Friday, September 03, 2004
Inside the Machine
Doug Robinson here. Not sure where, exactly, except that it's dark and staticky and all around me I hear the soft hum of oiled machinery. I seem to be completely immobilized--whether because I'm pinned under rubble, or drugged, or out of body, I have no way of ascertaining.
Somewhere in the far distance I can hear the faint gargle of what I take to be human speech, though I may in fact be emboweled in the Almighty and what I hear is actually the grumble of God's Holy Word.
No. Wait. I can move my head a little. And if I turn it just slightly to the right, I can make out some of what's being said:
"... have got to bear some burden for this because God will not be mocked and when we destroy forty million little innocent babies we make God mad I really believe that the pagans and the abortionists and the feminists and the gays and the lesbians who are actively trying to make that an alternative lifestyle the ACLU People for the American Way all of them who have tried to secularize America I point the finger in their face and say you helped this happen yes I'm talking about the terrorist attacks on nine eleven brothers and sisters I'm talking about last Tuesday's pseudo-rapture out of the whirlwinds in the Caribbean I'm talking about nasty biting Satan goats raining from the heavens in Alabama I'm talking about God's holy vengeance on America for straying from His Path my children I'm ..."
Isn't that--Jerry Falwell? Isn't he the one who keeps blaming 9/11 on the gays and lesbians and feminists and the rest? Or was that Pat Robertson? So many religious nuts, so little light to shed on their--
Something awful occurs to me. Could it be I'm trapped in the machinery that runs Jerry Falwell? Could I actually be inside the Falwell cyborg? And--worst thought of all--did I somehow bring this on myself, by leaving that note for our janitor, who coincidentally (but could it be a coincidence?) is also named Jerry Falwell?