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2001
  Chick Shit...
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Lunatic Ravings - 08/06/01
By Stephen Johnson
Published each Monday and Thursday


Emerson, Lake and Palmer---"The Atlantic Years"

I finally broke down and went to church with my wife. This was something I had to do since she had been pestering me well over a year to go to church with her. So, to make her shut up, I decided to take her up on her offer.

One of the reasons why I did not go is because I am not Catholic. I did go to Catholic school when I was younger and had the shit beaten out of me every day by the nuns and I guess that put the fear of Catholicism in me which carries over to this day.

I decided it was time to confront my fears head on. I woke up bright and early this past Sunday and had a few bottles of beer and took a shower. This was strange to me since Sunday is the day where I like to sit around in my own stink.

I put on my bestest suit and had a few more beers as I waited for my wife to finish prettying herself up. The suit was annoying and the tie felt like it was choking me to death, but I figured it was for a good cause and I could stand the pain for an hour or so.

When she finally appeared, I noticed that she was wearing jeans. This made me happy because I thought that she had cancelled church, but I was brought back down to earth when she told me that wearing jeans to church was totally acceptable.

I hurriedly changed into jeans and an old Iron Maiden t-shirt and had a few more beers. I felt confident that I could pull this church thing off.

Off we went. The church was only ten minutes away but it was ample time for a few more beers. My wife thought it was ginger ale since that's what the bottles stated. Besides, she didn't ask what I was drinking and I would have had to tell her the truth since I was going churchin'.

When we pulled into the parking lot, I started to feel a bit frightened. Everyone walking through the front doors of the church looked so peaceful and happy. I knew that I would start to burn as soon I stepped through the doors and told my wife so, but a few quick backhand slaps from her quickly shut me up.

I walked cautiously through the doors and was happy to discover that I did not start on fire. We found a pew in the rear of the church and I sat back and waited for the show to begin.

I must have passed out or something because the next thing I remember is my wife smacking the back of my head. She told me that it was time for her to go to the altar to get some bread and wine.
.
I was a bit thirsty and hungry, so I decided to join the line. When it was my turn, I grabbed a few of those white wafers and relieved the grand priest man of his golden goblet of alcohol.

The wafers were a bit bland and dry, so I took a drink from the goblet. I was surprised that the liquid in the goblet was not wine, but grape juice.

I guess my deep hatred of grape juice caused my stomach to revolt and I blew chunks all over an elderly lady standing next to me. Brown and purple chunks of goo dripped from her hat on to her pretty Sunday dress, which I found to be quite amusing for some reason.

Someone started screaming "Son of Satan!'" and I knew it was time for me to leave. I ran up the aisle and had almost made it to the doors but I was tackled by a group of angry nuns who beat me mercilessly and then threw me into the parking lot where I lay weeping until the service ended.

I was kicked and punched by some of the departing parishioners and my wife joined in for a few kicks of her own. At one point the kicking and punching stopped and I thought I had been forgiven, but the crowd only parted to let the lady who I had puked on through in order for her to get some pretty devastating blows to my head and groin in with her cane.

This continued until all the coffee and doughnuts were gone. When the last car had left the parking lot, I uncurled myself from the fetal position and walked home. I don't know why my wife didn't wait for me in the parking lot, and I was too pissed of to ask her when I got home. Some people just don't respect others, I guess.

COMING NEXT: Again, I don't know.

Email Stephen
snide_remarks@weirdcrap.every1.net

   

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