together? Am I alone here?

Does anyone else ever chase dust bunnies down the street? Is there a professional division? I'd really like a team to join. Have already written a fight song.

I don't know about you, but my nuts hurt. Will have to try buying them at the other place.

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Me? Forgot my cup again.

Shush, Butthead!

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sun, 01 Feb 2026 13:54:36 +0000

Carrots are in season right now, but things are sure to quiet down once they have laid all their eggs.

Carrots on a stick — that's what they're serving today. As many carrots as you want. They have lots and lots of carrots but only the one stick. Makes for quite the long line. Am glad I got here early. Less foreign saliva on ye olde stick. (Been in use for around a decade, I hear.) Other than that, all is fine.

Certified drywall mechanic. Repairs made while you wait.

Clever things, these zippers. No matter what I try, mine always gets in a stray bite or two. At least I have some calluses now.

Couldn't find my chicken today. Couldn't find any chicken anywhere. Something is up. Something.

Crunchy bits, my favorite. I'd like more, please, and bring me a cake too.

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Me? Am a shusher from way back.

Recently nominated for something by someone, somewhere.

Follow The Footprints

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Fri, 30 Jan 2026 00:15:00 +0000

Bees have hives all over. And never use lotion. Why? Today's mystery moment.

Before I blow up the building, I have to first offer a small prayer of contrition, for all the dust bunnies I'll be disturbing, and it may be many. To all of you, then — sorry. See? Not all terrorists are heartless and cruel. Now let's see how may people I can kill.

Before it's too late, just let me say that I love you. I need to practice saying that until I sound convincing, and can do it without breaking into uncontrollable giggles.

Before we get too far into this relationship, I guess I should tell you that I never bathe. Because I'm made of sugar. But yes, I am sweet.

Bought a new crankshaft. Expensive. Glad I don't have a car or I don't know what I'd do.

Bought a tank. Had fish in it. Fish refused to move out. Even though my Granny had room in her oven. "Too dark", they said. So now they're in the parrot cage. He died. Mostly OK, but no room for their vodka bottles. So the good news is they get a good chance to dry out. Everybody wins.

Bought some rubber bands. Will add them to my collection right after lunch, unless I forget. That happens.

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Me? Bzzzz.

No Change Returned Unburned

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sun, 11 Jan 2026 01:05:32 +0000

Captain Two-For-One Used Donuts is having a special sale: Two for one for two for one. So, get double your fill of gently-used donuts, or as many as you can handle without setting off a life-ending retching spree. Sale ends sometime in the future, or whenever demand drops off enough to notice.

Captain Unidentifiable Aroma is making the rounds, again, following close behind last year's outbreak of aromatherapy. No one ever seems to know when he's coming by, or why, but maybe it has something to do with ennui, or weevils, but how about offweevils, hmmm? Hummers, too.

Captain Weekend Turd Pitching Champion called yesterday, wondering where her trophy is. "You don't get to be a turd pitching queen by letting anyone sneak in cheap moves", she said, somewhat irritably, we reckon, but then again, it is a weekday, and not everyone agrees with weekdays, with or without trophies.

Captain Wiggly Bits is founding a new gelatin dessert company, which we don't even want to know about.

Captain Wilberforce had to call in reinforcements last night. Major loss of status there. He'll have to watch out or get his credentials yanked. Again. And there's been way too much yanking going on lately.

Captain Two Wrongs Don't Make An Aardvark Bark is still trying everything wrong.

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Me? I do all of mine just fine, on time.

Post-Production Blues

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Thu, 08 Jan 2026 01:00:00 +0000

Captain Post-Xmas Diarrhea is wishing you the best in the coming year, and in a good way.

Captain Whiny Tut-Tut says he's had it with the whole Xmas season and the false-front scene it engenders, having failed to receive his customary bag of nuts and no new toy dump truck either. (Again.)

Captain Twirling Tassels says she just might head back to Lithuania if things don't pick up real quick around here, and her cat won't quit with the dry heaves and all, plus there's always some guy out in the hall sniffing doorknobs and apparently licking some of the more aromatic ones, or something. Maybe it's for the salty taste. But anyway, how much of this should a person have to take?

Captain Twinkle-Fingers is more into pancakes these days, and her pet snake (Waldo) too, since they get along so well, including a mutual appreciation of pancakes (swallowed whole), and bedtime stories after dark. (As you might have expected.) So That's about it for her now.

Captain Dweeb was recently promoted to Lieutenant General and will be executed shortly, after which a memorial luncheon will be served.

Captain Extensive Nose Hairs continues to struggle with common tasks like eating soup and pudding, blowing snot rockets, and combing out flies without removing overmuch of her signature sub-nasal tufts.

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Me? Long, long ago I mastered efficient turd production. Let me know if you want some. Got lots. Best prices anywhere.

Fistfull Of Gatorade

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sun, 04 Jan 2026 00:21:31 +0000

Evil weasels voicing evil wheedles. Coming soon. And then, later, exotic tuna dancing.

But ferrets named Frederick are finicky schemers.

Finally — it's Monday. Just a couple more days to go and it's Wednesday again. I've learned you can really trust any day that begins with a solid "weh".

First things first, always. But which one is that? And who's really going to know? Want a kiss? (I have some.)

First things first. First I grew a beard, then I got an eye patch. Now I'm a pirate! Arrr.

First you do your laundry, then you dry it, then you put your clothes back on and walk around. Is that a life? Seriously, I ask you.

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Me? Got four spare legs if you need some.

Like Snowflakes On Your Nose Hairs

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Wed, 31 Dec 2025 23:10:00 +0000

Drifting dawn filtering in awakens me, or so I imagine. Or was it the scuttling, scratchy-clawed beetles racing across my eyelids?

