Pennslobovian Prophet Pulls Plug on Post

Thornhurst, Pa- Few people read it, fewer still will remember it but in the waning days of last summer, a blog written by the unremarkable hack known to some as Scruffy Mynxbane and to at least two pitiable children as "dad," promised special revelation. Indeed, in a post on prophecy that has proven to be less than prophetic, the writer threatened to reveal "What God is Still Telling Us?" As if his temerity was not subject to the safety belts of common sense nor even the DOT approved cranial protection of a good crash helmet, he even went so far as to hint, some say, declare, that the message to the world at large and at present was this, "Not much." Since that time fractions of fearful followers have sat at their computers with bated breath awaiting the promised revelation.

One month.

Another couple of weeks.

Is this some kind of sick joke? Did Scruffy Mynxbane think the world would move on and forget his bold prediction? Did something horrible befall the pathetic prophet? Secretly hoping for the latter, we came to this ramshackle hovel in the woods of eastern Pennslobovia to get the truth, straight from the horse's ass.

We arrived in late evening and after peeking in several windows, let ourselves in. The shower was running and having had that lawsuit before, we took a look around while we waited for a more appropriate time to do the interview. There were tools everywhere. A radio was playing a preacher from Chicago and there was an open laptop computer at a makeshift desk in the kitchen. Since it was already open, our lawyers assured us it wouldn't be illegal to peruse the open windows. As luck would have it, it was open to a new post that apparently Mr. Mynxbane had been writing before we arrived. There was a title and nothing else. The title read, "What God is still telling us?"

Exiting the bathroom in a stolen Motel 6 towel and some wool socks, the dripping blogger appeared surprised and indignant. After explaining our presence and snapping some incriminating photos he reluctantly agreed to answer some questions.

Knot Gnews: How long have you been blogging?

Wet guy in towel: Do i really have to do this?

KG: We'll ask the questions if you please. What makes you an authority on religion?

Wet g.i.t.: Who said i was an authority on anything?

KG: Who's interviewing who here, Mr. Mynxbane?

Wet g.i.t.: Well, i guess you are.

KG: That was rhetorical. Do you claim to have prophetic gifts?

Wet g.i.t.: No.

KG: Does God talk to you?

Wet g.i.t.: Well, sort o...

KG: Does He use words?

Wet g.i.t.: No.

KG: Have you ever done hallucinatory drugs?

Wet g.i.t.: i don't see how that...

KG: What's the capitol of Assyria?

Wet g.i.t.: Ninevah.

KG: Will Andy Reid still have a job this time next year?

Wet g.i.t.: Golly, i hope not.

KG: So you admit you wish ill on weight challenged football coaches?

Wet g.i.t.: Well, that's not really what i...

KG: How do you feel about Mitt Romney's acidic remarks in the recent Republican debate?

Wet g.i.t.: i dunno, what'd he say?

KG: Please stick to easily manipulated soundbites, Mr. Mynxbane. How many times a day do you brush your teeth?

Wet g.i.t.: Once.

KG: Are you aware that nine out of ten dentists suggest brushing after every meal?

Wet g.i.t.: Yes.

KG: Yet you still persist in this wantonly self destructive behavior?

Wet g.i.t.: I wouldn't say it's...

KG: Why haven't you written the blogpost entitled "What God is still telling us?" Mr. Mynxbane?

Wet g.i.t.: Oh, um, well, it's kind of embarrassing.

KG: We were hoping so.

Wet g.i.t.: Well, you see, i never actually wrote down the idea i had other than the title and um, i seem to have forgotten what i was going to write about.

KG: mmhmm.

Wet g.i.t.: yep.

KG: That's it?

Wet g.i.t.: Fraid so.

KG: Are you at this time or at any time in the near future considering a scandalous relationship with Monica Belucci?

Wet g.i.t.: Wow. i hadn't really considered it... um, i guess not. No, not really.

So there it is. The whole sad story in black and white. What was God trying to tell us? Was He trying to tell us anything or was it all in the head of a balding, hallucinating, self loathing, half-wit with a seething hatred of obese professional football coaches? The world may never know. But one thing's for certain: after waging words with this erratic oracle, we need to brush the taste out our mouths.

Seeing the Capybara

Now Paintball, for those of you who might not know, is what guys who always thought or dreamed of being soldiers but never were do to make themselves feel more manly. Those of us who haven't joined the fraternity of the psychologically-scarred-for-life-by-war always seem to think we missed out on something. Like we're somehow less of men because we never had to prove ourselves in that way. And i'm sure there are fellas out there who feel that paintball is an acceptable substitute for military training, if not service. They can swagger around now because they have a .68 caliber bruise on their arm. They've seen the elephant.

Well, no, no they haven't. i've been on the 'battlefield' and that wasn't an elephant. It was more of a capybara.

Here's a little hint, if it has the word "ball" in it, it isn't a real war. Football is a derivative of war. It has lines, the obect is to get beyond your enemies lines through deception, speed and force. Battles take place all over the field. Generals on the sidelines call in strategies to the commander in the field and he implements the tactics. Heck, folk who have nothing to do with the engagement sit around analyzing it over and over and criticizing every move. But for all that, it is a game. The combatants get to go home afterwards, sore, possibly injured but relatively alive and well.

Paintball while bearing some resemblace to armed combat is not war. For cryin' out loud, i will purposefully step into a stream of 'bullets' because i know the shooter is too far away and his rounds aren't going to break. Take that mentality onto the streets of Bagdad and see how long you last. Just make sure you tattoo your blood type and next of kin somewhere on your body first.

In fact, that's a good indicator for war and real war-like activities. Do you feel the need to tattoo your blood type and next of kin on your person before doing it? Then maybe you are getting ready to see the elephant. Then again, in this age of extreme sports, maybe not.

But for those of us who have seen the capybara, i salute thee. It's a hoot! You know, there's something to be said for a battle where both sides, "Dead" and quick alike, can come together afterwards and talk over, laugh over and generally kibitz about the last "battle." A lot of times, a meal follows and every one is friends. Any PTSD's are usually cured by the next game and most wounds will heal by next week. i think the Vikings called that Valhalla, it was their version of heaven. A fellowship of the brawl.

And that brings me to why i'm not keen on being a soldier anymore. i've seen the capybara and that was real enough for me to realize that in a real war, sticking your head around the wrong corner results in a letter to your spouse and a closed casket, not a bruise on your forehead. War divides. War scars. War creates silences that no one can speak into. It digs holes, craters that no one can fill. War is a necessity that only fools wish for. For those who've seen the elephant, I send a little, humble, pre-Veterens day thanks and prayer.

The rest of us should Praise God and pass the paintballs.