Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored!" Who says you don't talk about politics and religion in polite company? It's fine in polite company. It's those rude people you want to avoid. Take them bowling instead.
Today I ... oh my. Do I smell sulphur? Impossible! I'm not at the United Nations! I'm at home, judging the toughest herd of goats I've ever seen for the cheapest price I've ever offered. But there's no denying that odor...
Oooops! There go the foster kittens. They're scattering for the nearest dark corner. That can only mean one thing. Great Satan on the premises. And my goodness, look at him. All done up in his Jabberwock-inspired formal attire.
Anne: Follow my finger, Satan. There's the door. Out.
Applegate: Please don't call me Satan. The name is so freighted with baggage. I prefer...
Anne: I know. "Mr. Applegate." No baggage on that one except a pleasant Broadway play.
Anne: Not that I care, but why the scary suit? I know you don't like it.
Applegate: Board of directors meeting at Headquarters.
Anne: Oh, what's the topic? Time for Rapture?
Applegate: I have no idea. That's a closely-guarded secret. Word of Rapture date gets out, you'll find all these non-believers lining up to convert. We in the business call it "insider trading in eternity futures." My guess is the CEO just wants divisional reports.
Anne: While we have you here (and hoping you leave shortly), can you clear up something for me? Yesterday the president of Venezuela called George W. Bush "Satan" and said he could still smell the sulphur from the podium.
Applegate: I heard that speech. I thought the sulphur reference was inspired.
Anne: So, is it true? Is George W. Bush really Satan?
Applegate: Excuse me? What am I, chopped liver? George W. Bush isn't ... me. In fact, if you get right down to it, he has good intentions.
Anne: Get outta here. Good intentions?
Applegate: Well, you know what they say about good intentions.
Anne: The road to Hell is paved with them. So, are we to infer that George W. Bush may sometime find himself playing Cool Hand Luke on some freeway to the River of Fire?
Applegate: I make no predictions on anyone's fate. It's up to our very busy CEO, who hears a great deal of praiseworthy praying on Mr. Bush's behalf.
Anne: So there may be a halo and a harp in Dubya's future?
Applegate: Providing he can shove an extra-fat camel through the eye of a needle.
Anne: You've seen his personal camel?
Applegate: Yep. It's failed Jenny Craig, Weight Watchers, L.A. Weight Loss, and Atkins.
Anne: A bit of a portly camel, eh?
Applegate: And getting bigger every day. It's fond of roasted marshmallows. We have bags and bags of them in the satellite office.
Anne: I daresay. One last question. Where were your Four Horsemen last weekend when Michigan was playing Notre Dame? Didn't they used to help the Irish?
Applegate: That's so last century. When last I saw them, the Four Horsemen were trying to teach their mounts the cute tricks they saw performed at Land of Little Horses.
Anne: I suspect they're bored to tears, waiting for Rapture. Sorry, they get no sympathy from me. There are gods and goddesses out there who've taught horses to sing the entire Wagner canon. Don't tell me about boredom.
Applegate: I'd better be going. I don't want to be late for the meeting.
Anne: Give my regards to Broadway, remember me to Herald Square. And don't let the door hit your tail on the way out. And don't even think about taking any kittens.
Applegate: See you soon.
Anne: Not a chance. I've got my celestial insurance from another carrier.