Yes, I know it's quite a name. How did I get stuck with it? Well, this name is a family tradition. If you listened while I was reading it and didn't fall asleep, you probably noticed the 17th at the end. You didn't? Well, I can understand. I mean, it's not like it's so rare to have 16 relatives before you with the same name as you. I'm sure you have at least three.
You don't?! How did you ever manage to live this long with no number after your name? Surely the Great Cheesecake Goddess the 10,097th would have struck you down by now. What? You don't know what I'm talking about? Where on Sp are you from, anyway?
Oh, you're from earth. Boy, what a boring place. I would hate to live there. Where do I live? Do you have the time? The name of our planet is 2,744 words long. Ok, I'll tell you its nickname. We call our planet Sp. Here we nickname everything by its first two letters. For example, my nickname is Ky. You see, it's much simpler that way. What? You'd like me to tell you about my planet? Ok, you asked for it! Here goes!
Sp is a very special planet. It's not made out of rock and ice, like most other planets. Sp is made out of pajamas. There's a story as to that happened. It involves a man named Blargh.
Blargh lived on the planet of P99-85GS. P99-85GS was a small planet, about 1/20 the size of your moon. He owned 999,999,999,999,999 pairs of pajamas, and every day he knit himself another pair. You see, his race didn't have to eat, or sleep, or anything. He didn't need any money. He had his sheep, for the wool, and his knitting set, and he was free to knit all the pj's he wanted. What happened to the rest of his race? That's a sad tale. What with Blargh and all his pajamas, they were pushed out into space. As far as I know, to this day, they are still floating around out there, ruing the day they first heard the word "pajama".
Meanwhile, Blargh was happy on P99-85GS until one day, disaster struck. The sun his planet was revolving around died, forming a black hole. He and his pajamas were sucked in. All of those pajamas got compressed, forming a planet-sized lump of ex-pj's wandering around in space. Eventually, it got pulled into orbit around a star. Time passed, and life formed, that life being us.
And who are we? We are none other than the Grand Holy Multitude of Devout Objecters. No, we don't object to everything. Actually, we do, but that's not why we're called objecters. The reason we're called objecters is because we worship objects. We have one god for every object in existence, and each of them has a number. For example, there have been 8 Toothbrush Gods, so the current one is the Toothbrush God the 8th. Our main God is the Great Cheesecake Goddess the 10,097th, because we took a vote and cheesecake was the most loved object. Everyone voted for it, except for one old man who voted for a light bulb. Needless to say, we sent him off to be punished.
Which brings me to the judiciary system of our society. We have three types of punishments for three types of crimes. For petty offenses, like wearing green and orange plaid, we make you smell the altar to the Stinky Gym Shoe God the 1st (One is enough!).
For medium offenses, we make you eat from the altar of the Eggplant, Ketchup, and Soda Casserole God the 81st. And for capital offenses, we make you listen to the altar of the Tape of Earthsong12 Talking God the 2nd.
There's a story behind that too. One day, we found a cassette tape lying on the ground. It was labeled "Earthsong12 Talking". We didn't have a god for it yet, so we rushed to set up an altar for her that played the tape endlessly. We soon had to move into a soundproof room, however, because anyone who listened to it for more than a few minutes went insane. We still don't know where it came from, but that must have been one crazy planet.
Lastly, I'll tell you about our families. Every boy gets married to a girl at age 18, right after they get out of school (I'll get to that later). In order to get married, they each have to write an essay on the topic of "What Marriage Means To Me". Needless to say, most people stay single, which is why we don't have an overpopulation problem.
Those that do marry usually have somewhere between 0 and 100 children. Less or more than that is very rare. The children live with their parents for 12 years. At age 13, each child is sent off to God School. At God School they are each assigned to a God that they are taught how to serve. After they graduate at age 18, they serve that God for 40 years and then they retire to a life of eating peas and rolling dice. Those are two of the favored activities of seniors.
What's that, you ask? What God do I serve? Oh, I serve the Pencil Eraser God the 39th. Every day I receive 300 or so pages of writing prepared by the servers of the Pencil God the 776th. I then spend the day erasing it while singing eraser hymns. Would you like to hear one? Here it is:
Oh, erasers are so fine
I wish they were all mine
I would erase all day
I wouldn't have to play
Thanks to the Pencil Eraser God 39.
At the end of the day, I send the blank paper to the servers of the Shredder God the 45,985th. Then I go home to a nice meal before going to sleep.
Ok, that's about all I have to say. I'm glad I could teach you a little about my culture. You're probably not as glad to learn about it, but too bad! You already learned whether you wanted to or not. Ha! And if you think that's bad, then you should come visit me someday. Just hop on a spaceship, come to Sp, and ask for Ky.