In great wisdom (“I’m very bright,”
he is given to opine), he laid a
foundation of Styrofoam on top of
sand and stated, “It is good to have
a little cushion so the structure is
not too brittle.” Then on a dry, cool
day he stacked marshmallow Legos on
the foundation for the first floor.
“Now it is time for strength in the
structure,” he said, so he used peanut
brittle for the remaining floors and
finished the project with a gingerbread
roof and a candy cane cross on top and
his name attached to every side of the
structure in milk chocolate. Then for
the ribbon cutting, he invited all the
worshipers who trusted in the architect’s
opinion of himself and all he said he
would do for them. As they sang the first
hymn they noticed a little swinging and
swaying in the walls but they thought
that was just the rhythmic movement of
the second class, hired choir. Just
after the offering was received and
dedicated to the architect’s favorite
charity — his own foundation, the sun
began to beat down followed by clouds
and heavy rain and the temperature
dropped and the freezing rain turned
to snow and roof caved in and the walls
crumbled and the marshmallow Legos
which initially had melted then snapped
and all that was left was the Styrofoam,
which would be carted off to landfills
where it would remain for millions of
years and perhaps then used by another
architect who was given to opine that
he was very bright. He, too, would have
his true believer, evangelical followers
because there would always be a sucker
born every minute allegedly spoken by
another very bright person, P.T. Barnum,
who, at least, was smart enough to put
a canvas tent over his three-ring circus.
bobdahl 