Prayer/Counter Prayer: The World is Flat
By Militides, son of Lycurgus/ The Pantheon
Feb. 1, 2015
Prayer: The World is Flat.
By Militides, son of Lycurgus
Oh Lords of the earth and sky, dwellers of the shimmering heavens and unbreachable darkness, givers of grain, stirrers of the thundering storm, from whom all life flows and to whom the fruits of death return unspoiled, accept my humble sacrifice of word and flesh in return for the faintest satisfaction of my human curiosities. Hark benevolent creators, in your sweeping maelstrom of divine engineering, amidst the pandemonium of your heavenly construction, following the stimulation of the most tempestuous brainstorm, did you not draw from the smoldering forges of Chaos’s womb a physical world for mankind shaped really flat like a discus? Kind of like a dinner plate? Like my brother Darren says? Hear me oh humanoid sky demons, whose reign of the infinite astronomical bodies is undisputed, whose power over the physical laws and parameters of all space and time has been revered since the recorded history of man, did you not craft our mother, the earth, in a shape similar to an unusually thick pancake? A helpful analogy which my brother uses to communicate the feasibility of his seemingly impossible adventures? My brother? Darren? Oh strong Men and Women very high up, how else would the earth float on the air, or the sea stand still, or my brother Darren lean over the edge and see a whole bunch of really awesome stuff down there and give high-fives to all of the cool under-gods and open-mouth kiss like 16 girls in the raw light of a burning naked star like he swears he did while abroad last summer? You know, our mutual friend Darren?
Counter Prayer: Yes It is.
By The Pantheon
Hear us most feeble manifestation of the results of our creation from the dirt and clouds and soil and vapors and meaty corporeal bodies. Quivering husk-sack of brittle bone and silty gut-fluid so easily spilled, your brother Darren has not led you astray nor flooded your ears with falsehoods. Oh trivial flesh-lump plagued by mortality, we graciously accept your puny offering of old dead dog and inquiry, and reassure you that our most complex imagining, indeed your human world, is not dissimilar to a thin cross-section of a tree-trunk or a pumpkin that has been left to sit long after Halloween. Little bug boy, we have indeed come to know your brother-friend Darren, for he always tells the truth and has a tribal tattoo. Miniscule pustule of a human life, bask in the showering radiance of our immortality and know, Darren totally kissed like twice that many girls when he leaned over the edge of earth, WITH tongue. We saw it. Give heed itty bitty man, for the kissing was so good and the starlight was so blinding that all of us gods “WHOOPED” and “SWAPPED SPIT” and put on really expensive sunglasses because we have big fat god wallets full of spending cash. Smelly goober toddler, fiddly ninkumtwat, soppy tall-puppy, Darren is way cooler than any other human and his muscles are like 100 times bigger than yours. But if you guys went to the gym together he would totally be supportive of the amount of weight you could lift, and even though he would be lifting so much more than you, he wouldn’t make a big deal about it at all because that’s just the kind of guy Darren is. Impotent non-magical skin puppet, go now and carry with you our final word: Your world is flat like a pita-pocket, its underside is crawling with star-lit babes, and cool-guy Darren is their undisputed Kiss King.
