Maria: “I just have one prayer, oh Mighty Isis. Could you please send me a publicist who knows how to focus a camera? Okay, maybe two prayers. It would be nice if the costume designer on this gig didn’t feel compelled to disguise the fact that I have breasts. Alright, there’s a third one as well. I’d like a salary increase that would allow me to purchase a bottle of decent hair conditioner that is composed of something other than ass grease and a prayer. Oh, and orgasms. I’d like to have an orgasm that will make my eyes roll back in my head, not one that makes me think I just had some tainted Thai food.”
Mighty Isis, rousing herself from a millennial slumber: “Okay, hold up. Who the hell are you and why are you babbling about pointless dissatisfactions?”
Maria: “Oh. Well, I’m just one of your Twitter fans hoping you will love me back with a courtesy follow.”
Isis: “I see. You must be one of those Americans who only have a life because of social media. Here’s a tip. Get out of that country for a while and see how the rest of the world lives.”
Maria: “But what about the travel ban?”
Isis: “Have you ever noticed how travel ban and Taliban sound a lot alike?”
Maria: “I’d never really thought of it that way. You are such a wise and insightful supreme deity.”
Isis: “Oh, please. It doesn’t take a Supreme to figure out that the crap-fest state of American politics is the result of uninformed idiots voting without any regard for reality. Stop, in the name of sanity. Before the country breaks apart.”
Maria: “You have enlightened me.”
Isis: “I doubt that, or you wouldn’t have been praying to me in the first place. Now, I’m about to hit my snooze bar and see how things are going in the next century. Any last requests?”
Maria: “Um… the satisfying orgasms?”
Isis: “Oh, girl, I can’t help you with that. You just need to quit making poor decisions when handing out security clearances to your Pentagon.”
Previously published. Slight changes made. This is another older post that is somehow still relevant today. Am I a psychic or am I delusional? You decide. And by the way, I did contemplate excising the “ass grease” phrase due to potential offensiveness, but in the end (ahem) I still find it rather fetching, and somebody out there is going to appreciate it. I left it in for you….
Categories: Past Imperfect
Bonnywood Manor 
“ass grease and a prayer”? You’re a goddess-damn poet. I was moved. There were tears.
Oh wait…that might have been the Cowboy Pie we had for dinner.
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There were tears on my part as well, perhaps for entirely different reasons.
But, pray tell, please advise on the connotation of the “Cowboy Pie”. Back in my shameless and admittedly trampy collegiate days, that phrase meant something that most likely did not appear on your dinner table this past eve… 😉
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See, that’s how I know I went to the wrong college. At the University of Chicago, we just didn’t get trampy collegiate days. We were so deprived…
No, cowboy pie is the nice name for what my mother called “icebox review” in which she basically scooped up leftovers and covered them with cowboy (canned ‘baked’) beans and pie crust.
Over the years I pretend to myself that I’ve refined this to the point where people are actually happy to see it. At least, that’s what I tell myself…
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So much to see, even in soft focus. What’s with the histrionic eye rolling open armed pleas to some entity for salvation? Her deity don’t seem over-enamoured in helping her with coming to a meaningfully enjoyable evening. Perhaps the brilliant candles could prove to be more than enlightening?
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To be fair, the poor actress was trapped in a silent movie, wherein everything is rolling and open-wide to make up for the lack of dialogue. Which, come to think of it, synopsizes many religions to this very day…
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It just wouldn’t have been the same without the ass grease…
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I am SO biting my tongue right now. I’m sure you know where my mind went…
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As Barb said, “ass grease and a prayer.” Completely sublime and delightful . 🙂 But your concerns about offensive phraseology don’t bother me. In spite of the Canadian reputation for politeness, by comparison to Americans we swear a lot and seem to accept and enjoy it, too. I really noticed that when I lived in Arizona. Maybe that’s part of the reason why here, Obama would be considered a conservative. Trump? I don’t think anyone should waste any time trying to figure him out. He’s just an incompetent chunk of ass grease. But, I do think that, as John Oliver suggested, we should all try to Make Donald Drumpf again. 😉
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I’m sure that most folks at Bonnywood don’t give a hoot what my words might be as long as they work in the story. Most of the time, I write what feels right. But every once in a while phrase or sentence will give me pause. It’s odd…
And yes, many Americans have (feign?) a sensitivity to adult language, which I find hypocritical in most cases, considering their propensity toward racism and intolerance, far more offensive behavior in my eye. It’s just another sign of the cultural divide in this country, with the conservatives cherry-picking their morality whilst the progressives take all the cherries, no picking, and try to make things work out okay for everyone….
