The Wearin’ O’ the Hides

By Daddy Bob Allen

Daddy Bob Allen is a well known personality in the California Scene, having written “The Only Reason I Mention This,” a collection of his essays from the Leather Journal and a novel called “The Wings of Icarus.” This article originally appeared in The Leather Journal; publisher: Dave Rhodes.

DaddyBob69@aol.com

Read the Interview with Daddy Bob Allen

Read Daddy Bob's Other articles: 
To Boldly Go 
The Great SM Demonstration Dilemma  
The Spiritual Daddy   

Many years ago I had an experience that changed my life.  Among other things it added decisively to the mounting evidence that I have the most ghoulish imagination in the Western Hemisphere , even subconsciously.  I'll simply tell you the story and let you make up your own mind.  And, you'll have to wait for my memoirs to find out how long ago this catharsis took place.

I had a rather intricate dream one night.  Without having to die first, I was allowed to have a little chat with the Almighty and come back to talk about it.

His workshop was not as large as I thought it would be, and it was quite cluttered for someone who claims to have set such an orderly universe in motion.  He was tinkering with a new orchid when I interrupted Him, but He graciously set His work aside and bid me sit for a while.

I had a few things I wanted to get off my chest.  "Why did you give me such weird lusts?" I asked.  "Us, I mean?"

The Almighty Father stared at me for a moment, as if at a loss for words.  "That's it?  You're not here for the inside dope on the Big Bang?"

"No, Sir," I stated firmly.  "Our society doesn't think much of us and it would really help a lot if I could explain to my Brothers and Sisters what You had in mind when you created us.  It's like we're smothered, crushed under layers of rock."

The Almighty Father winked at me slyly.  "I don't suppose it would help if I told you a diamond was nothing but a smashed piece of coal, would it?"

With this rare opportunity, I was not about to be put off by divine metaphors.  I was polite but imperative.  "No, Sir.  My Brothers and Sisters and I are very different from everyone else, and it's beginning to get a little nasty."

"What's so bad about being different?" huffed the Creator.  "Have you ever noticed how many ways I'm represented?"

"Well, I really haven't counted."

"Now, don't get me wrong, son.  They're all very special to me.  But, there's just something about my karma being locked inside a totem pole for all eternity that's just a tad unsettling, even for me."

"I hadn't thought about it that way," I responded.

"Don't crab about being different.  When someone draws a picture of you and it turns out to be a chesty lady with the head of an alligator, then you can complain."

"But, Sir," I continued undaunted.  "This world is very angry with us.  Even vanilla folk hate us.  Just because we like to tie each other up once in a while..."  I trailed off.  I could tell from His stern glower that I wasn't impressing anyone.

"Anger?!" trumpeted the Almighty.  "You're going to talk to me about anger?  I'll tell you what anger is.  You people down there have polluted all my pretty gardens with so much muck that nothing grows there any more.  And what you don't pollute you burn.  Now, you're threatening to blow the whole thing up!  You have a lot more to worry about than calling each other silly names."

"I suppose You're right," I mumbled.  I was not doing well presenting our case.

"And another thing," warned the Creator shaking His finger in my face.  "The next time you brats down there start killing each other and claiming it's in my name, I'm yanking the whole system, you see if I don't."  Michelangelo was divinely inspired when he portrayed that craggy almighty finger extended toward Adam on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel.

I wasn't getting anywhere and I guess the Heavenly Father read the abject sadness in my eyes.

He softened a bit.  "Listen, son.  You think creation is easy?  I snap my fingers and there's a planet here?  I blink my eyes and there's a supernova there?  Well, there's a lot more to it than that.  If I'd had any sense at all I would have gone into dry goods instead of creation.  It's not very exciting but it's a living and I wouldn't have to worry myself into a seizure over gravity, natural selection and Helen Keller jokes."

"You're right, of course, Sir," I muttered weakly.

The Almighty leaned back in His chair and thought for a moment.  "Y'know, when I did Gozax and Vestra -- that's Adam and Eve, by the way -- I honestly thought there'd be one little corner of the universe I could forget about.  You're supposed to take care of the nuts and bolts, not me.  I've given you the rules.  And they're pretty much the same in every language you've managed to come up with.  And that's another thing.  Like you need six thousand ways to say 'the pen is on the table'?  Sometimes I feel like that guy in the circus with all the plates spinning on the poles.  If I stop for one second, one of 'em's gonna fall off."

There were tears in my eyes, partly out of frustration, and partly out of utter shame for not seeing things from His point of view.  "But, Sir.  If you could just make things a little easier.  A few less cat calls, lost jobs, finger pointing, bashings, that sort of thing.  You have to admit, my Brothers and Sisters have had it a bit rough these past few millennia."

The Lord's eyes crossed briefly and He blew a long breath of air through His lips.  "I have a crab nebula that's about to implode on me.  And there are two galaxies you people down there haven't even seen yet that are a light year away from colliding.  And you want me to conjure a value judgment on whether you put clothes pins on each other's soft tissue?  I may test your endurance once in a while, but give me a break."

"I'm sorry, Sir," I mumbled.  "I guess I have been a little pushy."  I couldn't argue, especially the part about testing someone's endurance.

"You haven't been able to figure it out, have you?" sighed the Almighty.  "The real problem is I don't hear enough laughter down there."

"Laughter?!" I repeated in a morass of disbelief.

"Laughter," stated the Divine Personage, boring holes in me with His stare.  "You brats have managed to build monuments to intolerance with the voice box.  My people said I was crazy to do the advanced larynx.  But, I fooled all of you.  The fail safe mechanism is laughter.  It's universal.  Maybe if you spent more time making each other laugh, and I mean really laugh, you'd get into a lot less mischief.  Make my day.  Organize just one crusade to make sad people laugh."

"I'll get right on it, Sir."

No one could figure out why I was so quiet over morning coffee.  I had a lot to think about.

More when I get a chance,


~~~

Copyright 2003
This article is reprinted here with the explicit permission of the author. If you would like to share it with others, please link directly to this page or contact the author for permission. It is a violation of copyright law to distribute or reprint this piece without that permission, however you may include a short quote from it, not more than 20% of the total text. Please respect the integrity of this work.