The crowd, here at Vague Deism Crag, watch, in silent prayer and expectation, as William Lane Knievel makes some final adjustments to the Honda Cub of Theology.
The float of the Carburettor of Moral Objectivity is jammed, but no matter; the float-chamber drain-screw gasket is leaking more than enough ontological fluid to stop it flooding.
The splines on the Gear-Change-Shaft of Circular Reasoning have worn completely smooth, but he clamps the Mole-Grips of Presupposition onto the end. They should grip long enough for him to clunk it into second.
The worn-out HT-Lead of False Premise, he replaces with the Lamp-Cord of Gish-Gallop.
And, could it be…? Yes, it looks as if he's actually making ready to take the Leap of Faith from Vague Deism Crag to Personified Deity Ridge. He's bouncing up and down on the Kickstarter of Bafflegab like a five-year old in a bouncy-castle, but—oh dear—it looks as if the machine is going to fail him.
But wait! Yes, a quick squirt of Uncaused Cause™, (available at a meta-motor shop near you, folks!) and it fires up in a flash; the Corroded Exhaust of Arbitrary Redefinition screaming like a Justin Bieber fan on helium…
He's off! Ladies and gentleman, he's off like a rocket! Second gear, and he's up to… yes, it's confirmed, ten miles an hour, ladies and gentlemen!
He's on the ramp!
I can see his knuckles, white on the Throttle of Argumentum Ad Populum. The ten-mile-an-hour wind whips his jacket back, as if to form a glorious, victorious flag proclaiming his Faith…
There he goes! There he goes! He's off the ramp and hurtling…
We'll be back after this short advertising break, ladies and gentlemen.
(And all because I noticed Evel Knievel's middle-name was Craig. I am so, so sorry, Gentle Reader.)
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