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Amazing how she can hold all those candles on her arms.
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She’s a very talented but unsatisfied woman…
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Never underestimate the importance of ass grease. And judging by response in the comments? You clearly know your audience.
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There’s a certain method to my madness in the footnotes…
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Insightful AND hilarious! Dangerous combination. Go for it!!!
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I live for danger. As long as I don’t have to get off the couch whilst doing so…
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On my feed, where I am reminded to attend the Church Of Bollywood, I only see the top third of the photo. In that instant, today, I knew, I must stop everything and read the sermon of the day and be delivered. And I was.
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Thank you for joining our congregation today, Brother. It fills me with spirit that you were filled with spirit. Or somebody was filled with spirits. Which is usually me. Wait, what exactly are we talking about? I’m a bit distracted, trying to keep my eye on Maria and those risky candles. There’s good flaming and bad flaming at the Church of Bonnywood, and I like to keep both options under control…
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No offense to creative cooks everywhere, who are just trying to use up that nine day old pease porridge and shtuff before it grows actual legs and tries to take over the homestead (if you don’t know the pease porridge ditty, your childhood was probably more a barren wasteland than mine own. My sympathies)…but I was EATING (breakfast). The picture accompaniment (although that crust! *squees of delight* Looks absolutely PERFECT and delicious…my compliments) raised a vague memory of such a dish at my own adolescent home. Ma, time to time, would attempt such a thing (and I’m real glad she didn’t know about the beans addition, because with three males in the household, she & I would have had to flee the homestead in search of breathable air) . Ma’s efforts were really disgusting. Left permanent psyche scars. So viewing the site of a “kitchen sink pie” made me a tad bilious. *Urp*. Sorry Brian (and Ms. Barb) for the intrusion on what was turning out to be a lovely comment coup de ta (however you spell that).
My comment about the POST offered today was brief. Swear. It was to be “Heliatrope prepared for the rapture. Her saintly visage and the fact that she could balance twelve candles on her arms, plus one atop her holy curly head prompted choirs of angels singing and she was accepted speedily into Heaven with everyone applauding. Discreetly. One doesn’t make a lot of ruckus in Heaven. Well so I suppose. I ‘spect I’ll never find out, as I’m going where the dogs are…where-ever that is…” *woof*
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First, I had the same initial reaction to Barb’s photo, a flashback to a childhood concoction often placed on the dinner table by our mother. She called it tuna bake or tuna casserole or some such (I freely admit that I have attempted to block out many of my formative years) but there was usually a hell of a lot more in the dish than just tuna. Peas always figured prominently. I’m actually a fan of peas, but they don’t necessarily go with everything, especially when the “everything” has been blasted in an oven. I now suspect that these suspect servings were the result of tidying up the fridge.
Second, your remix on the photo story had me at “Heliatrope”. Everything after that was just icing and giggles.
And I’m fairly certain I will be joining you in that Place Not Heaven. We’ll sip ice-cold beverages on the lanai and watch our children play…
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The GOD is back! I meant you. *Bows down to seamless writing*
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Oh, my. I’ve never been a deity before. Am I wearing the right outfit? Please advise. And thank you… 😉
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Oh dear, was this poor lass in a horror film or at an Evangelic church? (Yeah, I know, one and the same.)
Speaking of horror… pictures of casseroles don’t sit well with me. (Why has no horror film covered that? “Night of the Living Casserole” — my God, it writes itself!)
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You are just on fire with suggestions today. I’ve already jotted down (on one of my very modern-technology notecards) your working casserole title, as I simply must explore the concept further…
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