The Lost Blogs (35 page)

As part of the premiere of the new
Soviet.com
collective blog, I would like to direct you to just some of the wonderful pieces that are already available for your perusal:

Russian Art. How Good It Is

Stalin, the Extraordinarily Great Person

My Farm, Your Farm… Our Farm

Stalin, the Extraordinarily Great Person, Pt 2

Poles and Kalmyks and Chechens, Oh My!

From:
http://www.almighty.com/~adam/

Subject:
Women!

Today was not a good day.

Before today, everything was going swimmingly. The lands were bountiful, filled with fruit and food and animals (which I got
to name myself, btw) and populated by the lovely Eve. We’d been having some great times, just hanging out and talking until
the wee hours of the morning. Seriously, we were in heaven.

Then the you-know-what hit the you-know-what.

Like I’ve said
before
, Eve has this thing about not listening to me or the Almighty. The guy tells us we can do whatever we want, whenever we want—full
carte blanche. We just can’t touch the tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil. That’s it. One tree. One little tiny tree that
is off limits.

Eve doesn’t like things being off limits. If it’s something she can’t have, you’d better believe she’s going to want it. Remember
that day
she wanted that fig and I had the last fig from the tree? And she threw that temper tantrum for the fig? Perfect example
of her having to have exactly what she can’t have. (
Picture of Eve, eating my fig
.)

So I’m out walking around the back of our property today and I turn the corner past the giraffes and the hippos and I see
Eve standing there under the tree. What does she have in her hand? An apple. What’s missing from that apple? A bite.

“
The most delicious apple ever
,” she says.

Then blah blah blah, she’s going on about how “
see, nothing happened
” and how “
it’s so good, Adam, just try it
” and “
since I had a bite you should totally try it too or are you not really, truly a man
” kind of thing and she’s batting her eyes at me and she’s, you know, all there to see.

Women.

About five seconds after taking a taste there’s this booming from the sky, the clouds rush in, and you-know-who catches us
in the act.

I don’t know when I’ll be able to write next—we’re sort of living in a world of pain now, if you know what I mean.

From:
http://www.brigham_young.com/blog/

Subject:
Oops!

Mother’s Day is next Sunday.

I don’t know, people—what’s a guy supposed to get for his wife? You don’t want to ask them what they want because, well, that
would totally ruin the surprise—but you don’t want to just go get them something and then watch them open the gift and realize
that no, they don’t want an apron. (Yes, I did this last year and was not pleased with the result!)

I know that I’ll probably send flowers to
Miriam
, because she loves daisies and roses. I’ll probably get
Mary
that new iron she was eyeing last week at the store. But what about
Lucy
? She’s so tough to buy for. She says she doesn’t want anything but you know that if I don’t get her anything, I’ll never
hear the end of it. Then there’s
Harriet
and
Clarissa
and the other
Clarissa
. They want clothing, but I have no idea what size clothing they wear and if I go and ask them what size they are, they’re
going to know I’m getting them clothing and what kind of surprise is that?

Louisa
and
Zina
and
Emily
and
Eliza
and
Elizabeth
and
Diana
and
Maria
and
Susannah
and
Olive
and
Mary
and
Margrette
are way tough to buy for. They’re always finding fault in presents—which doesn’t make it much fun to buy them things. But
here’s a question—sure, I have thirteen kids from these eleven women, but some have never given me a child. Perhaps, possibly,
I don’t have to get them a present? Or a less expensive one? Right, men?
Chime in
.

Thing is, last year I didn’t get presents for some of my wives who have never had children (
Rhoda
,
Mary
,
Mary Ann
,
Emily
,
Abigail
,
Mary E
, and
Amy C
. immediately come to mind) and they totally felt out of place while
Emmeline
,
Margaret Maria
,
Lucy
and Harriet opened their gifts. Boy was that a rough night. You know who had to spend the night with the OTHER forty-three
wives after being kicked to the curb by the first seven? Yes, you guessed it. Ol’ Brigham Young was getting the classic cold
shoulder.

Maybe tonight I’ll try to casually guess what
Hannah
,
Lydia
,
Elizabeth J.
,
Ann Eliza
,
Mary C.
and
Mary O
. might want. I’ve got ten minutes with each of them tonight, so
that should be just enough time to figure out what’s on their “extra special gift lists” this time of year! Maybe I’ll just
ask. Oh, who knows!

It’s just so darn hard trying to buy for Mother’s Day.

If all else fails, I guess I can ask the kids. Between fifty-six of them, someone’s bound to come up with an idea, right?

Gosh, I hope so.

From:
http://www.homer.gr/blog/

Subject:
Where Are Thou, O Muse?

Here I sit, in silence, staring up at this stone—draped in white, without any words.

The words, so quickly they came to my head and my hand before—the
Iliad
the result of such vivid apparitions. The siege on Ilium and the Trojan War played out in my mind, and in the minds of those
who sat to hear the tale. O Muse, how we knew each other so well during those times, and all men they did rally behind the
tale, speaking the words to others and those to others again. The
Iliad
, a success, had become.

And now, with the pressure upon me, I cannot find the words for the second tale.

O Muse, where are thou? A title, you have not given me—although a story of an odyssey I suspect might be nice. The story of
Odysseus, King of Ithaca, after the war which raged upon Troy. But what of his actions? His adventures to come? The influence
of the gods? My mind is a blank, and there is nothing for me to tell.

I am at a loss for words, O Muse, and the people they grow more impatient by the day. Where is thou Odyssey they pose. When
shall we hear the tale they say. Why has there not been a second story with so much time passing since the first?

Perhaps, O Muse, one is all there ever was inside of me? So says me, writer and poet. One perhaps is all there is. For what
else explanation can there be for a man so prolific yet so completely absent of ideas?

For who can fault a man for writing once with greatness and allowing that to mark him for life? No man can fault another for
such. But when greatness falls, replaced by mediocrity (with another story that does not inspire)—then the mark darkens, and
failure overshadows.

Perhaps this odyssey will never occur. Perhaps Odysseus’ journey ends in the
Iliad
. Perhaps my Muse has decided for me—that a second project is not my destiny.

But that must not be true. Yet I have nothing to give. But the first, such a rousing success. Where are my thoughts? Why to
me, does this occur?

I have nothing to give. I cannot. No. I cannot. I cannot.

But they ask for more. And more. And more!

A meal. Perhaps a meal will help spark the hidden tale of Odysseus. Entertainment of some kind. A meal and entertainment and
a well-needed break. Yes! This is my destiny.

When I have returned, then I shall try again.

From:
http://www.pope_john_paul_II.it/papal-blog/

Subject:
The Raddest Day Ever

Are you ready for this!? Totally crazy. Seriously. Out of control.

So I’m sleeping in my quarters, right? It’s like five in the morning or something, pretty early, tryin’ to get my rest after
a night of blessing a bunch of people here at the Vatican. Anyway—I open my eyes for a split second to flip over and get to
the cold side of the bed when I spot like twenty cardinals… get this… Wait for it… IN MY ROOM!

I almost freaked out! I mean, usually we’ll all meet up downstairs but never have they all come like that and stood so freakishly
quiet in the corner of my room. I was like, “
Yo, what’s going on. Cardinals
?” and they were like, “
Holy Father… we have something to show you that you might want to see
” and blah blah blah blah blah… More of that for a while and I was like, “
Well, you woke me up already, I ain’t goin’ back to sleep so let’s go see what you have to show me
.”