I Call My Planet “Fried Chicken”
Posted by Moose on February 19th, 2007. Filed under: My Brain Needs a Drink.If you’re virtuous and obey the laws of the Mormon Church, you get your very own planet when you die. Or, if a relative is an elder in the Mormon Church, you can get one even without all that buzz-killing virtue. I have a friend who swears he’s got a personal planet lined up even though he’s in the habit of tumbling out windows while drunk. “My uncle’s good enough for the whole family. We all get planets, bitch.” I’ve already requested an invitation to his planet, because there’s going to be some really good liquor there.
Yesterday I was hiking near Mount Tam, on a walk that turned out to be twice as long as anticipated because the loop we were on wasn’t so much a loop as a “walk nine miles through the mountains and then emerge three towns over from where you left your car, so you have to ask some kid at the burger place to drive you back and aren’t you glad you brought your wallet on the hike because the kid wants ten bucks to do it which is sort of annoying until you realize how expensive gas is in Fairfax.” Before we got to the “how the hell are we going to get back to the car and we should fortify with onion rings and vanilla malts first” section of the day, I spent some time gazing out over the ridge and lagging to lose my companions so I could envision my own personal planet in relative peace.
I was rather thirsty at the time because I need eight ounces of water every hour on the hour or my throat turns into a desiccated husk of its former self – so water was figuring prominently on my planet. Drinking fountains at every corner (one spigot of pure water, another of mocha and a third labelled “mojito”) and large blue waterfalls with deep pools and nice diving rocks. On my planet I have a plate that conjures up any food I tell it, whenever I want. If I tell my plate “fried chicken”, a lovely trio of plump fried chicken parts will appear, complete with garlic mashed potatoes, collard greens and corn on the cob. If I’m indecisive, I can tell the plate to surprise me. And it does. I like the plates on my planet.
My planning process didn’t get much past idyllic swimming holes and food. But I really like this personal planet idea. Not enough to become Mormon (they wouldn’t take me anyway, my system is too polluted with caffeine and tequila), but it’s a damn good incentive. Be good now and you can rejoice with all manner of sin on your planet when you die.
So, wait. Do the 72 virgins come as a standard feature on these planets or do you have to stage an invasion and yank them shrieking and kicking off their own planets first?
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February 19th, 2007 at 11:40 am
Your personal planet sounds fabulous (especially the mocha fountain), but don’t expect the 72 virgins. They’re reserved for the Muslims.
February 19th, 2007 at 12:47 pm
mocha fountain? mojito fountain? do you arrange resort trips to planet fried chicken? and are there shoes aplenty there? ohhhh my.
February 19th, 2007 at 4:13 pm
you are too funny…i want to live on your planet….or at least have a mojito fountain of my own…is that a patented idea? or can i still get in without paying you all my money in royalties?
February 19th, 2007 at 8:12 pm
Would 72 virgins really be all that great?? Think of the training and instruction that you would have to put in.
February 20th, 2007 at 11:15 am
A mojito fountain – you are my hero!
February 20th, 2007 at 4:04 pm
The theory must be true, cuz the people who actually believe this are already on their own planet…no?
Still, I do like your ideas. I’d consider Jupiter’s moon, Ganymede, if I were you…lots of water. You’d just need to fly in the mint and rum.
February 21st, 2007 at 3:15 pm
Oh! Oh! Have you hiked over to the German Tourists’ Club? Because you will want it on Planet Fried Chicken.