You gotta admit, there are a lot of parking lots down here! I’ll leave it to you to figure out which one-out-of-three Odin is talking about, but just so you know, he doesn’t drive a car and giant hunting isn’t a spectator sport.
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Posts Tagged prayer
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Odin has been wandering the universe the last several months, seeking wisdom and catching three eyed space trout (see previous comic). Only by escaping the clamor of Midgard can he truly enjoy peace and contemplate the great questions of existence. Naturally, his reappearance in the skies ignites a firestorm of prayers from humans asking for new cars and begging success for their silly sports teams. Fortunately, Odin’s aim with lightning is not only impeccable, but foolish prayers serve as lovely homing beacons. More comics next week!
Well, Harold Camping and the Family Radio Network folks didn’t get the apocalypse they wanted, but they managed to give the mainstream, Beast-influenced, secular media something to blab about both before and after the May 21 Rapture.
Frankly, I’ve been pretty down on the world ending since Y2K turned out to be nothing but job security for computer programmers who had to fix all that calendar code (I got a little work out it, can’t complain too much). Oh, yeah — I heard a soda machine failed somewhere in Australia.
Not sure how many of Camping’s followers have turned to Odin in the wake of his failed prophesy, but there must be one or two. When it comes to the apocalypse, nothing beats the Ragnarok.
Enjoy the house while it lasts, atheist neighbors.
Announcement! Rich, tan people have discovered the secret mechanics of the universe! Nevermind the scientists with their 11 dimensions and string cheese theories; forget the yogis, the shamans, the rune casters, and the wise rabbis of yore… new age gurus have uncovered the secret wealth-and-health formula of the pharaohs and Rockefellers and made a movie with their findings. So begone bearded sky tyrants… humanity has the secret — and your number too.
Yeah, I know “The Secret” (2006) is a bit dated now, but I wasn’t making this comic yet when it was “revealed to the world,” so I’ve got some catching up to do. I wonder, now that it’s four years later, how many people who bought those secret books and videos are now yachting around the Caribbean lighting cigars with newly printed hundred dollar bills. Certainly the folks who wrote the books can afford to.
Justification, flattery, guilt… it’s all part of the hard sell prayer. What’s a human got to do nowadays to get a mere 23 grand and a couple dozen chickens?
In honor the beginning of Spring, Odin has decided to give the humans a respite from his temper and wrath. For one week only he shall not disintegrate another human being, no matter what the offense. No insult is too grave, no words too harsh. But the music of Joni Mitchell… that might be another story.
I’m not sure why atheists would be summoned to participate in a week of blasphemy, since they don’t believe in god or gods in the first place, but it seemed funny to me. Kind of like something you would see in a Chick Comic. “Hey, Fred, lets go hang out with the atheists and blaspheme.” “Right, Mike, bring your dungeons and dragons books so we can summon the devil at the same time.”
Regarding Joni Mitchell… I completely understand why some people cannot handle listening to, say, Napalm Death. Or Emperor. Or Slayer. Hence, such music is generally not played in doctor’s offices, supermarkets, or places where the insane are convalescing. Yet Joni Mitchell is also capable of creating feelings of gut wrenching anxiety and despair for many people in this world, and gets played routinely in all those places. Okay, I’m not sure about insane asylums, but I wouldn’t doubt it. Why the double standard?
Today’s toon is based on the wisdom of Skald Thorgrim Silkbeard:
The difference between
A dragon and a rabbit
Is one of perspective.
The last rant of the sprout:
Is this really the best you can come up with? Eating me? How absolutely unimaginative! Surely this demonstrates the limits of your mindless species. I gleefully fart oxygen in your face, bramble tyrant. I cordially invite you to hump your own sister. Pardon me, you already humped your own sister. And your own mother. And everyone else in your family, hence the massive population of your insipid species.
I pray to the Norse gods of agriculture that my petals leave a foul taste in your mouth and my stem gives you terrible indigestion. May Freyr curse you with several weeks of chronic diarrhea for partaking in your delightful meal. Hesitate not, rabbit, devour me now! The thought of creating ceaseless mayhem in your stomach delights me so!
Enjoy your snack. For someday you shall meet a fate more terrible than mine. I laugh at you from the salad plate as the gods spread lingonberry jam over your barbecued corpse and young maidens pad their bras with your soft fur —
ULP. GURGLE. CHOKE.
Don’t accuse me of showing the mighty one in a bad light. This kind of stuff is straight out of the Eddas. Show Odin your loot at your own risk!
