Tag Archives: religion

Daily Discussion with BQB – What if God Was One of Us?

Just a slob like one of us, just a stranger on the bus, trying to make his way home?

I know it’s a Joan Osborne song from the 1990s but still, it’s a good daily discussion question, 3.5 readers.  What if God was one of us?  Do you think he’d be happy to be one of us or would he be sad?

Discuss.  By the way, if one of you is God, you have to tell me…and if we could talk that would be awesome.  I have questions.

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Daily Discussion with BQB – God, Is It Really Necessary for Old People to Get Physically Old?

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Hey God.  Godster.  Godamundo.  God-a-rama.  The Godmeister, makin’ copies.

Your devoted servant, BQB here.  I know you can hear me even if I don’t post my thoughts on a website that only has 3.5 readers.

Listen, I don’t mean to tell you how to do your business here.  You don’t come to my work and slap the pizza out of my mouth, so I don’t go to your crib and tell you how to supervise the angels and so forth.

But check it.  If you’ve got a suggestion box lying around, I’d like to pop one in there and you can take it or leave it.

You know old people get older, and older, and even older?

Right, and do you know how people start out in life looking like happy young people and by the end they all look like the Crypt Keeper?

Thought:  What if, and follow me on this one, what if:

A) everyone gets a standard 100 years.  No more worrying when you’re going to die, when it will happen, will it happen too early, will I leave my loved ones too soon?  No more young people getting into freak accidents that cut their lives short.  No more old people suffering through their last years in the hospital, having surgery after surgery with all sorts of machines hooked up to them.

100 years.  That’s it.  Everyone knows up front that 100 years after their birth date, whammo!  That’s all she wrote.

Also:

B)  What if, and again, hear me out, no one had to get physically old?  Again, no diseases or health problems or gray hair or baldness or people ending up with hair growing out of their ears and hobbling around with hunchbacks while leaning on their canes?

How about everyone stops aging at, say, 25 and then we all keep looking like when did when were 25 until we’re 100 and then bam, we just drop.

And as a reminder, when we drop, that’s it, we drop.  No agony.  No pain.  No extended hospital stays.  Everyone just throws a big ass party on their last day and when their last second is up, they just switch off like a powered down robot someone just flipped the button to off on.

I know, human suffering makes us all the more stronger for whatever you have planned for us in the afterlife but if you think about it, you’ve already given us this great world and this great gift of life and the idea, the very idea that one day we’ll have to give this all up…doesn’t that hurt enough?

Is it really necessary for us to all end up looking like Abe Vigoda?  Is it all really necessary for us to get cancer, or heart complications, or syphilis or the clap or have our heads knocked in by one of your less virtuous creations who is convinced he needs our money more than we do?

Just let us stay young for 100 years…then switch us off.  No muss.  No fuss.

Like I said, God, just a thought.  It’s in the suggestion box.  You like it?  You run with it.  Don’t like it.  It’s your call, boss.  It’s your call.

Keep being you, G-Man.  Keep being you.

Sincerely,

BQB, Your Ever So Pious Servant, Educating the 3.5 Heathens who Frequent this Fine Blog Sicne 2014.

 

 

 

 

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Daily Discussion with BQB – What Can We Learn From Buddhism?

If I’m understanding Buddhism correctly, and I probably am not, life and in particular, all of the material and greedy pursuits that we tend to seek are fleeting and impermanent, therefore they can never make us truly happy so we should either stop chasing them or if we do chase them we should not feel bad if we fail because had we succeeded we were eventually going to lose whatever it was that we were pursuing anyway.

The big house, the fancy car, the supermodel girlfriend with the giant fake boobs – these will all be lost sooner or later so rather than beat yourself up for not achieving them, focus on calmness of mind and spirit and meditate.

