Putride, or a dedication to Voltaire

Putride one day was musing in his lofty loft on the Aegean mountaintop: “ This world is perfect and just, nothing ever goes wrong.” As he said this, a pigeon flew above his head and shat all over him. “Ah, a sign of good luck.” Then an earthquake struck, destroying his village underneath, burying his family in a screaming tomb. “Well, one must turn over a new leaf every now and again.” Then the sea rose and swallowed the ruins of the village. “ I guess it was an eyesore in many ways,” Then a messenger arrived bringing news that the whole of Europe had declared war on each other because the English had raised taxes on windows. “Freedom to see the sunlight without VAT is a god-given right!” reassured Putride. Then the messenger related that 100,000 men had perished in the Battle of The Curtains. “ Too many Spaniards anyway.”

Then the moon fell out of the sky into the sea, and the sun died. “Well, God bless His soul, the Lord giveth and the Lord taketh. Seeing is overrated anyhow.

Then the planet exploded. And Putride admired the beautiful, ordered, and always perfect world the Creator had designed. Flying through the never-ending chasm of space, he smiled and smiled as he flew through the universe. And then he remembered that he had forgotten to eat breakfast. “ Ah, this world is a load of ****”, he thought, his stomach-sounds reverberating on each nebulae he passed.

Writer, poet, philosopher