Sunday March 6th, 2022 (originally written) PART ONE
Run Jesus! Them peeps wanna eatcha? Inside my head as I sat in church with my lady love; Amber.
It was a social project gone wrong.
There were bats here, buzzing around me, “My name is babble babble fart face!”
It was madness.
The rest of the Church sat and stared at me, wondering why I was there.
Didn’t they see the bats flying overhead?
We were led into the worship.
Oh father in Holy Rome please forgive me for forsaking Catholic Jesus for Methodists Jesus.
It’ll never happen again.
They tried to hand me some crackers, a grape in a baggie. I knew a Fed set up, I’ve seen Good Fellas.
I blacked out at Good morning.
This was too much to handle.
The red tail donkey was speaking.
No one else seemed shock.
But apparently, they had never seen a grown man scream out “waffles! I was promised waffles!”
And kids that’s why we can never go back to Holy Pine Resin, in Puddle Rock, South Dakota!!
Sunday March 6th, 2022 (originally written) PART TWO
The best time to attend church is just when “the meds” are kicking in. As the ghouls begin to feast on the body and blood of their savior, you begin to realize that the world is going to be okay.
The pastor begins to compare her being lost with her husband for 6 hours up in the woods to that of Jesus, who is literally being devoured by his followers.
I say amen as the teleprompter tells us.
The pastor is reading a script the entire time.
I begin to think I need more meds.
The dare to be weird crowd are sitting across the aisle.
“Hi my name is Dave, it sure is nice weather we’re having, right?”
I smile, nod, say something, maybe yes, I don’t know, my mouth isn’t moving, the natives know, I’m high, oh Jesus, I’m high as a kite right now.
Maybe I’m not.
Maybe I just think I’m high.
It’s all an illusion, put together by Hollywood, to make me want to take more medicine.
The pastor is beginning a new scene.
It’s Lent. Or The Time of The Gathering, there can be only one. PRINCES OF THE UNIVERSE begins to play. Swords clash. The end of society inside my head.
Pastor is still reading a script.
She doesn’t want to forget a thing I guess.
People are opening their sandwich bag with Jesus’ body and blood.
I must have missed something.
I say amen twice.
Everyone turns to look.
I turn too.
Damn sinner, who said that?
We sing a hymn. Nearer to thee. I sing loudly. Off key. Someone sighs sadly. We all say amen.
At the end, there are no pancakes. I sadly leave. “At my church back east, we get pancakes!” Im asked to never attend again. An Easter miracle indeed.
WANDERING WHERE I AM GOING! 