Wednesday, October 12, 2005

Ten Bolgias -- No Waiting 

While celebrating Yom Zembladanashanah earlier this week we had one of our infrequent religious visions, brought on, we suspect, by eating the furry grapes. In it, Gen. Colin Powell dies and finds himself in a long line of would-be angels awaiting entrance to heaven. He passes the time buffing his many medals and polishing the stars on his shoulders so that he will look his very best before the throne of judgment. When he finally arrives at the pearly gates he stands proudly at attention and gives Saint Peter a crisp salute.

Then he happens to glance at the laptop of judgment on the desk of judgement, and in the instant before the clouds part beneath his feet and send him cartwheeling downward toward the boiling, belching magma below, he realizes -- to his eternal horror -- that Saint Peter, in the course of his daily surfing, has been reading our august colleague Jonathan Schwarz at A Tiny Revolution.

The plummeting general's screams grow faint as cherubim and seraphim flutter above the cloud-hole, giggling, to place bets on his eventual destination. The first six circles of hell are a hundred-to-one longshot. Circle seven is three-to-one; circle eight, even money. You can get seven-to-five odds on the ninth circle.

We have twenty bucks down on circle #9 and it looks like we are just about to collect when -- wouldn't you know it! -- we wake up.

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