So gaining superpowers from a video game is officially not the strangest thing that has ever happened to me. Kicking the manna scented shite out of a cadre of
angels is not the strangest thing. Sure they are both strange, but there is a certain logic to them. Once you plunge into the logic stream, you can swim in it
without too much trouble. Keep your head above the water, kick with your feet and hope the various islands in the stream are not flowing from a sewer leak.
Then I walked into the dinosaur exhibit. A large man, dressed as a priest who thought he was rolling around in the cool pool, but was instead paddling amid the
shallow, skittles and schnapps scented-vomit that collected in the washrooms at Andy Warhol's parties. I am sure the vomit was delightfully warm when
fresh, but cool it was not.
Now the fighting priest who may or may not talk to the young was trying, and failing, to get down with his bad Alexander Anderson self. Here is a hint. Skulls
are not the way to accessorize for a fighting priest. There might be a certain internal logic, zombie messiah and ritual cannibalism figuring highly, but the
reality did not play out that way.
Plus he was smashing a dinosaur skeleton with a mace.
Okay. That could have been cool. If you were a fighting priest in a Harryhausen inspired spectacle film, and the dinosaur skeleton was attacking you while a
chesty maiden sheltered behind your mighty, muscled bound , legs and breathed heavily, her bosom threatening to escape her tattered top with every inhale, then
cool might just be your middle name. It might even be your first name.
But when you are shouting "Out Devil" at the top of your lungs while smashing a museum exhibit, cool is not your middle name. It is not your first
name. It is not your last name. None of your friends have that name.
Despite what you think.
Or at least what he thought.
If you can use that word.
"Excuse me sir?" I tentatively raised a hand, as if the museum was a public school class.
He looked up from his work, his cries trailing out.
"You do know that these aren't the actual fossils. They are casts made from the originals." Helpful. That's me. Wait for it.
"What?"
"So you didn't know." I nodded sagely. "Just making sure."
angels is not the strangest thing. Sure they are both strange, but there is a certain logic to them. Once you plunge into the logic stream, you can swim in it
without too much trouble. Keep your head above the water, kick with your feet and hope the various islands in the stream are not flowing from a sewer leak.
Then I walked into the dinosaur exhibit. A large man, dressed as a priest who thought he was rolling around in the cool pool, but was instead paddling amid the
shallow, skittles and schnapps scented-vomit that collected in the washrooms at Andy Warhol's parties. I am sure the vomit was delightfully warm when
fresh, but cool it was not.
Now the fighting priest who may or may not talk to the young was trying, and failing, to get down with his bad Alexander Anderson self. Here is a hint. Skulls
are not the way to accessorize for a fighting priest. There might be a certain internal logic, zombie messiah and ritual cannibalism figuring highly, but the
reality did not play out that way.
Plus he was smashing a dinosaur skeleton with a mace.
Okay. That could have been cool. If you were a fighting priest in a Harryhausen inspired spectacle film, and the dinosaur skeleton was attacking you while a
chesty maiden sheltered behind your mighty, muscled bound , legs and breathed heavily, her bosom threatening to escape her tattered top with every inhale, then
cool might just be your middle name. It might even be your first name.
But when you are shouting "Out Devil" at the top of your lungs while smashing a museum exhibit, cool is not your middle name. It is not your first
name. It is not your last name. None of your friends have that name.
Despite what you think.
Or at least what he thought.
If you can use that word.
"Excuse me sir?" I tentatively raised a hand, as if the museum was a public school class.
He looked up from his work, his cries trailing out.
"You do know that these aren't the actual fossils. They are casts made from the originals." Helpful. That's me. Wait for it.
"What?"
"So you didn't know." I nodded sagely. "Just making sure."