If your mind starts to dwell on mistakes you made in the past, mistakes you made that cause you to hate yourself because you feel they prevented you from getting the big house, the fancy car and the girlfriend with the big fake boobs, then close your eyes and mediate.  Focus on your breathing, focus your mind on thinking about nothing, repeat a mantra and chant it over and over again, essentially distract your mind.  You will only feel bad if you keep rehashing all of your failures in your mind.  Focus instead on meditation.

It’s basically like those shirts – “Keep calm and…”  Well, instead of “and drink beer” or whatever, it’s “Keep Calm and Meditate.”

Anyway, I’m sure there are better buddhists out there who could explain this better.  I tend to research subjects related to novels I am working on at the moment so don’t mind me, I’ll be researching something else in the next five minutes.

Also, in theory, I feel like the girlfriend with the big fake boobs would be a calming influence but only if you could have access to the big fake boobs without the ensuing problems that go with them but let’s keep it real.  She’d probably bring a lot of drama into your life, want all your money, leave you broke, cheat on you with the pool boy and so on.

Until they invent robot girlfriends with big fake boobs, meditation may be our only hope for staying calm.

What say you, 3.5 readers?

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Text of Ezekial 25:17 (Or that famous bible verse Jules quotes in Pulp Fiction)

Hey 3.5 readers.

Are you a fan of Pulp Fiction?

Of course you are.  If you aren’t, what’s wrong with you?

If you can’t remember the text of Ezekiel 25:17, that bible verse Jules (Samuel L. Jackson) uses before he shoots someone, here it is:

“The path of the righteous man is beset on all sides by the
inequities of the selfish and the tyranny of evil men.

Blessed is he who, in the name of charity and good will, shepherds the weak through the valley of darkness, for he is truly his brother’s keeper and the finder of lost
children.

And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious
anger those who attempt to poison and destroy my brothers.

And you will know my name is the Lord when I lay my vengeance upon thee.”

There you go 3.5.

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Is There Life After Death?

Oh, its the question we all hate to think about, isn’t it, 3.5 readers?

Honestly, I don’t know, though the idea that one day this all stops and that’s all she wrote is depressing.

The idea that we wake up and we are ourselves but somewhere else, hopefully somewhere nice, is a good thought.

I worry about it sometimes and all I can do really is push the thought away.  It becomes paralyzing if dwelled on for too long.

I can see both sides.  There has to be something more than what we know about life, the universe, human existence, than what we already know.

Scientists can explain the Big Bang Theory but where did all the rocks that banged into each other come from?

On the other side, life can be hard.  A lot of tragedy. Suffering.  It becomes difficult to not assume we are alone.

Moreover, its hard to go to a funeral and see someone who was once alive lying there all quiet and still and not think that that’s all there is to it.

Unfortunately, the only ones who know for sure are the dead and they aren’t talking – whether because they can’t because they’re in another world or because they just don’t exist anymore – I don’t know.

People fight too much over religion.  Nobody really knows.  We hope.  I hope there’s life after death.  This all seems like a big waste if there isn’t.

I know people will probably say, “It isn’t a waste if there isn’t” and I suppose that is true.

Still, as I get older, I look back on mistakes made, paths not taken, I realize there’s less and less time to accomplish what I wanted and that hope for an afterlife is more and more needed – the idea that maybe this life is to suffer through the learning process and then in the next life you be great knowing what you know after a lifetime of trial and error.

I’m just talking out of my butt.

I don’t know what happens after we die, but I hope its something more than becoming a leftover carcass.

Don’t let me get you down though.  If you’re young, live life to the fullest so you don’t end up wondering about the “would have, could have, should haves.”

If you’re old, well, you’re still alive, so there’s still time to do some stuff you always wanted to do but haven’t yet.

Sorry to start your day on a depressing note, 3.5 readers.

What say you?

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Movie Review – Ben-Hur (2016)

Jesus H. Christ!  What a great movie!

Ha. Blasphemous wit.

BQB here with a review of the biblical epic Ben-Hur.

I suppose you could call this a remake of the classic Charlton Heston film of the same name from 1959.

Then again, what was that 1959 movie other than a re-telling of a tale as old as time?

