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May 28, 2005

Volume 1, Issue 16

Imagine a day like any other ordinary day. Then, you see this:

Explain.

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Michele: God Hates Us All

My rage has become too big to hold. Unleashed, it swirls and circles. It engulfs the world as a malevolent sky.

I spit acid rain. I breathe fire and cities erupt. Bloated, black clouds follow me.

I'm all monster now, bellowing out wind, filling canyons with my acrid piss.

My rampage tires me.

I rest at a supermarket, lay down in aisle 6 - cereal and holy votive candles. Jesus and Mary stare at me. I fall asleep between the Apple Jacks and Corn Pops, and when I wake my neck is stiff and everyone is gone.

Everyone.

I’m sorry.

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Laurence - The Saved and The Blessed

Podcast of this storyI look up, and I see the Face Of God in the angry, boiling skies.

I look down, and there's piles of clothes everywhere. A few unguided cars roll into streetlamps or bushes.

Rapture? Well, isn't that nice. Bye bye, fundamentalists.

I'm sure that a few houses will start to burn because ovens have been left on. Or planes will crash because pilots have vanished and cockpit doors are locked these days.

My next-door neighbor's empty Armani suit in a pile. In his driveway

Next to his lovely, perfect Ferrari.

I may not be Saved, but I am truly blessed.

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Andy: Untitled

"They're in here," said Montana. "I know it."

"We shouldn’t be here," Jimmy said, standing in the closet door.

"Quit being scared. You wanna see, right?"

"Yeah," Jimmy said, "but your grandfather'll be pissed."

"He won't find out," he said, plunging his hands between shirts and pants, parting them like a poly-cotton sea. "I bet they’re in this."

Montana emerged with a gilded box. He moved it to the middle of the closet, opened the lid, and revealed the treasure: six years of Playboy back-issues.

Oh, and the Wrath of God.

His face melting, Montana Jones cried out "Nice tits!"

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From the Comments: Allah

Side by side they sprawled on deck chairs, his snoring a rhythm to the afternoon. Ten straight days of sunshine, she marveled.

He sat up suddenly. Grabbing his groin, he scanned the sky.

"Quick," he hissed. "The shutters."

"What? There's not a cloud--"

A shadow fell across the lawn.

"Hurry!"

She scampered toward the windows. Slamming shutters frantically, she watched the side of the house darken. A thunderclap broke overhead.

The last shutter secured, they raced inside. A torrent of rain hit the roof.

"How?" she panted. "How'd you know?"

He tugged at his nutsack. "Better than Doppler," he said.

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