I had found God at an early stage in my life, due in no small part to the Nintendo game Bible Buffet, which I played so much that I developed an eating disorder. I attended my first Jehovah's Witness meeting when I was 8. My study partner, James, was a psychic 6-year-old who spoke entirely in spooky nursery rhymes. "Cut the edgy Stephen King bullshit and tell me what page we're on!" I would constantly yell at him to no avail. Now, approximately 13 years later, James and I were of the proper age to go door to door and bring the word of God to the masses. We were both of the opinion that there was nothing like the natural high that came from saving people's souls. It was like speed mixed with heroin mixed with tek.
"I really enjoyed M. Night Shyamalan's religious film, Signs." I said. "You know, when you think about it, a lifetime of subservience to God is really a small price to pay for protection against alien attacks."
"I thought we agreed that no film qualifies as religious unless it contains at least one scene where the devil appears in human form and attempts to make a case for being evil while using catch-phrases from popular sitcoms just to show that he is hip and still a big hit with the kids." James said.
I changed the subject.
"Which Day of the Dead character do you think you resemble the most?"
"Sarah. I'm a typical everyman but at the same time I'm heavily armed and don't take any crap from anyone."
"I like to think I resemble Dr. Logan. I'm a little bit eccentric but in a lovable uncle kind of way."
The house was a red cape with white trim. A small dog nipped at James's ankle. He gave it a swift kick with his birkenstock-clad foot. It let out a soft whimper and collapsed. James scooped up the dog and stuffed it into his briefcase. I knocked on the door. A balding man in his mid-thirties answered.
"Hello sir, what can we do to get you to accept Jehovah as your savior?"
"Believe in God? I don't know, I'm a pretty skeptical guy. I don't, for instance, believe that the Chupacabra exists or that the forces of nature are actually waging a war against my deck."
"Sir, you needn't look very far for evidence that God exists. The proof is all around us. God is in the morning dew that glistens on children's feet as they run through the grass."
"Aren't you the people who said the world was going to end in 1975?"
James pulled out a gun.
"I'm sorry, maybe you don't understand how this works. We are like a hard rock band rocking your face with the word of Jehovah. I'm playing a piercing solo on lead guitar while Jed is making orgasmic moans into the microphone. You will get down to the slamming grooves of our majestic power ballads to God."
"You can't shoot me with that. That goes against the ten commandments."
"That's funny, I don't recall the ten commandments saying anything about killing robots."
"Put this metal bucket on your head. That's it, now tell me I have a big dick. In a robot voice, fucker!"
No one was home at the next house we visited. We decided to leave a note.
We attempted to visit you but you weren't home. Since the door was unlocked, we entered your house, collected the pubic hairs off your toilet seat, and glued them to the heads of your child's Lego figurines. Attached to this note you will find a brick. We suggest that you flagellate yourself with it and hope that buys you some time before Jehovah decides to smite you with his laser guided fists of justice.
"Some day my girlfriend and I are going to buy a house like this and start a family." James said. "Of course, since I don't believe in the sinful act of sex, we'll have to grow our children in alien pods like in the Full Moon Pictures movie, Seed People."
"I'm going to marry Sailor Moon. No, really, I'm going to use the bioreactor in my dad's lab to create a woman who is an exact clone of Sailor Moon, right down to the tiny mouth and bloated head."
We met brother Mike at the mall. Mike had Mike's Syndrome, a condition so rare it had been named after him. The illness took the form of a cruel genetic defect that made him look like an emaciated holocaust survivor.
"Hey Mike, I'll bet you $50 we can convert that goth over there to witnessdom." James said.
"You're on. But if you lose, Jed has to give me the idol of Kunark."
"But I fought a giant four-armed statue to get that idol."
James walked over to the goth and spoke.
"Hello sir, how can Jehovah and I provide you with excellent service today?"
"Um, all religions are inherently corrupt and evil."
James jabbed the goth in the arm with a needle.
"I just injected you with the AIDS virus."
"No, actually that was just an ordinary needle. But admit it, during those few seconds where you thought you were going to die you wished you believed in some sort of omnipotent being who would save your soul."
Shots rang out. Mike screamed, clutching a gunshot wound in his chest. "Oh my God, I'm so sorry." the mall security guard said. "It's just for a second there I thought your friend was turning into Nosferatu."
"Don't worry, Mike, you're going to be okay."
"Don't give me that bullshit. I'm going to die, aren't I? Oh well, at least I'm headed for an afterlife paradise where I can bone my grandmother since she'll be attractive again."
A week later, I gave a speech at Mike's funeral.
"Mike was a man who danced his way through life. He grew up in rural New Hampshire where he overcame poverty and health problems to start the popular Jehovah's Witness rock band, Christ Explosion. After 3 platinum albums he traded his guitar for a director's chair and put on the first ever all-male production of The Vagina Monologues. Mike may have looked like a horribly deformed freak to us, but we must remember that in God's grand design there are no freaks, except for truckers."
After the funeral, James and I went out for chinese food.
"Hey James, I've been wondering about something. When God restores the earth to a blissful paradise where humans and wild animals live together in perfect harmony, what's going to stop the furries from having sex with all the tigers?"
"That's simple. Sex will become obsolete as life will be so perfect we'll be able to orgasm just by holding hands."
"That sounds awesome! Oh wait, you meant holding hands with members of the opposite sex, didn't you?"
Come on Dooooowwwwn!
Rod Roddy would be absolutely ecstatic if he were alive to read this intense new installment of Untitled Document. This episode features more action than the entire "Action Pack" lineup on TBS.
Tara had more important things to worry about than the giblets of Theresa Manheim coating her body. She let the Helios fall from her grip rather than distract herself by attempting to recover it and blocked a flurry of gunshot-quick blows from the mimetic hunter. The assassin had flattened its hands into a karate style but instead of administering chops it was trying to drive the tips of its fingers straight forward like knives. Tara learned the reason for this soon enough. She deflected one of the strikes awkwardly and the blow continued up her arm to make contact with the inside of her bicep. Agony shot through the flesh there as the tips of Bob Barker's fingers actually did stab into her skin. Only a quarter inch or less, but it was intensely painfully and nearly caused her to leave herself open for follow-up blows.
Go and read it now! The future of mankind in some alternate reality where reading articles prevents doomsday may depend on it!
As the 19th century diver approaches a giant clam, a flash of brilliant golden light flares from within the shell. I emerge in a swirl of bubbles and do the timeless universal underwater hand signals for the following: ZODIAC KILLER, KKK, BLOOD OF YOUTH
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