Jack Huston, formerly of Boardwalk Empire, stars as Judah Ben-Hur, a wealthy Jewish prince falsely accused by his brother, Roman Army Officer Messala Severus (Tony Kebbell) of committing treason against Rome.

Blah blah blah…stuff happens, more stuff happens….Ben-Hur loses everything and the former brothers who once loved each other very much end up competing in a chariot race.

Boy howdy, 3.5 readers, let me tell you, chariot races were some gruesome shit.

Horses get bashed (I don’t think they really were, obviously, but you still hate to see that), drivers get trampled and maimed, but its what ancient Romans did for entertainment back in the day I guess.  Without TV, Internet, or blogs catering to 3.5 readers, a bunch of sweaty assholes riding around and around a track colliding their chariots into each other was about as entertaining as it got.

Director Timur Bekmambetov does yeoman’s work in transporting the viewer to historic times.  Everything’s more or less authentic as possible while still being understandable to the modern viewer.

Morgan Freeman rounds out the cast as Ilderim, the traveling gambler who sponsors chariot drivers, putting up his horses and chariots and making his money off wagers.

Ilderim ends up being the Mickey to Ben-Hur’s Rocky, sponsoring him in a race against Messala.

Jesus (Roderigo Santoro) makes a cameo.  It was a bit surreal to see a movie where Jesus is part of the supporting cast rather than a main character, but it works.

I complain about Hollywood constantly on this blog so when the Tinsel Town suits do something good, I have to give them credit, and credit is due here.

This movie is a sweeping historical epic based on a biblical tale.  A ton of cash was clearly doled out to make it.  One can take a look at the big chariot race scene to see that.

Historical/biblical tales just aren’t being lapped up by today’s modern viewers, who can’t pull their dumb faces away from their cell phones for 3.5 minutes in order to learn something.

In fact, I’m sure there are a lot of people who see a movie like Ben-Hur and think, “Pass. I don’t want to learn anything.”

Ironically, there are a lot of messages about war, relations between countries and different groups of people, the need for peace or “to turn the other cheek” as cameo star Jesus taught us.

I enjoyed it. It deserves a big audience and recognition. I’m not sure today’s take a selfie every two seconds crowd will provide it, but here’s hoping they prove me wrong.

Will it draw in the big bucks? Probably not.  But Hollywood sunk cash into an effort to preserve history and educate people about the past by funding a movie that doesn’t quite fit the mold of a box office smash, so I applaud the Hollywood suits for proving they aren’t all bad.

STATUS: Shelf-worthy.

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BQB’s Letters to God – Orlando

Dear God,

BQB here.

First, let me just say I’m a big fan of your work. Big fan. I mean, the Grand Canyon? Am I right or am I right?

Anyway, I don’t mean to tell you how to do your job. God knows, or rather, you know that you don’t start telling me how to run a blog with 3.5 readers or anything.

It just seems to me that with the shooting of Voice singer Christina Grimmie last Friday night, followed by the shooting of 50 people at the Pulse night club, that…

You probably could have done the city a solid and stopped that alligator from dragging that two year kid away and killing it at Disney World.

I get it. I get it. You’re a hands-off, laissez faire kind of guy.

You’re kicking back up there on a cloud, probably got a strawberry daiquiri because it’s not like you have to watch your weight or work out or anything.

You’re watching us all as if we’re one giant reality television show. I can only assume that heaven is one hip, swinging club and by our actions on Earth you judge who makes the cut and who has to stand behind the rope.

But seriously. Come on.

They say you never give people more than they can handle but, and again, I don’t mean to tell you your business here, all you needed to have done was smite that alligator and a lot of grief could have been spared for a lot of people.

Holy shit. Just imagine it. You and your family go to Disney World. You’re all bee-bopping along having a good time and “Fuck! An alligator ate my baby!”

By the way, the problem with the Internet is there are all kinds of theories without facts.

Some people blame the parents.

