Build Your Own Bible

I sometimes wonder what would happen if I wrote my own bible.  If I wrote down parables and sayings and, perhaps, wrote a few hymns to a god (or gods) that don’t really exist.  If I kept it safe and it managed to survive the ages and many years hence was found.  Would it create a buzz in the archealogical world of the future?  Would it gain converts?

For that matter, will there be a far future generation that believes in the wisdom of, say, Harry Potter?  Will there be priests who tell their followers about the trials that Harry Potter went through, only to emerge victorious?  It was written down in antiquity, therefore it must be true.

Or will it be much different.  With the advent of the computer and digital media, will paper become rare and lost.  Will there be a huge gap in the human record because all of our information was lost when the power went out, when chips corroded, and magnatized media became inert?  Will this golden age of digital information be regarded as the dark ages when no records, from the point of view of far-future historians, were kept?

Vend-O-Matic

I used the keypad to punch in the numbers.  The corkscrew began to turn, forcing the bag of Peanut M&M’s closer to the edge.  I watched and waited as it turned and turned, the yellow bag now barely hanging.  And then it all stopped.  Once again I had been denied a tasty afternoon snack and had my hard earned $0.65 stolen from me.  Once again, I wished my friend Pat were here.
Some men are hunters.  Qail, dove or deer.  Pat was a hunter of vending machines.  Many was the time when we’d be working on something and he would stop and say, “It’s time for a tasty treat.”  Then we’d roam the building, Pat tracking down his target.  We’d stop by all the break rooms where he’d look into the glass of the vending machine, assesing his prey.  “No, this is no good,” he might say.  Then we’d move on to the next location where we’d be sure a vending machine would be.  Or he might nod and send me out into the hallway.  It was my job to make sure no one was around, to whistle when the coast was clear.
The silence of the workplace would be shattered, then, by the sound of a large, heavy vending machine being tilted forward and then slammed backwards against the floor and wall.  A few seconds later and he’d walk out of the break room grinning madly and clutching his kill.
“Hey, what do we got here?  Want a Mr. Goodbar?  Whoa!  How about some popcorn?  I got two of those babies!”