Boble VII: The Book of Palms, part one

The Book of Palms Pronounced Salms
(What Idiot Thought of A Silent ‘P’?)

The First Part:

The Carrera S effortlessly screamed along the road, the sky above a clear blue and the trees still and calm as mid-day hit the lonely highway.  He was alone, at one with the car, humming with the engine and the life of the vehicle.  The stereo enveloped him in a smoothly delivered bubble of sound – the random mix of the twelve disk changer had landed on Saint Etienne, and he was thinking about the South of France.  His mind was dreaming, lost in memory.  He was an aposolite, one of the first two servants of BOB, created from the void.  Since the beginning of time, BOB had sent his aposolites out into the cosmos to ensure his rule, to spread the good word of BOB, and to mess all hell up whenever False Rob became involved.  But Rob had been quiet lately, and all the minions of BOB had noticed it.  There was concern, of course, but not so much that the female-rock CD’s had to be broken out and BOB lapsed into a fit of narcissism and entered the fairy world.  Crazy bastard.

The aposolites had not been named, and it would be wrong to do so.  But, the truth be known, certain aliases had been adopted.  Amongst many of the creatures in the cosmos who followed them, the names “Sam Atrocious” and “Dave Luscious” had been attached to the two aposolites.  The origin of the names traced back to an old punk band which the two servants of BOB had set up one fine October.  They caught on for three shows, until that unfortunate statutory rape business.  But all of that is another story. (See: “Boble Stories” coming out in overly priced 40 page chapter book this Fall at…well, okay, I’m lying.  But maybe someday!)

This was Dave Luscious, careening down the highway in his 911 Carrera and singing along with Saint Etienne (it was a remix, actually).  He wasn’t really focused on anything in particular, but when he saw the greatest pair of legs this side of the Milky Way he became focused. A hitchhiker, out on the highway, wearing cut off jeans which left nothing to the imagination.  Long, perfect legs covered with only slightly noticeable brown hairs (not that he was into the whole unshaved women business, but there was something exciting about that slight stubble on long legs).  She wore a tank top, her ample bosom stretching thin white fabric.  A muscled stomach glistened with a beautiful tan, and shoulder length brown hair framed an innocent yet dangerous face.

Luscious brought the car to a screeching halt and turned down the radio as this beautiful hitchhiker leaned in.

“Going my way?” Luscious asked.

She looked around the interior of the car, at the stereo and at Luscious himself.  “You bet,” she replied.

“Where you headed?” he asked as she got in.

“Um,”

“Wanna go to a hotel?”

She looked around again, unsure for a moment.  She watched him shift, listened to the stereo, then turned to him.  “You bet!”

It was at such an inopportune moment that the phone rang.

Luscious shrugged, then picked up the receiver and turned down the music with an almost imperceptible motion of his beautiful hand.  Somehow, he shifted into sixth gear as well.

“Yeah?” he barked into the phone.  “What?  No… Who?  Oh, Binaca.  Yes.  You’re the redhead, right?” he smiled awkwardly at his passenger, then turned angry on the phone again, “Yes, yes, of course I know you’re all redheads.  What is it?”  Luscious was silent a moment, nodding his head and grunting slightly. Then: “Oh, come on.  If this has something to do with the Year 0 Problem, Year 1000 Problem, Year 2000 Problem, and the ubiquitous Battle of Armageddon, you can tell him to sod off.  Like fighting Rob would be a Battle of Armageddon anyway! For fuck’s sake, I’d have to be fighting someone a lot tougher to consider it a Battle of Armageddon…. Yeah, like Kraal.  See, there’s a good ex—“

“What?”  Luscious slammed on the breaks and turned to his passenger, “Sorry, honey, I’ve got to go.”  He didn’t notice the woman’s sad look as she reluctantly left the car.

The Second Part:
(Old School Interlude)
A Few Palms

A Book of Poetry and Song

 

 

I.

United States Government
Requisition

ATTN: Werdna:

Three months ago, you received a packet indicating that you owed $14,675.43 in back taxes for fraudulent deduction claims on your tax forms dated 1991-93.  As you have not yet replied, we have no choice but to take legal action.  If indeed you are under the impression that you are empowered to actually do something, write to your local congressman.  We apologize for the inconvenience and hope that you enjoy the rest or your life.

Thank You
The Tax Department

* * *

Appeal To the Income People
(E-mail message off the cuff)

Dearest Tax Department,

We greatly respect you tax-type “people” (community, tribe, race, nation, clan, family.  Persons, human beings, humans, men, man, folks, populace, communality, public, or however you define yourselves).  The human body parts enclosed in this package do not represent our anger in any way, and were not removed from one `Bill Hickman’ who may, or may not, have once worked for you.  He’s on a little…vacation right now, and enjoying it very much!  WE HOPE HELL IS NICE!!  We are, of course, writing in response to the letter received from you by our official maildog on June 12.  It was not appreciated.  We don’t quite know how you got into our building, nor are we enlightened as to why.  You did, however, take the only copy of the Book of Palms.  The vague allusions offered by your friendly telephone staff about the Book of Palms being ‘collateral’ for Werdna’s debt are utter crap and, by the way, quite illegal.  Given the fact that every lawyer seems to have been warned away from taking our case, we have no choice but to take matters in our own hands.  The document, or ‘collateral’, which you stole is holy, and must immediately be returned to the First Church of God BOB Scientist for translation.  Without the Book of Palms, the Boble is incomplete.  Surely you understand how dire that situation is.  Given, of course, there is a glimmer of humanity in those pig-like brains of yours.

Kindly burn in hell,
A Real Person

* * *

Palm Eighteen
The Dignity of Man

 

ATTN: The Smart Ass Who Wrote the Letter, First Church of BOB, Scientist

Well, you’ve sure got a set of balls don’t you?  Let’s put it in simple terms: We in no way will tolerate such actions.  And since you were dumb enough to include a return address, you had better watch those late nights in the parking garage.  We’ve already put a hold on your account, and I would suggest you invest in some public transportation.  We’ve towed your car away.  Yes, and the 76 Dodge Dart you were hiding in that Riverdale garage.  You’re one hell of a bastard to go up against us like this, but it’s too late to take anything back!  You’ve dug a pit for yourself this time, and we plan to defecate on your head now!  We outnumber you, and outgun you.  So there.

Don’t Screw With Us,
The Tax Department

* * *

Palm for the Overthrow of Hostile Nations

 

To The Tax Department:

Do you actually think that letter scares us?  We have the power of BOB on our side, so when you wake up tomorrow morning and your DICK falls off, just try taxing BOB!  With one chant, we can do you in!  You may outnumber us and outgun us, but we outman you.  If you know what we mean.  So there!

Laughing In Your Face,
Human Beings

* * *

The Tenth One
Prayer for Help against Oppressors

 

Big words on e-mail.  Fact is, we have the copy of Palms which you need in order to publish the Boble.  We also have your little black car, your green Dodge Dart…oh, and your ex-girlfriend provided us with a few other stories of yours.  We’re taking those too.  Looking for the original disks?  We took those while you were at work.  Your Tori Amos CD’s?  Took those and burned them.  You lose.  Just pay up and we’ll play nice.

The Tax Department

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