I have no idea what the situation was. In theory, yeah, if you let your kid run around and you’re oblivious and taking a nap or whatever then yeah you’ve doomed your child.

But if you’re just hanging out in he happiest place on earth on a nice sunny day and HOLY FUCK! AN ALLIGATOR JUST GRABBED MY KID! – Really, what are you supposed to do?

Who could ever see that coming?

Yeah. I don’t know what a parent can do.  It is, pardon my French, but it is…a fucking alligator.

If I had a kid, I would surely attempt to wrestle that alligator but what am I going to do? It’s a giant descendant of the dinosaurs and has a mouth full of razor sharp teeth that closes like a steel trap.

What is a parent to do?  Box the alligator? People need to chill out and not be so judgmental.

There’s nothing that can be done unless you’re Australian. All Australians are born with an innate ability to wrestle alligators.  That’s just science.

And you can’t argue with science.

One or two of you 3.5 readers will think I’m making light of this terrible situation but I really am not.

I really, truly, sincerely feel terrible, both for this child lost too soon and for the child’s family who went through something no one should have to experience.

I am, in a polite manner, just inquiring why God couldn’t have intervened here and sent that alligator back into the water, thus sparing so much grief and sadness and pain for so many people.

If I’m making light of anything, it is the horrendous state of the world we live in, when people can’t go to a park dedicated to a cartoon mouse and a) not have to worry about alligators absconding with their children and b) not have to worry about getting shot because, yeah, if you missed it on the news, the terrorist did case Disney World previously.

 

Finally God, I know you like to stay on the sidelines and not get involved (God, er you know you haven’t intervened much on my behalf despite numerous and often pathetic teary eyed pleadings) we’re really going to need you to make an official ruling on something.

Could you take like 15 minutes out of your busy schedule and just go on one of these talking head cable news channel pundit shows – pick any one of them, any one of them at all, and just be a guest and announce once and for all that you don’t want people shooting, killing, stabbing or otherwise doing heinous shit in your name.

I feel like it could help out a lot.

But seriously dude. You really could have stopped that damn alligator.

Hey, what can I say though really? Could I do a better job at Godding?  Probably not. Not unless I’ve walked a mile in your sandals.  So no, I’m not going to be a pain in the ass and nag you about this all the time.

It’s just a learning lesson really. A teachable moment. You sense an alligator is about to eat a kid and you snap your Godly fingers and boom the alligator gets a bad case of diarrhea and makes a mad dash back in the water.

Thanks God. And, I’m totally not asking or anything but if you wanted to toss 20 or 30.5 extra readers my way, I would not complain at all.

Your humble servant, dedicated to singing your praises on a blog with 3.5 readers,

BQB

 

 

 

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How the West Was Zombed – Chapter 89

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“I’m not the devil,” Blythe said. “But I’ll give him your regards.

The Reverend wasn’t exactly a formidable opponent. Short and pudgy, bald with unruly white hair on the sides of his head. He pushed his spectacles up the bridge of his nose.

“You’re all the devil to me,” the Reverend said as he thumbed through his bible. “Pardon me. I have lost my place.”

Blythe hollered over the Reverend. “Whatever this is, it won’t work, Slade! Stop hiding behind an old man! It’s beneath you!”

Like trained pets, the zombies stood still, moaning to themselves. Blythe had brought six conductors with him. Five were already in werewolf form. The sixth, a tall, slender man, had black hair with just a light dusting of grey flecks throughout.

Still dressed in his conductor’s uniform, Blythe’s man unholstered his pistol.

“Shall I relieve you of this foolishness, sir?” he asked.

“No Mr. Gentry,” Blythe replied. “I’m mildly curious as to what this fellow is up to.”

The Reverend licked his pointer finger as he flipped through his bible until he triumphantly tapped the page he’d been searching for and wagged his finger in the air. “Get behind me, Satan!”

A grin worked its way across Blythe’s face. Gentry snickered.

