23 March 2012
18:10
I was ready to leave the central business district but then I got a call from some guy who wanted me to hook his ass up wit some cash so I had to temporize. The dude had to be in another part of the country the next mornin’ and he was way short on his transport fare. So in comes the money man (me) to save the fuckin’ day like a mutherfuckin’ superhero! What? Nah, I’ve not been sippin’ on some of that Bill Gate philanthropic brew, it was all on a business tip!
So, I walked to an acquaintance’s shop to get my wait on. The shop keeper shook my hand without takin’ his eyes off some preacher who was doin’ his thing on the television. Curious as to why this nigga was so captivated by the televangelist, I tried watchin’ too but my interest only lasted for about three minute. I fished out a copy of the Gentleman’s Quarterly’s January/February edition (the South Africa’s edition) from my packed backpack and got lost in it.
Some few minutes, the shopkeeper murmured loudly to himself, “ah, some pastors are not interesting. I tried to listen but he’s not jus catching my attention”
I raised my head to look at the TV, at that moment the camera sweepin’ over the faces of some members of the congregation and they looked very much like they were catchin’ every alphabet of every word the pastor was throwin’ at them.
I thought to myself, are these guys really understandin what the man of God was sayin’ or were they jus puttin’ in an act for the cameras?
Put the Blame on God
God, the devil and love are humans’ favorite scapegoats; we blame all kinds of shit on ‘em. Ask a serial killer why he kills, he’ll pro’ly tell you the devil (or God) made him do it.
Some years ago I read about some infamous late 1970s New York serial killer nick named Son of Sam (real name David berkowitz) who claimed he was commanded to kill by a demon who possessed his neighbor’s dog…incredible shit, huh?
And oh, I know y’all know about all these Manchurian candidates a.k.a brain washed kids a.k.a terrorists who’ve come to believe their own bullshit about doin’ God a favor by killin’ the infidels. How the fuck can you believe a mullah sits comfortably away from harm (he and his fam) and churns out sermon after sermon tellin’ you to go into the world and suicide-bomb everythin’ walkin, huh? These cats even sweetens the whole narrative by tellin’ the would-be suicide bomber that seventy two untouched pussies will be waitin’ on each of their asses in the afterlife! Ridiculous shit!
Jus the day other day, I read about some Man of Dog, oops, meant man of God who set some lady on fire. Nigga claimed that God instructed him to do it cause the shawtie was possessed! Unadulterated bull crap, if you ask me. If I was the law, I’d tossed the man of dog’s ass in the big house (prison) where them brutal gay wolves would build a house in that butt!
And where am I goin’ wit all these tales by moonlight?
Sunday
Church service
18 March
12:15
Sittin’ two rows to the exit as usual, I was tryin’ so hard to concentrate (ok, maybe I didn’t try hard enough) but instead of soakin’ the preacher’s words in, I was busy tryna kill an erection that’d come out of nowhere! I swear I wasn’t even thinkin anythin’ sexual but hey, am not even goin to blame it on the devil…am jus gon’ do like Akon and put the blame on myself. But seriously, who does that? Who gets an erection in church, am I the only one?
Some minutes later, I succeeded in getting myself out that “stiff” situation and it was all thanks to two things, one was me gettin myself to concentrate on singin’ as the congregation sang and the other was a certain gentleman sittin’ six seats away on the middle row.
12:56
I didn’t notice when the young man came in the church (must have been while I was tryin’ to lose the growth in my pant) but I knew he wasn’t there before. The guy was hard to miss. He was dressed like an Eskimo, you wouldn’t be wrong to think that he was would headed for Iceland wit the way he was clad in three layers of shirts, a grey lookin’ pant and a pair of Adidas sneakers (that the manufacturer musta forgotten they'd made ) and guess what? The temperature was about 32 degrees!
The next time I looked his way, dude was almost fallin’ over backward in his chair…nigga was dozin’ and from the way his mouth was opened, I coulda swore I heard the nigga snorin’ heavily!
An usher came and shook him awake (and that was after he realized that ordinary taps on the shoulder couldn’t cut it.) The whole drama of dozing and being told to wake the hell up (by the same usher) continued until the pastor called out that folks who wanted special breakthrough should come to the front so that he’d anoint ‘em.
The young man walked to the front wit about ninety percent of the congregation and I might add that the dude didn’t jus get up and walk willingly to the front, the usher practically dragged his ass there!
13:20
And what about me, did I go to the front for some anointment too? Umm, Nah. truth is, I was ready to get the fuck out the church cause the service gettin' too long for but one thing kept holdin' my ass back and nope, it wasn’t the holy spirit.
So, what kept me there in?
I wanted to see if somethin’ dramatic would happen when the pastor lays hand on the “Eskimo”. But what was so special about that, you asked? Trust me; if y’all were in my shoes, you’d loved to see if somethin’ miraculous would go down cause the “Eskimo” was a mad man!
OUTRO
So did the miraculous happen? Nope, at least not the way movies have made us believe…but for me, the real miracle was in the mad man comin’ into the church out of his free own will. Umm, did I say free will? Well, may be an external influence told him to, “get your crazy ass to church today, son”.
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