Chorister with a Voice Like a Catfight
The long lacquered nails of a vamping disco queen raked ever so slowly across that sickly green chalkboard of the 4th-grade geography class from your childhood. The piercing 5:30 a.m. hydraulic screech of the huffing and clanking trash dumpster pickup at the greasy fast-food joint beyond the dingy concrete block wall just past your open bedroom window. The kidney-jostling and butt-numbing rumble that rides up through your car’s suspension from the black-out ‘70s trans-am spewing obscenity-laden rap from three lanes over and two car-lengths back.
No — no matter what you can imagine, and no matter how offensive its impact upon your eardrums — there’s nothing that can quite compare with the consummate cacophony coming out of chorister Christopher Cringeful’s crop! This guy’s got a voice like a catfight at high heat and of fatal intensity. His middle name should be ‘Caterwaul’.
And (wouldn’t you know it?), Christopher is completely oblivious to the adverse effects of his harrowing ululations! I think he thinks he’s God’s gift to religious hymnation. He insists upon completing every little-known verse of every lesser-known chant and chorus and devotional ever crafted by inspired monk or congregant. It’s gotten so that the Sunday services are now over 135 minutes in length, with only 17 prayers, yet more than 56 pieces of painful vocal interlude.
Unfortunately for Christopher and Pastor Redfern, our congregation has recently shrunk to just two of the faithful.
(And, quite frankly, I really don’t care what my wife threatens me with anymore, I’m outta here at the end of this song!).
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