“Mr. Gentry,” Blythe said. “Be a good man and take Misters Vaughn and Morris around the back in case they’re planning something.”

“Right away, sir,” Gentry replied. The conductor headed for the back of the livery with two werewolves in tow.

The Reverend carried on with his reading.

“And Jesus said, ‘Get behind me, Satan! For you are but a stumbling block to me. You do not have in mind the concerns of God!”

Blythe had been alive for thousands of years and never once had someone so frail taken such a bold stand against him. He was amused.

The vampire walked closer to the preacher, taking in the impromptu sermon.

“And then Jesus said to his disciples, ‘Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. For whoever wants to save their life will lose it, but whoever loses their life for me will find it. What good will it be for someone to gain the whole world, yet forfeit their soul?”

The Reverend closed his bible. Blythe mocked the preacher, clapping loudly as if he’d enjoyed the performance.

“I have never heard a finer reading of the Book of Matthew,” Blythe said. “Tell me, are you going somewhere with this?”

“I am,” the Reverend said. “I take it you forfeited your soul to become the abomination you are now?”

“Indeed,” Blythe said. “And it was the best decision I ever made. My soul was only slowing me down. That’s what souls do.”

“Oh no,” the Reverend said. “Souls raise people up. Hold them to a higher standard. A man’s soul is constantly whispering to him to do the right thing. People do wicked deeds when they ignore their souls and you, why you clearly behave as a man who lost his soul long ago.”

“Good riddance,” Blythe said.

The Reverend tapped his finger on the cover of his bible. “Don’t you see, son? You could get your soul back.”

Blythe raised a quizzical eyebrow and waited for the Reverend to elaborate.

“Jesus told his disciples to ignore worldly pleasures and material gain, for all of that is worthless if one loses his soul in the pursuit of personal power,” the Reverend said. “Here you are, poised to take control of America and I assume you won’t stop there. The world will be next?”

“That’s the long term plan,” Blythe replied.

“And won’t world domination seem pointless to you once you realize that you lost your soul along the way?” the Reverend asked.

“I wasn’t really using it,” Blythe said.

“No,” the Reverend said. “No, I doubt that. I’m willing to wager that you were once a decent man and you were somehow led astray. Something put you on the path to become what you are today.”

“This bores me now, Reverend,” Blythe replied.

“What if I told you that you could get your soul back?” the Reverend asked.

“I’d tell you that you are a senile imbecile,” Blythe answered.

The Reverend shook his copy of the good book. “It’s all right here. The world means nothing to a man who forfeits his soul to control it but sacrifice yourself in the name of Jesus and you will find your soul.”

A visibly puzzled Blythe replied, “What?”

“There are biblical scholars far more learned than me,” the Reverend said. “But surely this passage means that if you would repent for your wicked ways, take up arms against the evil that you serve and sacrifice yourself in the Lord’s name, then your soul will no doubt be redeemed in the eyes of the Lord. All will be forgiven and your soul will dwell in Heaven for all eternity.”

Blythe’s eye’s glistened as if they were full of hope. He clutched his hand over the space in his chest where his heart used to beat.

“Oh Reverend,” Blythe said. “Do you really think so?’

“I know so, my boy,” the Reverend said.

Blythe surprised the Reverend with a hug. The vampire pulled the old man close and rested his chin on the Reverend’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” Blythe said.

“There, there, son,” the Reverend said as he patted Blythe’s shoulder.

“It’s just that you have no idea how long I have waited for someone like you to say this to me,” Blythe said.

“It’s all right,” the Reverend said. “You were lost but now you have been found.”

“Indeed I have,” Blythe said. “And now I have a lesson that I must share with you.”

“What is it?” the Reverend asked.

Click. Blythe’s fangs popped out from his upper gums. The Reverend screamed in pain as those sharp pointy teeth dug their way into his neck. He struggled to push Blythe away but he grew weaker with every sip of blood Blythe took.

Finally, the Reverend’s body went limp and collapsed on the ground.

