Religious scholars have long pondered the mysteries of the spiritual world. Does God exist? What happens when we die? Do humans have an eternal soul? For thousands of years the most wise and learned men of religious academia have tried to answer these questions and failed. However, they have succeeded in making one major religious discovery: Satan does not wear sneakers.
In England, on the night of February 8th 1855 after a heavy snowfall, a series of hoof-like marks appeared in the snow. These footprints, most of which measured around four inches long, three inches across, between eight and sixteen inches apart and mostly in a single file, were reported from over thirty locations across Devon and a couple in Dorset. It was estimated that the total distance of the tracks amounted to between 40 and 100 miles. Houses, rivers, haystacks and other obstacles were travelled straight over, and footprints appeared on the tops of snow-covered roofs and high walls which lay in the footprints’ path, as well as leading up to and exiting various drain pipes as small as four inches in diameter. There were also rumors about sightings of a “devil-like figure” in the Devon area during the scare. Many townspeople armed themselves and attempted to track down the beast responsible, without success.
Clearly, this is ridiculous. Everyone knows that Satan is a slick-looking man in a tuxedo with a pencil mustache.
Theories abound. One theory says that a man in a hot air balloon dangled his feet just above the ground and let them touch the earth and then lifted back into the sky and over any obstacles. Another theory says that it was an escaped kangaroo. Escaped from where? Australia I guess. Another theory, one advanced clearly for the comedy aspect, claims that it was made by hopping mice.
Yeah, hopping mice.
Frankly, there have been much more interesting theories put forth, mostly from the alternative press.
The truth, as they say, is out there. And this one is way out there. Way out of print, that is. Trust me, in my role as a serious paranormal investigator I have attempted to track down that book for years. They say you can’t judge a book by its cover but in this case I don’t care. Look at it! Now that’s what we paranormal researchers call a book!
But back to England, 1855. Few people know that Devon was the center of a secret devil cult whose attempts to summon The Master often met with mixed results. It was this cult that was responsible for The Devil’s Footprints that cold British winter. From my own archives of the occult I present this rare postcard.
Throughout that cold winter, the minions of these evil men tramped over the countryside to spread the evil and corruption of The Devil. And while it was not Satan himself who spread the cloven tracks across the country, it was one of his goat-legged minions.
A meteorite spectacularly slammed into Russia last week. This of course led to a firestorm of speculation since, by sheer coincidence, Earth experienced its closest encounter ever with a potentially killer asteroid that very day.
In the wake of all this cosmic turmoil, Bill Nye was interviewed on CNN. (This is Bill Nye The Science Guy, not Bill Nye from Quinnipiac Carpet Cleaners who will steam four rooms of carpet for only $99.99.) Deb Feyerick began the interview by ambushing Nye with a tough question.
Did global warming cause the meteorite?
Now before you dismiss her as just another stupid news anchor, you should know that she earned a Bachelor of Arts degree in English literature from Barnard College in 1987, so you know she has the proper background to make these amazing scientific intuitive leaps.
Bill Nye, to his credit, tried to talk his way out of saying straight out that she is a complete moron and managed to move past it.
It doesn’t matter which side of the global warming debate you fall on, and I am not even going to get into it here. Both sides universally agree that there is no way that any Earth-based climate change can cause a meteor from the depths of space to attack us. Even Al Gore, one of our most respected asinine Americans wouldn’t say that, and he thinks that selling his news network to Al-Jazeera for big oil bucks was a good move. (Well, I guess it was for him.)
But Dumb Deb is not the only one with a, er, novel explanation for the meteor strike. Just read what this Russian politurd had to say:
Much as I love the idea of bashing John Kerry (and I will in the very next paragraph) I can’t blame him for this. “When something falls, it’s man-made.” I have to dispute this. When something falls, it is usually due to a banana peel. Does this man not know his cartoons?
