Monday, July 23, 2007

Nature Calls

You could see it forming over the tree tops in the west. The funnel was so large that it appeared to be moving pretty slow, but that was because it blocked most of my view in its direction. I was heading northwest. This was going to be interesting.

Everyone started slowing down or even turning around because it seemed that we would be crossing paths in the very near future. It was coming quick.

Foolishly, I kept going.

“If it’s going to get me, it’s going to get me.” Not very wise last words or even that cool sounding. I start going through the rolodex in my head thinking of tough one liner’s and memorable last words.

Clint Eastwood comes to mind.

“We’ve all got it comin’, kid!”

I say it out loud. It makes me feel brave.

I roll down my windows. Bruce Willis speaks to me.

“Yippy Kiya Mother Fucker!!”

Cars start speeding past. And I thought I was leading this charge. Glancing in my rearview mirror I see cars in the air. Another storm has formed behind me. I turn on the radio. “Born to Run” is blaring. I pump my fist.

I’m going 55 mph, but it feels like light speed in the rain and turbulence. I see a collage of wind and debris ahead. This is how God vandalizes.

The darkness closes in on me. The countdown begins:




And we have lift off. My car is flying. I am Neil Armstrong. I’m going to the moon. I name my car Apollo 11.

I tell “The Boss” that I love him and I close my eyes.

“Everybody’s out on the run tonight but there’s no place left to hide.”

Monday, July 16, 2007


After I open the front door and flip the light switch on they all jump out and scream "Happy Birthday!" Most people probably get excited regarding this modern day honor, even if they don't like surprises. Cake, presents and a party usually ensue. Who doesn't like that?

Me, I don't like it.

When I hear those god-awful words, the only thing that comes to mind is some guy who went to school for way too long putting his cold, lubricated hand up my asshole to check for a lumpy mass of tumory goodness. At my last physical, my doctor made mention of needing to get my prostate checked every year after I turn 40. It's haunted me ever since. I'm only 26, but I'm terrified.

The procedure is a lot like a surprise party though. I don't care how far in advance you know that it's going to take place, it's still more surprising than a bunch of people bum rushing you in jubilation of your birth.

Every birthday isn't a celebration of one more year of life for me anymore. It's turned into a count down of being one year closer to an annual fisting.

Wednesday, July 11, 2007

Come home, come home...

It's late. The weather is hot and muggy and I'm just trying to get home. A long straight road sits in front of me as I chase it down, only a few more hours left. The radio stations out in the country play exactly that. I scan on.

An old preacher comes through the scratchy reception. It sounds like a recording from the 30's and he seems really pissed off, but he keeps calling me "friend", so I keep listening. It's the same old same old, fire and brimstone, turn and burn, Jesus loves you and he just said "faggot". Can they even say that on the radio?

His words remind me of my childhood. "God hates sin, but loves the sinner." If God loves sinners then why do these preachers hate sinners? I never understood it.

And why do these guys always have to have southern accents?

Sometimes, if I listen closely I can still here them singing "Softly and Tenderly". The preacher screaming at the top of his lungs for the lost "souls" to come forward. Chorus after chorus he would shout all of the verses in the Good Book to coax the "heathens" forward. All of us kids sat on the back row passing notes and trying not to fall asleep while we poured sweat underneath our little suit and ties. Years later we realized that they turned the heat on in those summer months to create a hell-like scenario to scare us to the altar. They succeeded in creating the scenario, but I'm pretty sure it back fired on them, at least in my case.

Finally, after 8 choruses the preacher would dismiss us and let us go home. That's at least one thing we could thank God for, the cool air hitting our faces as we escaped that white-washed building. What was supposed to lead us to Heaven sure as hell felt a lot like purgatory, working off the sins we were yet to commit.

Thinking back there were never any visitors, only members at every service. The minister and traveling evangelist probably came in their pants if a visitor ever did show their face. They probably prayed that the lost would show up not so much that they could "save" them from the hell fire, but to give them one more opportunity to get another notch on their belts. Like fucking gun fighters, their weapon was more deadly than any killer though.

The "Word of God" is pretty fucking dangerous in the hands of ignorant men.

"Time is now fleeting, the moments are passing,
Passing from you and from me;
Shadows are gathering, deathbeds are coming,
Coming for you and for me."