Lenny Bruce is not afraid

"These are end times," he said.

"Excuse me?" I asked looking up from the Rib Crib take-out menu.

"These are end times," he said pointing at the TV showing earthquake and tsunami footage. "The Bible talks about it in Revelations."

I shifted on my bar stool. The boy version of aboynamestu was terrified of exactly this kind of talk as a kid growing up in Sand Springs. Armageddon. End times. Whatever you want to call it scared the ever living shit out of me.

Now. Not so much.

And having to listen to this dude in coveralls tell me about his version of the Bible while I drank a beer and ordered take-out was about the last thing I wanted to hear considering the fun-filled time I was having in Sand Springs nursing my 87 year old Granny with the new robot hip.

The dude did look like a prophet though. He had an impressive 7" long beard. And his coveralls, did he have sort of a flowing robe look to them.

"The Bible tells about end times starting with earthquakes," the prophet in coveralls said again in case we didn't hear him.

Best I could tell from his entrance the prophet in coveralls was a regular. Or at least regular enough that the bartender poured his beer and had it sitting in front of him by the time he had perched his large frame on top of the Rib Crib bar stool.

Stroking his beard he pointed at the TV hanging over the Rib Crib's small bar and said, "That new-clear plant is leaking the radiation. End times. Just like in Revelations."

"Interesting," I said.

Which was a mistake. Because my saying what he said was interesting was an invitation, to him at least, to tell me more about his eschatology theories.

After a lengthy discourse he summed it up again by saying, "These are indeed end times. Just like in Revelation."

I held up my take-out menu and asked, "If that is the case, you think I should order the ribs or a salad?"

The bartender chuckled.

The prophet in coveralls however, gave me the most curious of looks before saying, "I don't know what you're hungry for. Me. I like ribs. Salad is woman food."

"It was a joke." I said.

"What?" He asked. Genuinely confused by the course of the conversation.

"I'd never order a salad?" I said.

This made the bartender laugh out loud which confused the prophet in coveralls further.

"That was a joke too," I explained.

The prophet in coveralls gave me a hard look and said, "God don't take kindly with people making fun of his good book."

"Blasphemy." I said. "I hope my bad joke didn't offend."

The bartender chuckled again.

I'm sure our two man act at his tiny ass bar was the most entertainment he's had in months.

The prophet in the coveralls took a long pull off of his beer (Sam Adams for those playing along at home—which surprised me—never judge a prophet by his coveralls.) He nearly drained it to be honest. Then, wiping the suds off his impressive facial hair said, "No offense taken."

"Good," I said. "What does Revelation say about Godzilla—because my oldest Boy is convinced he's the cause of all this trouble over in Japan."

Until I BLOG again...Birthday party, cheesecake, jelly bean, boom!