by Kate Russell

Unamused, he sat in the easy chair, stiff with dogma, eyes burning a hole in the television.

The godless comedy and the laughter of the theatre of people who watched it, prodded the caged rage in his heart. By his birth certificate, he was nineteen, but the drawstring-like lines around his taught, disapproving mouth, gave the impression of someone far older. Blob would not find this sinfulness funny. Where was their shame? The world had gone to hell in a hand basket and it seemed he was one of the only few left were willing to fight against the sinners.

He reached for the holy book. Closing his eyes in silent prayer, he thumbed the pages for divine inspiration. The soft, well worn purity of the paper beneath his fingers delighted him and he shivered a little inside as his finger fell upon the phrase. 87:5. "Inflame their hearts with the terror of BLOB!"

Clapping his sweaty hands in glee at this confirmation, he turned off the television, placed the holy book in his pocket and paced to the garage. The petroleum can flickered red under the blinking halogen light, just enough to illuminate something else crawling along the floor before it burnt out. Unsure if the moving object was snake or insect, he reached for his lighter with curious malaise...

The blast sent the neighbours running. They squinted to find clues amongst the raging flames, but overlooked the book, smoldering on the floor. The back cover had been lost in the blast, but one verse clearly remained.

 100003.6. "Useth not a naked flame around petroleum."

It was a shame he had always distrusted the modern part of the scriptures, for it seemed that Blob did have a sense of humour after all.