I know most of y’all, have read your blogs, enjoy the give and take. You are cool peeps. You come over, we’ll have lunch. Maybe a beer or two.
But the other day on the Why Do They Make It So Hard To Go To Church? post, I got this really nifty comment. I haven’t approved it out of my moderation queue, ’cause, well, I don’t want my webpage pointing to this guy’s blog. But here’s some good excerpts from the gentleman calling himself Gene Andreev.
We must return to the moist, soft, warm, Slavonic, obshchina, peasant deity of Mokov[…]
Is this a god or a cake? Because I have to say, it sounds like a pretty tasty cake. And now I want cake.
We must sew the scalps of the urban reptile people into a big tent where our ancestors may visit us to be warmed by our fire. Cattle are sacred for we must be as cattle and live in herds and abhor the abomination of individualism. It is the wondrous glory of our women to be white heifers.
*blinky* No. Thank you. I’ll stay a brown human woman.
Mokosh always works in circles, wind whirls, seasons cycle, history cycles, the sun is a round blini. Birds make their nest in circles, for theirs is the same religion as ours. Moskosh is the big round toilet bowl which whirls us all back home.
Oh, dear, Gene, honey, don’t hand me a line like that. I have too many metaphors to choose from, and all of them involve poop.
The rest is a little ritual to learn how to talk to the weather, and involves overuse of the word ‘moist’. Here’s the thing: I grew up spending my weekends on a hobby ranch, where the earth was dry and dusty. Moist earth means there’s a leak somewhere, wasting precious water or tainting the area with raw sewage. And if there’s moist earth near your foundation, it means mold, mildew, and rot will destroy your family home.
And ‘moist’ is just a… gross word. EW.