Those with less faith in God tend to have more in Aliens. I came to the conclusion, back when I was regularly writing about pseudo-science, particularly extraterrestrial encounters, that the believers were more alt-religious than anything else. Which meant it was a topic where you weren’t going to change very many minds.
But something seems a bit off about this essay. As I noted yesterday talking about the story of Gef!, there was obviously a lot of superstitious belief when people were plenty more religious. I will agree that there’s clearly been a rise in superstitions with scientific veneers in the last century. (I like to say that the three great myths of our time are “U.F.O., E.S.P. and W.M.D.” — hawhaw.) And all are clearly intertwined in a search for meaning beyond the mundane.
So THAT’S what happened to Jon Arbuckle’s secret illegit son:
… and it’s weird.
I was trying to put some upbeats into a very discouraging chore — filling the gas can so I can start pouring it into the snow-blower for the first time this year.
When I first learned to drive, it was SOP to have a gas can in the truck in case you ran out on those endless MT roads. I can’t remember any of them blowing up cars, but there’s no question it was a lot more dangerous practice than almost anybody understood back in the day.
So I checked out all the cautionary online about filling gas cans and realized that nearly all of the hazard came from carrying the can in the car to and from the pump.
So happens, I can walk to a gas station — about 18 blocks round trip. Zingo — how I get my healthy walk in today and still do the essential chore.
Thought I might get a stream of weird looks — you really don’t see people hiking around the streets here with gas cans — but I didn’t register a single glance.
So walk your can to the gas station! Do it!
This is the most famous paleolithic Venus, right? And I’m sure the yam could live with it (certainly couldn’t complain about fat jabs).
But I think his real preference would be this one:
Hopefully, nobody will publicize the only image of my nude body available on the internet:
“[My opponent] screws dead doggies in the street.”
I’m watering the shrubs and the hostas.
I’ve given up on the lawn and have renamed it Brownsville Station.