There's a slight backlog with the podcast because of the server upgrade and some DNS wobbliness.
So, I'll just post up my drafts of the stories for this week right here and then you can check them out on the podcast site when things are a bit more stable, okay?
SUNDAY - THE LAST TIME
The last time I saw her, she was dancing in the middle of the street.
It wasn't safe there, with all the traffic, but she was enthralled with some tune or poem in her head, and she just raised her arms in the air and turned like she was fending off really slow bees.
A scream pierces the air. But it's not her, she hasn't been hit yet.
They're screaming for her to get out of the street. People on the sidewalks are doing that, too.
Nobody runs out to grab her. The traffic's too thick. They just keep yelling.
MONDAY - DROOL
Thor's Drool, you say?
That's not easy to come by. It'll cost you.
Sure, Thor's gone senile, not enough worshippers to get a bed in the Old Gods' Home, but he's still plenty dangerous when he's lucid.
Eyes like burning ice, full beard with fresh war ribbons is how I like to remember him.
Now, he's just a grimy angry wretch living in a cave.
I'll send Rodney out to collect the drool. "Lucky Rod" I call him, but more like "Lightning Rod" when Thor's aim is good.
TUESDAY - ASHES ASHES
We place the new chief in a massive stone urn and pour the ashes in on top of him.
These are the ashes of all chiefs that have come before.
This ceremony is supposed to pass along the wisdom of the ages, but most times it just suffocates the dumb son of a bitch.
"Breathe in the knowledge!" commands the High Priest.
New High Priests? They just paint their faces green.
Go figure.
WEDNESDAY - VROOM VROOM
(Inspired by Guy David)
Let's go play with our Presidents in the sand box!
Bring all your Presidents! We'll drive them all over and build castles and stuff!
The girls, they play tea party with their Presidents and dress them up and girly stuff.
We'll play football and baseball and have jousting tournaments and...
The sun's going down. Our mothers will call us in for dinner soon. We don't want to be late for dinner.
You take your Presidents and I'll take mine and we'll meet back up here tomorrow to play, okay?
Bye.
THURSDAY - SOUR SIXTEEN
Remember when bums used to hold up those WILL WORK FOR FOOD SIGNS?
Bums never did want to work. Now, they just bless you and than you and shit like that.
At least they're honest now. Honest bums.
Back when they'd work for food, I took my daughter Jenny to get an abortion from one of them. And, man, did that bum work cheap.
Jenny lost a lot of blood and her uterus, but at least she lost the baby.
Her little sister Suzie, well, she's gotten herself knocked up, too, but no more roadside bum abortionists are out there.
We'll just head to a back alley in Mexico.
Nothing but the best for my girls.
FRIDAY - GOD'S AWAY ON HOLIDAY
God's away on a holiday again.
So, we angels take turns sitting in God's Throne.
The problem is, the throne's not designed for angels. The Heavenly Infirmary's full of angels with broken and bent wings.
Still, we sit in the throne. Michelangelo offers to paint us, but the line's too long for paintings.
We're also getting sloppy. The Guardian Division's been dropping the ball, drinking on the job.
I heard one Guardian shoved a little old lady into the street that he was supposed to save from a bus.
He's blaming it a bent wing.
Yeah, you're right. Heaven's going to Hell.