With blazing red eyes and blood dripping from his lips, Blythe knelt down to give the Reverend the lesson he spoke of.

“Being without a soul means never having to say you’re sorry.”

The Reverend gasped one last breath as the life drained out of his eyes. He was no more.

The vampire wiped the blood off his face. He retracted his fangs and his eyes returned to normal. He looked to his zombies. They were licking their lips and aching for a taste of the Reverend but they stayed put.

“Finish off the seconds,” Blythe ordered them.

Instantly, the undead swarmed the Reverend, ripping his carcass apart, clawing at each other just to get a piece.

Blythe struck a match and lit the rag stuffed into his special cocktail.

“Enough stalling, Slade!” Blythe said as he hauled his arm back, ready to throw the bottle at the livery. “Get out here and face me!”

Suddenly, Blythe felt an intense pain in his chest. He looked down to find he’d been pierced by a wooden arrow, the sharp stone head of which had already lodged inside of him.

He dropped the bottle, allowing it to crack in a fiery explosion just before he hit the ground.

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How the West Was Zombed – Chapter 88

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Doc went cross-eyed staring at all the gun barrels pointing at his nose. Slade. Miss Bonnie. Gunther. All had their sites trained on him.

“What, did one of you want the rabbit’s foot?” Doc asked. “I can’t say it was very lucky for the little fellow but I’ll fetch it if you wish.”

“Not funny,” Miss Bonnie said.

“Oh come now,” Doc said. “Who among you has never had rabbit stew?”

“That’s not the same thing,” Gunther said.

Miss Bonnie grabbed Annabelle by the wrist. “You’re coming with us.”

Annabelle pulled her hand back. “He’s fine.”

“Have you lost your mind?” Miss Bonnie asked as she pointed to Doc’s blood soaked beard. “Look at him.”

“He’s a genius, Bonnie,” Annabelle said. “He’ll figure out how to cure himself, won’t you Doc?”

“Indubitably, my dear,” Doc said. “There is no problem too great for science to remedy.”

“That’s not normal to want to bite into something alive like that,” Gunther said.

Doc sighed. “Did I feel a sudden urge swell up inside of me to snack on a small amount of living flesh?” the good doctor asked. “Yes. Does that mean I will carry that urge out on a human being? Of course not. I assure you that rabbit has left my hunger satiated.”

“This isn’t up for discussion,” Miss Bonnie said. “Get away from him, Annabelle.”

Annabelle stomped her foot. “You’re not my mother, Bonnie!”

The sound of hundreds of footsteps marching in unison up the road outside broke up the conversation.

Then came Blythe’s voice. “Company…halt!”

The footsteps stopped.

Gunther peeked out a dusty window and caught a glimpse of Blythe hovering over his zombie firing squad. Undead men and women all obeying the vampire’s commands with expert military precision.

“Aim high for a warning volley!”

“Aw shit,” Gunther said.  He looked up at the ceiling. “I’m a-comin’ Mavis.”

The sound of hundreds of bullets being racked up into rifles filled Slade with dread. Instinctively, he dove for Miss Bonnie, knocking her to the safety of the ground.

A storm of bullets tore through the building, whizzing over everyone’s heads.

Sarah screamed hysterically.

Miss Bonnie punched Slade in the arm.

“Oh right,” the stoic said as he jumped back up and pulled Sarah down.

Miles, the Reverend and Annabelle all hit the dirt.

Slade shimmied on his belly to join Gunther, who was crouched next to the window with his pistol drawn.

Doc didn’t appear to be particularly concerned with his health as he casually strolled toward the window to join Slade and Gunther.

A bullet pierced through Doc’s shoulder. He slapped at it like it was a mild annoyance. “Oh my, that smarts.”

Unable to aim, Slade and Gunther poked their pistols out the window and shot blindly. By sheer luck, they were able to pop a couple of zombie skulls.

Doc, on the other hand, stood directly in front of the window, accepting one bullet after the other in his chest. That didn’t slow him down as he flicked his wrists, produced his pistols, and sent a barrage of fire toward the zombie army outside.

