In the beginning, God created the progressive and the rock, and the land of confusion upon which it rested. He created something called "band" and on the seventh day, He kicked back with His Musical Box and said "All is good."
He called on St. Peter the Gabriel and, with the Holy Lambs, he beseeched St. Peter to layeth down on Broadway.
And then there were three.
The Lord our God said, "Thou egos have gotten too big for thy trousers. That goes for you, Prince Philip." The Prince replied, "But Lord, there must be some misunderstanding. If you'd read behind the lines, you'd find there are three sides live to every story. Please reconsider. Don't throw us all away. Replace us with illegal aliens and you'll regret the outcome, today, tomorrow and tonight, tonight, tonight."
The Lord took several seconds out, rolled His eyes, and thought, "We wouldn't have had this trouble were I to have allowed St. Peter to have finished that nursery cryme. Why did I have to tell him supper was ready? My mistake to have given him that monkey and the cattle prod."
But the wholly disciples -- Banks and Rutherford -- were too busy following you, following me, and other tricks of the tail deep in the motherlode.
Sir Hackett looked at the wholly bedlam, and thought, "Yes! I must take a trip to Asia at once!"
Prince Philip's ego continued to grow, like the cockroach in Kafka's Metamorphosis. He, like St. Peter, set out to find his own chimpanzee to electrocute. Alas, the Prince missed again. He should've known, as he could feel it coming in ..... naaaaaaah.
Anyway, Prince Philip asked the Lord for one more night. And the Lord Our God replied, "Hello, I must be going." Said the Prince, "Just for that, I'll cover a Supremes hit. That'll show you." God rolled His eyes again, but even He was not prepared for the Prince's next move: seeking out a love described as groovy. Quoting Saint John of Liverpool, God said, "Philip, the sound you make is Muzak to my ears." The Prince then roared back to God, "Do you know? Do you CARE??" God sighed, and, exasperated, said, "You're no son of mine. Watch the skies, Phil, and you'll see unquiet slumbers for the sleepers.
"In short, Princely One, you can't dance. Musically, you're committing trespass."
But the Lord had revenge in mind. It IS His, in fact. And so it goes, that in The Year of Our Lord, Twenty Ought-Seven, that He should engineer a reunion of Disciples Rutherford and Banks, and place as their leader one Prince Philip.
The Lord said, "I shall charge $50-$75 for nosebleed tickets and they shall make a fortune." The flock, the lambs of Broadway, will pay every penny gladly. What fools those mortals be.
St. Peter of Gabriel looked at them and, with a shrug, said, "So? I think they'll flop. Big time."
The Lord knew St. Peter was just letting off steam.
And there you have, O Sinners, the story of sheer greed.
--Talmadge "Not buying a ticket. Nope." Gleck
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