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Maculate Conception

Maculate Conception
By Bel Garion

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Ask Bel a Question!

  My buddy Greg all the way from Alaska asks,
"Why is the media treating President George W. Bush so harshly?"

Well Greg, I see that this sort of thing is increasing as people realize that our President did in fact win his election and is actually in office. They're afraid that he may just keep a promise or two. And he is a lot of fun to mess with. When did I become a political analyst?

I have to ask you, why would you ask me such a question; what do you expect me to say? I'll tell you what really burns my but though… rude journalists that can't spell. Nothing pisses me off more than picking up one of these corporate newspapers and finding spelling errors on the front page. Then I get to hear all about it, oh yes, why just this morning I woke up to find my wife, Mari, highlighting all the grammar and spelling errors she could find in the paper with her coffee.

There she was, in her nightgown, with the paper spread out all over the kitchen floor, saying, "I'm going to get you my pretty." All I wanted was some coffee, what I got was a rant on why America is going to hell, half a muffin, and a highlighted paper thrust at me by an insane woman that I didn't recognize.
"I don't know who you are," I admitted. She just shook her head around and around. She told me to shut up while she made me some coffee. She doesn't pay attention to anything I tell her in the morning. She is convinced that I am a different person before I have had my coffee, so I can be as mean as I like. This is probably why she gets up first and hands me a cup on my way to the toilet. But this time was different, this time she was different.

A darkness descended upon the room and it became apparent that she was demon possessed, "I am a saint, you know…" I remember saying, but I was drowned out by her uncontrolled laughter.

I tried killing her; she just kept coming back. I cut off her head, hung her from the ceiling fan, snapped her neck from behind, and I even staked her through the heart. She just laughed, pulled the stake out and went into the bedroom to change before work. I remember thinking that she may be the devil herself.

She came out dressed for work, highlighter in hand, "I know you are a saint honey." Here eyes were bleeding, probably from the paper. They say that you're not open to possession until you have first been psychologically worn down through conditioning of some sort. I think that reading Knight-Ridder newspapers did that to my wife.

I had to tie her down, I guess it was fortunate that we left out the chains from the other night. After a few hours with the wood burning kit, all the runes were in place. I had trouble fitting the last few in, and had to place the last one on the sole of her foot. "Ok, get out!" I yelled and that demon went right out of her into me! And got lost in the crowd.

My wife and I didn't make it to work that day; we stayed home and played with our belly buttons. Every now and then I pretend that I am the demon and chase her around the house. She doesn't like the game but I think it's really funny, I didn't think she could move that fast.

Coming Next Tuesday: Controlling those damn kids!


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