Some years ago I was backstage at a big cowboy gathering, fussing with one thing or another, getting ready to go out and do my thing as a humorist.  One of the directors came up and started clipping a microphone onto my lapel, making sure it was where they wanted it.  While doing so he told me the following story, and I was still grinning five mintues later when I went on stage.

It seems that pastor Murray came to church one Sunday morning a bit under the weather with a stomach flu.  He told his associate pastor, a young man named Paul, that he was out of sorts and might not be able to finish his sermon that morning.  He'd give it his best, he said, but if the flu bug suddenly seized him in an emphatic way, he'd leave the pulpit.  Pastor Paul was then to take over.

Sure enough, fifteen minutes into his sermon, the flu bug came calling again and pastor Murray was forced to flee the pulpit.   He dashed down a short hallway, burst into a bathroom, and barely got his trousers down in time before the product of his malady came forth with force.  He sat there on the potty trembling and so sick he could barely lift his head, making noises only one with raging diarrhea can make, and praying that he would soon be over this sickness that had fallen upon him.  

And then, a soft knocking came at the bathroom door, and associate pastor Paul stuck his head just inside the door.  He said nothing out loud, just pointed at his lapel and half whispered/half mouthed the words, "microphone. microphone."

Now there's a echo that might be heard for a while.

PMC, 2/13/08