“Second volley!” Blythe commanded.

The zombies fired again, still aiming high as if to avoid hitting anyone.

“Cease fire!” Blythe commanded.

Slade and Gunther looked at one another, each man at a loss for words.

“Slade!” Blythe shouted from outside. “Now that I have your attention, I wonder if we might have a word?”

Slade reloaded his pistol as he answered. “Sure,” he replied loudly. “Go fuck yourself. There’s three.”

“Charming as usual,” Blythe replied.

Slade looked out the window to see Blythe float down to the ground. A werewolf handed the vampire a full whiskey bottle. Blythe took it and stuffed a rag into the bottle’s neck.

“You’ve got two options here, Slade,” Blythe said. “First, you can unload your silver, throw down your steel and come outside so we can talk about how I can turn you into a very rich and powerful man.”

“Bullshit,” Slade said.

“I won’t lie and tell you there won’t be a catch,” Blythe said. “You’ll have to do some things that run contrary to the adorable little moral code you’ve developed for yourself. But since the second option is that everyone you love dies a slow, painful death while you watch, I’d take the first one if I were you.”

The Reverend stood up, dusted himself off, and joined the men at the window.

“If there’s one thing I’ve learned from reading this,” the preacher said as he wagged his bible at Slade, “It’s that devil’s bargains only work out for the devil.”

“We gathered, Rev,” Gunther said.

“I’m going outside,” the Reverend said.

“The hell you are,” Gunther replied.

“The Lord will protect me,” the Reverend said. “Or if not, I’ll at least be able to buy you all some time. Either way…”

The Reverend pointed a finger toward the ceiling. “…his will shall be done.”

“This is a hell of a time to get your faith back, Reverend,” Gunther said.

“Faith is never entirely present nor is it entirely gone,” the Reverend said. “Everyday we all struggle over whether to doubt or believe. I must now choose to believe for if I’m not able to put my studies of the Lord’s ways to some good use here then my life will have been for nothing.”

Slade grabbed the Reverend’s arm. “He’ll kill you for sure.”

“Then so be it,” the Reverend said. “It’ll be a glorious distraction.”

The preacher looked at Sarah and Miss Bonnie.

“And I’m sure you’ll know what to do.”

The Reverend leaned in close to Slade’s ear and whispered. “I’ve seen the way you look at the whore, son. There wouldn’t be any shame in it if you can make an honest woman of her but come clean with the Widow Farquhar. No one likes being the last to know.”

Slade nodded. The Reverend opened the door a crack and waved a white handkerchief.

“Oh what the hell is this?” Blythe asked as he saw the Reverend walk out with his hands up, one of them clutching his bible.

“I wish to talk, demon,” the Reverend replied.

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How the West Was Zombed – Chapter 80

shutterstock_320226569Gunther walked into the the church to find Doc and the Reverend chatting away, thick as thieves.  The old man noticed the broken chair parts and rope pieces all over the floor.

“Shit,” the deputy said.  “He try to eat you, Rev?”

“No,” the preacher replied.

“Hell with it then,” Gunther said as he took a seat at the table.  “Pour me one of those.”

Miles, a human once more, came in, all wrapped up in his blanket.  It was a bit singed but extra toasty from the fire.   He sat down next to Gunther, who in turn, took the Reverend’s bottle and poured the boy a shot.

The kid stared at it.  “Am I old enough?”

“You killed more zombies today than I did,” Gunther said.  “You’re a man.”

The boy took a sip and instantly sprayed it out of his mouth.  “What the?”

The adults laughed.  “I didn’t say it was tasty,” Gunther said.  “It’ll put hair on your chest all right.”

Gunther pondered that statement then upon remembering that Miles was a werewolf, added, “Not that you need anymore.”

Sarah entered in a daze.  She sat down at the table, making a point to stay far, far away from Doc.  His eyes remained a ghastly sight.

