Forgive my lack of updates, oh my brothers, for I have been busy spreading the Word by means non-electronical.
Many issues in the world today cause the great disc to grieve. The state of our nation and of society as a whole make this whistling disc cry like a frisbee with a tear drawn on it with a sharpie, which in our religion is the utmost expression of sadness or regret.
I long for the simplest days of man, where the simplicity of the disc was both beloved and feared, although most of all respected. The nerve of today's heathens astonishes me. They are as frisbee's spinning on the pavement, like a quarter spinning on a table.
Why, this very morning, with the great disc smiling upon me, I carried my sandwich board to the corner outside the Wal-Mart (a few feet over the property line, since they can't get me for trespassing there), and started spreading The Word to the passers-by. On this day I was distributing The Word in disc form, to hammer the basics of our theology into the mentality of those who took the time to observe. It is a minor, lightweight statuette of the Great Disc, for he encourages his followers to know his image and feel the joy he brings by flinging him skyward. The Frisbeetarian Code is printed on the plastic statuette, for all to see.
As the sun began to set the undesirables started filtering by. A group of teenagers, dressed in black t-shirts with heathenous band names on them (I am currently the frontman of an all-Frisbeetarian band called 'Whistler and the Diskettes Featuring the Frisbeetarian Experience," we play out parking area for my studio appartment right now, but we're trying to book the continental breakfast room at some local chain motels) approached me and pretended to be interested in Frisbeetarianism's teachings. I enthusiastically guided their glide with tales of the Great Disc and its deeds. After handing them their statuettes and telling them when and where our church holds its services (every Tuesday, Thursday, and every other Friday in the basement of the local bingo hall), they proceeded to hurl their Images of the Great Disc directly at my head. They then broke my sandwich board into several fragments of its former glory. As they stomped my prone and helpless form, between their lashes from a board with a nail in it and their various hawkings of loogies, they told me that Christ was their savior and I could go to hell with the Mormons and Scientologists.
I should probably go to the hospital, given that I have experienced an inordinate amount of bleeding, but the Frisbeetarian church does not provide healthcare to its clergy. I will nurse my wounds and try to get more money for a new sandwich board, and I will re-think handing out images if the Great Disc.
Woe upon those who do not accept the Great Disc, for he is equal parts vengeance and mercy.