Someone stole my bible. Well maybe I should backtrack. I had a party - party is probably too strong a word. Let me start again - I had a few close friends over, and they all brought three friends ... you know how that goes. After having a party, there a few things I half expected to be missing: CDs - my iPod -the cat - my sense of balance - the ability to have the sun come through the hole in your bedroom shade without feeling like a a diamond tipped drill bit looking for gold. So the bible wouldn't normally have been first on my list (or last for that matter) except I clicked (I know TVs don't click on anymore - we don't roll down car windows anymore either but when you want someone to put down the window, we make that universal circular hand motion) on the tv, the game was on. And I'm not gonna tell you what game because then then you'll want to best best buds with me and talk for hours about the Mets/Nets/Jets/Pets. Chances are you'll ask about wins, losses, injuries and why I'm watching steroid enhanced millionaires from our locale play a kids game. Back to the TV... there's a lone guy in the upper deck holding a john 3:16 sign - now we've all seen these, but no one has ever come up with a logical reason as to why people do this. Is it a cryptic drug buy signal for John to meet him at the corner of 3 rd and 16th street to pick up the package? Is he trying to let his buddy know what section he's in or maybe it's his prediction of the final score. A called my friend Sarah and she told me it was a Biblical reference. I know you've been waiting for it; that's where the bible comes in. I knew I had one because it's come in handy in the last year. I had of under the leg of the wobbly coffee table which had been upended by the party.
Who would steal a Bible anyway? Most people who read the bible I imagine are good people who wouldn't steal $20 if you gave it to them. Then I thought about all those priests with two girlfriends, a house in the Hamptons and an altar boy on retainer. Hell, in the church I grew up in, people were holy for one hour a week and cut you off with their middle up while tearing out of the parking lot. I don't ever remember seeing a bible in my church. We didn't read the bible on Sundays; we read the bulletin. The only book of significance I saw there was the priests big book on the altar which resembled a gold embossed NYC phone book. He seemed to be reading and it all made sense, buy hell, hoe could have had an Archie comic wedged in there.
I could have stopped by the Marriott down the road; every hotel I've visited has a Bible "placed by the Gideons". I've never met a Gideon; I mean the don't exactly have people knocking on my door every Saturday morning. But whoever they have pushing those Bibles is one hell of a salesperson.
I heard a knock at the door, and when I opened it, my friend John was standing there holding my Bible. I looked down at my watch and it had just clicked past a quarter after three.
a decidedly myopic rehashing of the not so obvious... Seinfeld should have thought of it
