A Fun New Book About Inflation
Caldron Pool Interview
A Song I Really Like for Some Reason
Watch for Deer
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On Not Taking a Hint
Jokes I Like to Tell
Back in the day, way down the South, there was a rural electrification program going on. They were working hard to bring electricity to the farms and hamlets that were just around every crook in the road, and this included all the back roads.
As a generous part of this program, the electric company graciously offered to set up a pole for each little country church, and this included the Baptists, Methodists, and Holy-Rollers. As a result these houses of worship that lined the dirt roads of Dixie could use light bulbs rather than oil lamps for their evening services.
As it happened, one of the congregations that received this offer was a Primitive Baptist congregation, an old-time assembly of foot-washing, hymn-lining believers who wore their overalls and feed-sack dresses each Sunday for worship. They would meet in an austere one-room chapel from whence their whooping would resound in the surrounding hollow, and the fire-and-brimstone sermons would put the fear of God into many a hardened sinner.
Because of their congregational polity, this congregation held a business meeting in order to vote on getting electricity service for their meeting house. Over the curmudgeonly objections of a couple of the true-blue hard shells—skeptical of these inroads of modernity into their small country church—a motion was nevertheless made, seconded, and approved. They would indeed ask the power company to provide a pole on the church property and begin getting electrical service.
After this measure was approved, the moderator asked if there was any other business that needed to be taken up.
Not content to leave well enough alone, one lady stood up and said that she thought the church should commemorate this new amenity by ordering a chandelier through the Sears & Roebuck catalog. They could use the money they had in the budget for maintaining the oil lamps, and they could hang it in the sanctuary. A handful of other church ladies quickly seconded this motion.
When the moderator asked if there was any discussion on the motion, one stern old deacon rose to his feet to object. He had been one of those who had opposed the electrifying in the first place, and he saw all the negative consequences unfolding before his eyes. Faster than he had expected, but still not unexpected. He exclaimed, “There ain’t no reason we need to spend money on such an extravagance when nobody in our church even knows how to spell shandaleer—let alone how to play one.”
And Another Podcast Also
This is the book of Esther in the form of a screenplay, in a steampunk setting, by someone who has never written a screenplay before. Leave me alone.