The Book of Gregori

Well, another of my friends moved away, so apparently God hates me. Either that or I’m such a dick that people don’t even want to be in the same state as me…and this is a huge fucking state. This time it was Xander, who you also might recognize from previous posts in this blog. Xander has gone on to a better place. No, he's not dead (I think...I haven't talked to him in a couple of days), he's just moved to his paradise. His absence for me means less tennis, less drinking, less ultimate, less cricket, and a serious dearth of me getting to slap him in the face. Again I’m really damn late on this, but below is another send-off straight from the pages of the Ablakalyptical Bible.

¹And again the prophet appeared unto them.

²“Where the hell did you go?” they asked of him, in unison.

³“LO!” cried the prophet. “There is no time for explanation, for soon cometh yet another Horseman of the Ablakalypse…Der Xander!”

“Der Xander?” they questioned. ⁴“What manner of creature is this?”

⁵“Lo,” whispered the prophet, “The Xander is a foul beast what dons the sandals of Jesus and stands some 8 feet tall, his hair eternally mussed and filthy, for he bathes not. His gigantic frame alloweth him to withstand the mighty force of a whirlwind. On his arms he bears markings what resembleth each century he hath spent imprisoned within the center of the earth. ⁶That number is 6. ⁷He freedeth himself and now stumbleth across the land, drunken and surrounded by his army of massive canines. From his pockets he pulleth an endless supply of darts, which he zingeth with impeccable accuracy. On his back resteth a barrel of ale that cannot be emptied, no matter how frequently one sups from the bunghole. In his right hand he wieldeth the Hammer of Thor, with which he slayeth his enemies by whacking them about the head.”

⁸“Lo!” the people gasped. “Der Xander hath conquered the Norse god of thunder???”

“What? Oh, nay,” said the prophet. “The Hammer of Thor is but a tennis racket…”

“Oh,” the people said flatly.

“…BUT IT IS WICKED AND INDESTRUCTIBLE!!!” shouted the prophet. “He payeth no regard for human life, for…” the prophet trailed off.

“For what?” the crowd beseeched him.

⁹“For he rideth his dual-wheeled chariot in the middle of thy path!” said the prophet.

¹⁰The crowd gasped. “NO!” cried a crowd member. “Surely not!” explained another.

¹¹“I tell you no lie, but ye shall have warning when he appraocheth. When thou heareth the horrid hiss of ‘yassuh,’ cleaneth the shite from thy drawers and escapeth posthaste” said the prophet. “And finally,” the prophet started.

¹²“There’s more?” the crowd interrupted.

“Lo,” continued the prophet, “perhaps the most heinous and grievous thing about this towering monster…” the prophet quieted.

“Tell us!” pleaded the crowd. “We must know!”

¹³The prophet continued in a hushed voice and more gravely than ever before, “Der Xander weareth his sunglasses at night.”

¹⁴At this, the women fainted and the men wailed.

¹⁵“It cannot be!” the eldest of the crowd shouted maniacally.

¹⁶“Lo! Tis true! SEE FOR YOURSELVES!”

¹⁷The prophet dropped to his knees and again scrawled an image in the sand:


¹⁸The crowd raised their heads to find the prophet had yet again disappeared. From afar they heard the faintest cry: “Yaaaaasssssssssuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh............YYYYYYYAAAAAAAAASSSSSSSSSUUUUUUUUUUHHHHHHHHHHHH...” the chant grew louder.

¹⁷And the people, having just recovered from their previous defecation, did shit themselves once more.

Best of luck in Colorado, you goddamn hippie.