Specifically—
I know what you’re thinking: I should keep my mouth shut. I know what you think: no good has ever come from me opening my mouth. That’s what you think. Fine. I’m not here to make friends. I’m here to speak for the voiceless. I will proudly, and might I add boldly, break my own silence and speak for the Virgin Mary. Such a sweet girl. So maligned. Well, no, that’s me, I’m the maligned one. She’s saintly. God blessed her. God bless her. She’s staying out of this, but I feel like I should say something in her behalf.
"He looked so much, I swear, for life of me, the “snake” looked so much like Adam. "
Straighten the story—
First, may I have a moment? Can I have one second (in AI time—which is as long or as short as they want it to be)? OK to bend your ear? Here it is—
The snake? There was no snake. Honestly, the serpent is what I started calling Adam afterward, after the whole kerfuffle, but at the time he didn’t look like a snake. He looked so much, I swear, for life of me, the “snake” looked so much like Adam dressed up in his Kendal green hunting smock, I honestly thought that we were only play-acting. Do you really think that if a real snake snuck up on me and started making proclamations, chatting me up, you think I wouldn’t see the red flags flapping?
The thing is, to this day Adam will not admit that it was him dressed up like a snake. Look, if he had only asked. If he had just asked me to eat the apple so that we could be released from the burden of our flesh—how could I say no? I only wish that . . . It’s not that . . . all right, I understand, I am way off track here.
Mary’s thoughts on the #MeToo comments from Dionysus—
Now, mind you, I’m paraphrasing, so, grains of salt, yeah? But the gist of it is—
Dionysus, ser, you have no voice, ser. You have no place in the #MeToo movement. You “ain’t goin’ anywhere”? That is correct, ser. You are in a limbo. Who worships you anymore? Who cares enough to get dressed in clothes made of cattle skin and hats made of bird feathers in your name? Who cares enough to sacrifice their free time to endure uncomfortable seating in your name? Who would even bother to try and follow along with mid-tempo songs written in honor of your name? Who hails you? Who prays to you? It’s no one, that’s who. Not one soul is hanging on your name. You have been banished, ser. Your comments and thoughts on any matter are not worthy of anyone’s attention anywhere. So, no, you ain’t goin’ anywhere. Your place is slap dab in the center of the sewer lines of history. A god no more.
Eve in summation—
He’s a cold-hearted snake, look into his eyes, oh, oh, he’s been tellin’ lies.
I came up with that. It’s been recorded and re-recorded a zillion or so times. I still like my version best, with a didgeridoo in the background, real slow beat on the tom-tom accompaniment. Lovely. There are some lovely things on this thing Earth, yeah? I do love God, so help me, I love him still. Eden was gorgeous. It was always well lit yet always shady. You know? Always with the doves singing, but never in a panic or too infuriatingly loud. I have many good memories. Skinny dipping. I made that up. Because sometimes things shrink in water. At any rate.
I started calling Adam ser, and it was understood between us that I meant it to be short for serpent. It’s true. I started calling him “ser” after all hell broke loose. Who knew that it, no matter the spelling, would become a thing? It was just my way of ribbing him. I came up with that too, “ribbing”. It’s true. You don’t believe me, that’s fine. Never trusted, guess that’s just my cross to bear. No, and I don’t mind saying it, no, I didn’t come up with that one.