Drink beer. Be fun at parties. Because you're useless everywhere else. According to those who know you, anyway.

Ducks for hire, 25¢/hour, 35¢/dozen if you or someone else wants to lick them. (We have our standards.)

Dust on the street. Add a small gust. Renew. Reshuffle. Reorder. A life of mine as it was once. (Recently too.)

Even if artichokes were more like raspberries, I still would seldom put them down my pants.

Everyone's been saying "Hello, David" all morning. I wonder if that's me. Got a mirror?

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Me? Got lots of nose hairs. Can share. Want some?

Betimes I Wonder

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sat, 27 Dec 2025 13:29:00 +0000

I am the Lonesome Cowboy, and betimes I wonder if I even amount to more than a secret whisper.

I am the Lonesome Cowboy, and now it is night. Quiet night, chilly night, enveloping night, still night, endless night, my native habitat.

I am the Lonesome Cowboy, heavy on the one side, light on the other, doing my nighttime shuffle, such as I do, shuffling to one side and then to the other. And back again. It helps. I think. I hope.

I am the Lonesome Cowboy, quietly munching lunch alone with a single cactus plant, whose thoughts are not being shared with me this day. No matter, I suppose, since I have all too few of my own to share back.

I am the Lonesome Cowboy, silent by night, quiet by day, seldom seen, never noticed, always disregarded out of hand, insubstantial, ineffective, insignificant, ineffable.

I am the Lonesome Cowboy, sitting quietly, waiting. For? Ever.

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Me? Lonesome? I wonder. I wonder...

But Once A Year

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Wed, 24 Dec 2025 23:25:22 +0000

Xmas comes but once a year because we're not stupid, and our cash balance is low.

Captain Xmas used to wrestle pigs, though now he's more into crypto, having moved on from NFTs and adult child abuse.

Xmas comes but once a year, and as the nominal target of the Eeeps Family Holiday Guest Hunt I'm OK with that, having finally fully recovered in August, with a notebook full of ideas on how to avoid being the center of attention next time.

Xmas comes but once a year, and since we can hear it approaching, it gets easier and easier to dodge. I'm a Dodgers fan from way back. You?

Xmas comes but once a year, which is when a lot of us head for the hills to practice our survival skills: hotel camping, gourmet TV dinners by candle-light, Netflix bingeing behind drawn curtains, silent hot-tubbing, long afternoon naps, avoiding work, relatives, and meetings of any kind.

Xmas comes but once a year, and we're working on reducing that to a more sustainable rate right after we finish trauma therapy.

Xmas comes but once a year, and we are all glad of that, but an Eeeps Family riot may occur many times a year, unannounced, though typically avoiding the use of either firearms or broadswords, both deemed to be sissified affectations, especially among the womenfolk, who prefer bare knuckles, or, if in a clinch situation, clubs.

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Me? Not saying. Anything.

Second Thoughts Sometimes Bought

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sat, 20 Dec 2025 21:00:36 +0000

Creaking creepers — one of those plants that keeps me awake at night.

Cream of toodle-doo hot stuff stew. Yum, etc.

Dedly Fredly the bare tedly bedly teddy bear. Is my new boss? #NewsIDidn'tNeed

Did I say I quit squirming? Professionally? Don't want to forget that part, but life is still good, I think.

Do alligators cry crocodile tears when caught out in the rain with their pants down?

Do you also wonder what's in guacamole? I mean, the "mole" part I get, but what the heck could a "guaca" be? I already have my suspicions, hot and steaming, practically panting, bought and paid for.

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Me? No one ever asks, so I don't know.

Lucky Juan Has A Tweezer Repair Kit

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Thu, 18 Dec 2025 01:31:08 +0000

A sense of rhythm was never one of my strengths. I once tripped and fell out of bed while lying still, staring at the ceiling, thinking about lint.

Anyone know where I can buy used cinnamon? (Willing to pay bottom dollar.)

At the time I was in kindergarten, I was in kindergarten. I mean, like totally age appropriate. Like the last time ever too. Now I collect Pokemon, whatever that is, and play video games and skateboard professionally and stuff, so I totally fit in, and being 75 and still living with Mom doesn't matter, to anybody, so it's all cool. Still.

Chickens don't seem to dance as much as they used to, at least around here.

Couldn't care less, unless I cared less. Always an option these days.

Before we take this too far, I think you should know that I'm made entirely of meat.

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Me? Deathly scared of tweezers operated by wheezing geezers.

Captain Crapstan

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sun, 14 Dec 2025 00:29:18 +0000

Captain Hemorrhoid Cream Sales isn't doing too well, financially. So we hear. Can't spend all that much time sitting around the office either, considering his unique situation. (He's never been known to smile, which may go some way toward explaining his dearth of customers, and yet is so very relatable.)

Captain Incredible Oat Flakes can't find anyone who believes in him, and it's not the first time either.

Captain Mismatched Socks On Thursdays gets quite disagreeable if you ask, so maybe stick with managing your hedge fund holdings and just live with the mystery. Mystery can be fun!

Captain Mumbles still refuses to confess intelligibly, so we're letting him go, as soon as he agrees never to talk to us again.

Captain Pennzoil Princess wants to take this moment to remind you that great lubricants can improve your life immensely, and are also fun at parties.

Captain Telltale Armpit Odor has been banned from the church choir (again) for making too many fart noises during practice (again). He's still going to church, still making fart noises, but only during the sermons, and getting more laughs than when he was in the choir, for sure. They can't ban him because he owns the building and is a close personal friend "of God, the main dude, and my prime drinking buddy", he says. No word from God so far, and no sky-farts, so these issues remain unresolved for now.

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Me? Keeping quiet on this one.