Our little angel came upon us in shining glory one early summer afternoon amidst the dusty pastures of a Minneapolis thrift store. Hidden from the hustle and bustle of the acid-washed clothing racks and the one-hit wonder( or one-armed drummer) CD bins, he had toiled for years in his anointed vocation of blessing those who purchased and praised him.

Within the environs of a quiet, northern lake his power became apparent. Like spiritual drool dripping from his simian lips, he bestowed a viscous thread of fish towards whom boat he was situated in. Spiny friend after spiny friend engorged themselves upon the glittering promises of a new and easy meal. His power was omnipotent.

There is, like most power-mongering gods, a grayer side to his being. Through 3 nights of fire, mead, Doritos, The Cobra Stove , Incline Grill ( "It'll surprise you like my left") and DJ Praying Mantis, his vices of bass, smokes and pornography arose. Wanton disregard for the "Goodwill" scriptures he had devised and preached were horrific, yet secularly humorous. He became "one of the gang", a virtual Spanky but with no clothes or beanie cap. Just wings and a prayer or two.

This is the historically accurate synopsis of our thrift store prophet: Chimpanjesus.