“Miss Sarah,” Gunther said as he poured another shot and slid it towards the bride. “Not that I want to turn you into an alcoholic but if ever there was a time to turn to the booze to help get you through, this might be it.”

“No,” Sarah said as she slid the drink back. “I’ll be seeking penance for the rest of my days for imbibing earlier and I cannot allow myself to sin any further.”

“Suit yourself,” the Reverend said as he helped himself to Sarah’s drink.

“While we are on this subject, Reverend, I must say your behavior throughout this entire ordeal has been less than holy,” the bride said.

The Reverend sighed. “Miss Sarah.  Despite my internal doubts, I have lived a pure life,  a penchant for liquor being my only weakness, one which I have done my best to atone for.  I have helped my fellow man, put many lost souls on the right path and yet here I am, trapped in a zombie infested nightmare.”

Sarah scowled. “I have yet to lose my faith.”

“Are you sure?” the Reverend asked. “Cowering in the corner isn’t exactly a sign of a person who is sure the lord is going to swoop in and save her at any moment.”

Sarah stood up.  “Well, I never!”

“Perhaps you should,” the Reverend said.  “A life of faith has gotten you the same place it has gotten me…nowhere.”

Sarah stomped her foot and stormed off, only to stop abruptly.  “All of my prayers have brought me Rainier Slade,” the bride said.  “The bravest, toughest man in the entire West.  He will see me through this.  I’m sure of it.”

The bride found a pew to sulk in silence in.  The Reverend reached for the bottle only to find Gunther’s hand on his.

“We all got a part to play in this, Rev,” Gunther said. “And a preacher that can’t lift people’s spirits aint of much use to anyone.”

The Reverend’s face flushed with embarrassment.  He put the cork in the bottle. “Duly noted.”

The good doctor felt a hand on his shoulder as the scent of a familiar perfume wafted through his nostrils.

Annabelle had just entered the room and was surprised to see her companion not tied to a chair.

“You’re free and you haven’t bitten anyone,” Annabelle said. 

Doc kissed Annabelle’s hand. “I wouldn’t count yourself safe though, my dear.  You look so ravishing that I should very much like to consume you for breakfast, lunch and dinner.”

Every one at the table let out a collective groan.

“A word?” Doc asked Annabelle. She consented and together they walked toward the open door frame, finding a spot to speak in private.

“Dearest, I must present you with a difficult choice,” Doc said.

Annabelle’s bright eyes were fixated on Doc, waiting for what he had to say next.

“The safest option for you would be to accompany Miss Lassiter and seek refuge with the Indians,” Doc said.  “I haven’t the slightest clue of what my condition will bring and the possibility that I may lose control and attack you is quite real.”

“I’ll take the chance,” Annabelle said. “I won’t leave you.”

“Selfishly, I hoped you would say that,” Doc said. “As I am not welcome in Miss Lassiter’s party due to my condition, I intend to press on eastward.  My Miracle Cure-All may be a failure, but I will still pursue my dream of spreading news of the curative properties of cocaine to the world.  If you come with me, I shall protect you with my dying breath and if we make it to Boston, we will catch a vessel to Britain and begin our new lives together, free of this zombie infested continent once and for all.”

Annabelle’s eyes welled up as she wrapped her arm’s around the doctor.  “Oh Doc.  You had me at cocaine.”

To her surprise, Doc pushed her away.  “But my dear, you must promise one thing.”

“Anything.”

“If I am overcome by my condition and become a wretched beast, you must save yourself and put a bullet directly into my brain.”

Annabelle frowned.  “I couldn’t possibly.”

Doc stepped back.  “Quite understandable.  Very well, my dear.  Then with regret I must insist that we end our courtship at this time…”

“OK!”  Annabelle cried.

“I must hear you promise my dear,” Doc said.

“Fine,” Annabelle said. “I promise to shoot you if you become a zombie.”

“Lovelier words have never been spoken,” Doc said.  “If you’ll excuse me now, I must have a word with the Marshall.”

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