John Kerry is a completely out of touch politician, born with a silver spoon in his mouth. He looked like an idiot when he ran for President due to the clever Republican strategy of doing nothing and letting Kerry act like a total out of touch idiot on the campaign trail. And now as a consolation prize for not winning the Presidency, he has been named Secretary of State. Again, without bringing politics into this (any more than I already have) there are few people who voted Democrat (Kerry’s party) who seem to think he is qualified to steam four rooms of carpet for only $99.99, let alone dictate policy.
And now a funny John Kerry story.
While hitting the campaign trail in Philadelphia, Kerry stopped for a photo-op in a famous Philly cheesesteak joint and ordered one. When asked what kind of cheese he wanted, he asked “do you have gouda?” Yes, gouda, the cheese of the common man, which assumes the common man is a rich yachting enthusiast.
I’ll let the legitimate press take it from here (yes, I am typing legitimate press sarcastically because that also includes Deb Feyerick. I seem to be just as legitimate.) This article has been slightly edited for space.
PREZ HOPEFUL ASKS FOR SWISS CHEESE!
by Don Russell of The Philadelphia Daily News
posted Thu, Aug. 14, 2003
We may have just witnessed the unraveling of the Democratic front-runner’s campaign for the White House right here in South Philadelphia, at 9th and Wharton. Let it be recorded: At lunchtime on Aug. 11, 2003, under the familiar awning of Pat’s King of Steaks, Sen. John Kerry attempted to eat a cheesesteak. For presidential candidates, eating a cheesesteak in South Philly is a political rite of passage. Clinton did it, and so did Gore. John McCain gobbled one, with hot peppers.
But this is more than just shaking hands and kissing babies. For a pol, eating a cheesesteak is like running the gauntlet – past the surly counterman, through the variety of toppings, finishing it off without looking lame. We want to see if you can survive. And if you can’t manage a dripping steak, why should we have any confidence that you can handle a slippery character like Osama bin Laden?
Kerry, you may have heard, failed miserably. He ordered a cheesesteak with Swiss cheese. (NOTE: Everyone in Pennsylvania knows you have only two options: American or Cheez Whiz)
Now I suppose in some corners of the world, Swiss is a perfectly acceptable sandwich ingredient. Switzerland, maybe. But in Philadelphia, ordering Swiss on a cheesesteak is like rooting for Dallas at an Eagles game. It isn’t just politically incorrect; it could get you a poke in the nose. Pat’s Steak owner Frank Olivieri had the good grace not to throttle Kerry. But he did advise him that, here in Philly, we don’t much like Swiss-eating campaign monkeys. He got Cheez Whiz instead. The damage, though, was already done.
At first, reporters snickered. Then word filtered into the national press that Kerry looked like a doof. Yesterday, the Washington Post compared the debacle to the first President Bush’s out-of-touch questions upon encountering a common supermarket scanner. Dukakis in a tank. Quayle’s “potatoe” misspelling. Nixon’s five o’clock shadow.
And now this: Kerry’s cheesesteak mistake.
I blame it on his handlers. I mean, who was the dope on his advance team who told Kerry to order a cheesesteak hoagie? For cryin’ out loud, the guy’s a rookie; eating a cheesesteak hoagie, with its layers of lettuce and tomato, is like trying to hit a major league fastball.
Kerry asked the photographers to stop shooting pictures. Right. You see a train wreck coming, the last thing you do is put down your camera.
So the man who would be president of the people was photographed delicately gripping the sandwich with his fingertips like he’s some kind of Boston blue blood playing the piccolo. You half expected him to ask for a silk napkin, Jeeves.
If Kerry had any sense, he’d have gone to our Gov. Rendell for some culinary advice. Here’s a guy, the former chairman of the Democratic National Committee, who got himself elected mayor of Philadelphia a decade ago almost solely on his ability to stuff a cheesesteak down his trap without ruining a necktie. We in Philadelphia expect nothing less of our Commander in Chief.
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