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A Barney To The Death:A pastors son drunk on communion wine picks a fight with God.

Updated on January 21, 2015
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WWJD engraved on a bracelet

My sister Orla, ran home with the news. Clammering down the front steps, before bursting through the front door, she chimed, "Oliver asked me to marry him."

My mother's fingers slackened, around a crochet pin and an inchoate doily, releasing them into the cradle of her frock. Her face ilumed in bloodless white,as she pondered an outcome. My sister's eyes shot past my mother, as her head darted from side to side, sweeping the corners and hallways, for a glimpse of whom, this outburst would have the most effervescent effect. Outside my father was bundling fags for the fire. A rigid man, whose caustic constitution, was evenly balanced by his, 'gentle as doves' similitude,which was only noticeable, when he slept.

There would be no need for firewood, when my father finds out, what his lone daughter has been up to. Not that it was a secret. That vagrant Oliver has had the eye for my sister since the day our parents gave us identical bracelets, to celebrate our confirmation. Gold, with the acronym WWJD, in a Times Roman etching, with recognition, the length and breadth of the Bible Belt, and customary on all things crafted or sequined. Ours, had the distinction of, a pair of questions marks, one standard and one inverted, the way you sometimes see, when you flick on to a zany commercial, somewhere between, Telemundo and Public Access. Orla's went missing the very next day. She never had the opportunity, to ruminate at the Juncture of right or wrong, where the answer is always the same, before they turn into I don't know, and who cares.

It's Mr.Ass to you Jack
It's Mr.Ass to you Jack | Source

I lost my teeth and saw God

We live inside the church house, which is adjacent to the church, so I spent my Saturdays preparing for Sunday mass, which included duties the likes of; polishing the collection plates and laundering the choir robes.This Saturday laboured me with the added task, of having to pick up several cases of barbera, as Ivan the narcoleptic shop attendant, had mistaken this day for Sunday,as he sometimes does, and was already asleep in one of the pews, waking only at the entrance of the boisterous laity. As I had no vehicle in which to transport the five cases, I loaded them into my old radio flyer, before treating myself to a bottle.

Not something I usually did, but the vintners had stopped using cork, and this was the very first batch, delivered with bottle caps. When I tasted the dregs at the bottom, I choked and stumbled. At this, the people driving by in their autos began to note my state and stagger. This made for a moving portrait of mouths agape, when they weren't muttering shock and snickering disbelief at the pastors drunken teenaged one.

Back at home, I made it down to the cellar, which in all actuality, is used for laundry and reluctant waste, with only a corner space for varietals, unseen by all except the cat. To my surprise the robes were already pegged to the decapitating clothes lines. This is a bit surprising for many reasons. My mother and sister both find the cat's face a bit menacing, and its unwillingness, to sing its meows, like most cats, stirs funereal suspicions.For this, the Cat must dwell, at all times behind the locked cellar door, where he is visited only by my father -the one who brought him home- and the many mice that live, in churches. To sum it up, I am the only one, who could have put these robes on the lines.

I staved off premature gratitude, to dismiss the sight, as an effect of my wine abetted gaze, so I can to inspect the washing machine. Down on my knees, I poked my head inside thru the circular door. At this a fist reached out and cuffed me on the jaw.It was a little fist, smaller than a baby's, but bigger than a midgets, or little person, whatever is more appropriate.Laying on my back, I struggled to breathe, as the four teeth in my esophagus bundled together to constrict peristalsis momentarily. When I could take a lucid breath,I did, and it helped sobriety to come a little closer, a little sooner, but this I quickly regretted as oxygen opened my eyes, to an angry God climbing from the washing machine and moving towards me.

I would trade my ears for some teeth.
I would trade my ears for some teeth. | Source

The look of God

He stepped out of the washing machine, and the entire cellar was immediately fragrant with the redolence of mesquite barbeque. My stomach growled with a pang, I have never felt before. Then he punched me with a fist that was the shape, and feel of a smoking Duralog. Everything went black, but the thunderous peal of his voice saying, "I am cold and I am wet" brought the light back to my head. This happened just as my laces loosened themselves, before the tips combusted like candlewicks, to which the creator immediately became engulfed. It was here that I realized that, the creation of man in God's image was clearly fallacious rigamarole, or the almighty was prone to mistakes from the very beginning. He was black from head to toe, yet still lacked any of these body parts, but remained completely whole. A whole what, you might ask? Mesquite barbeque brought my mouth to near salivation, as I beheld the giant charcoal briquette that was on fire in my cellar and standing over me.


The Cause Of A little girl.

"You are faced, today,with an unbalanced weight of sin, that has left you unwilling to make anything useful of yourself, be it now, or in the future. I am here to tell you, that your right to birth has been revoked, and you are no longer a son of mine." He said, thru and orifice on his dusty briquette body.

If for some reason you have been unable to keep up with this bathos, allow me to make it clear, again. God is on fire,much like he was, when Charlton Heston stumbled upon that tree. But this is real life, he is a giant charcoal briquette, with parts glowing and bits of flame coming off the corners. All threatening, with no liability and a satisfaction unclimaxed. I say this in the very middle of a divine beatdown.

"Shut your mouth!" he barked, as my mouth opened in an attempt at utterance. "I heard you" he continued. Still I had no idea what I had said or was trying to, but I was willing to extend him the benefit, if only in hopes I wasn't pummell further.

Stomp! Bam! One was to the diaphragm, the other to windpipe.No mercy.

"I am answering the prayers of a little girl, across town, she prays to me everynight before bed, usually praise and thanksgiving, I even extend a blessing to her dolls, which have never had a joint out of socket, or a bead eye ripped from their heads. She recently cried to me, about a miserable young man, who hides in the bushes, to scare children into spilling their juice boxes at recess. This he does all for a laughs. A laugh he shares with nobody but himself. Today, I raise my hand against you, but I shall start with my foot. As you live under your fathers protection, a man so busy in carry about my work, that he rarely smiles, unless he's having a funny dream. I was prepared to turn a blind eye to your foolishness, but it was reported, by angels on high, that you have fallen even further, into your onanistic pastime of pretense and pleasure. Going as far as to, foolishly giving your hand a name. The very hand, you have festooned in dedication to my son.Yet even I can't remember the last time I've heard you ask, WWJD"

He raised his foot again. Stomp! Thud! For a second time in my life, my voice is high pitched, making me eligible for the lead in the children's choir, a second time around. Its also indicative of the children I may never have. I was beaten a while longer,revived as quickly as I passed out, every time. My life was spared, but I was given strict orders to stop my self absorption,or else.This remains a struggle for me, because I have yet to find a wife. In one of the many puddles of puke and blood, that cratered the floor of the cellar, I found my sisters missing bracelet. I gave it to Oliver, he gave it back to my sister, she fell in love, my mother finished the bridal veil she started, and my father showed us his smile.

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