Heavens to Betsy

Dear Lord,

Ewww. Now this Jesus creep won't leave me alone.

Ever since a few of us danced with him last year at the Christmas party, he's been complaining that we Vermont Yankee folk behave as though mortally endangering the people of Vermont, New Hampshire, and Massachusetts is our God-given right.

So I put that dude in his place, I did, yessiree. I said to him, "Well, Jesus, Mr. Know-it-All, lording about as if you were the son of God or something, if you knew anything about Vermont politics and corporate and federal law you'd also know that it just might be our right to mortally endanger all of those people."

And then he sent me a e-card, signing it with a blinking, "Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand."

Repent, for the kingdom of God is at hand.
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By this disturbing little gesture I suppose he was trying to remind me that Vermont Yankee's storing of spent radioactive fuel outside, near the river on an open concrete slab, is a bad idea, given that Vermont is an earthquake zone.

Well I know that, and I'd email him a "Nyah, nyah, nyah, nyah, nyah. So's your mother, Manifest Destiny, blah-blah," but somehow he magically erased his address from his message.

Perhaps my assertion of God-given right was a bit over the line, taste-wise. But what I think really torqued his temper was the one-two(-three) punch we've just gotten in the news. Context, of course, is everything. Please remember that last year we were discovered to have exceeded allowable fenceline radiation doses—that is, unless you imaginatively recalculate those doses. Ok. Punch One: To take some of the heat of the "fenceline fanatics" off of us, we're trying to move our fenceline farther away from the nuclear power plant (but, unforntuately, way closer to the nearby elementary school). Punch Two: The Department of Health has not yet released the 2008 radiation surveillance report. And Punch Three: It turns out that we are nearly a year behind in conducting additional radiation monitoring as mandated by the state!

Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha. Ha, ha, ha, haha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha. He, he, he, he. Howl.

Hmmm. I guess you had to be there--in the control room--when The Stoners and I learned about that. We sparked up and told some great kids-with-cancer jokes.

Like:

Little Johnny wakes up on Christmas morning, runs downstairs and is greeted by his parents and hundreds of presents under the tree.

"Oh Wow!" cries Little Johnny as he starts tearing away at all the wrapping paper. Little Johnny is so excited as he opens the presents. He has a brand new BMX, a skateboard, a playstation, a brand new PC, a scooter, a climbing frame - everything a little boy would want.

When he finishes opening all the presents, Little Johnny asks his parents if he can go round to Little Timmy's house to tell him about all the wonderful presents he got.

"Of course you can Little Johnny, off you go, but be back before dinner!"

So off Little Johnny goes, and gets to Little Timmy's house.

"Oh Timmy! This is the best christmas EVER! I got a playstation, a BMX, a new computer - everything i could ever want!!"

"Oh your so lucky", replies Little Timmy, "I wish I had cancer."

… and …

Q: How many kids with cancer does it take to change a light bulb?

A: They can't. They're too weak to climb the ladder.

Laughing, Lord?

Anyway, getting the earthquake card from Jesus was a real downer. I mean, heavens to Betsy, here I am, minding my own business, knock-knock-knocking on heaven's door, and …..

Gotta go. Phone's ringing, and with luck it's not Susan Smallheer.

Amen,

Fake-Rob