puppet without a puppeteer

A trucker in a purple oxford shirt and cowboy hat decided I wanted to hear about a puppeteer and his magical city.

Everything in the world, he said, is subject to the control of the puppeteer. Hamsters, dogs, people. However, the puppeteer generally takes a laissez-faire attitude toward his puppets, so much so that for six thousand years, this puppeteer will allow naughty children and bad weather to torment his puppets with impunity.

On the morning of the seven thousandth year, the puppeteer will finally take a serious interest in his puppets. The puppeteer will demonstrate this interest by raining fire down upon the world.

After most of Earth’s land is nice and crispy, a magical city will descend from the sky and put down over the eastern United States. All but a few thousand good people will be crushed beneath the city’s foundation.

The city will be encapsulated by clear glass and offer all the equitable benefits of Scandinavian socialism, the primary exceptions being a comfortable year-round temperature and the exclusion of foreigners, homosexuals, and uppity women.

In the parched land outside, all the degenerate, starving sodomites who survived will paw the glass and try to get at the lush gardens inside, because they long for nothing more than humid air and green tomatoes. Many will conspire to attack the city, but their efforts will be futile and the walls will remain unbreached.

At the end of the seven thousandth, nine hundred and ninety ninth year , the puppeteer will close the curtain on this mummers farce and all will be right in the world.

Happy Easter.


Photo credit: potzuyoko


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