March 4, 2004  
Volume 97, Issue 80  

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Big fiction from the Big Easy

Marshall Law
Marshall Bellamy

News Editor

While many of Western’s sun babies and party lovers were basking in the sun at Mexican resorts or taking part in Club Med gang bangs, I was making the journey to New Orleans to partake in the festivities that Mardi Gras had to offer, and hopefully, ingratiate myself with a Southern belle.

Sadly, my bushy-haired, tongue-tied charm was as ineffective with the Bayou beauties in Louisiana as it is here with the lovely ladies of Western. Even still, the week wasn’t a complete loss: I watched some parades, consumed (more than) a few alcoholic beverages and ran into a man who was a million years old.

I was in a bar ordering a cool drink when he approached me asking for a cigarette. I regretfully informed him of my lack of tobacco and he began cursing the early humans of ages past.

“Freakin’ cheapskates,” he said. “They walked around with the worst posture until I gave them a quick adjustment and PRESTO, they were walking around with nice, straight backs. Then they took my smokes and my lighter, only to eat the cigarettes and light a campfire. They acted as if they had never seen fire before.”

The million-year-old didn’t stop there. Before I could leave, he started talking about the time he ran into Moses in the middle of the wilderness with a bunch of people following him around.

“He asked me for directions to the land of milk and honey, so I told him where to go. But I later found out he was looking for the other land of milk and honey. Last I heard of Moses it was 40 years later and he was still lost in the wilderness. Oops.”

This raised my interest, so I asked him if he ran into Jesus ever.

“Jesus,” he thought a moment. “Oh, I remember Jesus. I ran into him about a couple thousand years ago in the middle of a street in Jerusalem with a big crowd around him. He was carrying a big wooden stick to the city limits; come to think of it he looked a little nervous too.”

Then he really started rambling.

“He was a weird one, but not as weird as Bill Shakespeare. I ran into him in London, England a few hundred years ago. He was illiterate but had a few ideas, so I wrote them down for him. He promised me some real big royalties for my work, but he stopped returning my calls, so I burnt his theatre down.”

I asked him what is the most important thing was that he had learned over the last few eons.

“The Dutch make the best porn, always have and always will. Just as long as they eat all of that cheese and keep those drugs legal they’ll have the most screwed up porn forever. I mean what kind of a… ”

By the time he said “cheese,” he began drooling all over his shoes, so I decided to leave the bar and find a better venue to make up fictitious people. It didn’t work and now you’re stuck with this silly story.



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