"Jesus Freaks or: How I Came to Replace the Doorbell with an Auto-Destruct Button."
Jesuit on the left has humongous Dumbo ears and horn-rimmed black spectacles. We'll refer to him as Dexter.
His Jesuit pal next to him, the one who does all the talking, is slightly bug-eyed with hair cut painfully American and a good sense a' the old fashioned courtesy. We'll call him Tommy Pickles.
Tommy says, "Hello!" in that perky I-can-do-no-evil harmony.
"Hello, gentlemen," I say, very curtly and ready to reject what they're selling.
"How are ya?"
What the fuck. "Great. What can I do for you?"
Undetered by my sarcasm ("He's a sinner, I can smell it!"), Pickles proceeds with his routine. "Well, we're from the Church of Jesus Christ and we were wondering if we could talk to your family...about Jesus."
Oh. I was [i]hoping[/i] you would talk about a bitch with big tits you fucked last night. But Jesus. Yeah. Well.
"I don't think so. We're kind of busy."
Busy making our way into Hell, Tommy. Busy breaking the commandments.
"Alright, well, can I give you this--"
"I don't want to buy anything."
"--[i]free[/i] information on ordering a video on Jesus?"
"...Yeah, sure, why the fuck not."
And I shut the door.
This "free information" is a tiny card, Christ's business card, with a reprinted Renaissance painting of Our looking-somewhat-mournful Savior on the front. On the back it promotes some shitty video that will save me from damnation. You know the one.
Then I lay down on the couch and watch the idiot box, which at that moment was turned to AMC and tailgaiting the climax of "Dillinger".
A long string of men has just come over the hill, all of them carrying rifles, advancing towards a tiny smoke-puffing house some distance away. Inside, an old lady slides a book towards [URL=http://www.crimelibrary.com/gangsters_outlaws/outlaws/dillinger/2.html?sect=17]John Dillinger[/URL] and says, "Ewe need tha Biebul."
John, finishing his meal, grins and responds (with something to the effect of), "It's true, ma'am, I always been a sinner. But the truth is, I enjoys it. I kilt a lot, but all them men I kilt always deserved it. I figger it's too late for no Bible."
With that, he wipes his mouth, takes his gun and thanks the old couple for keeping him.
He runs outside and before he can clear the hill he's been shot at least twenty times. A man in a long coat and hat walks up to him and flips him over. They have a brief exchange and then Dillinger dies.
I was particularly struck by the irony.
I wish I had invited Tommy and Dexter in. And I wish they'd been there to watch it with me.
Men are all different. Religion works for some and not others, and it's no one's fault, that's just the way it goes. Criminals are going to be criminals forever and always, and we'll continue to persecute and condemn them, despite whether or not they could have helped it.
If, by Christian laws, I'm doomed to roast in hell for eternity, if God is that infantile and dim, then so fucking be it. Because there's no assurance for me, not in Mormonism or anywhere, so I'm going to enjoy my goddamn sins.
[CENTER]a million bucks[/CENTER]