Jerking for Jehovah
I answered my front door yesterday. That was a mistake. I never should have turned the handle. Because waiting for me on the other side was an unspeakable horror that most people fear to so much as whisper about. It's a monstrosity I've heard spoken of around campfires on dark nights, but until yesterday, I'd never come face to face with it. In fact, I'd thought it was no more than a ghost story; a fable fabricated by crotchety old men looking to scare the piss out of young'ens. I was wrong. Terribly, horribly wrong.
It was a beautiful, hot, San Diego morning. The windows were open, but the shades were all closed tight. This let the cool breezes wander my home freely, while keeping the harsh brightness of the sun at bay. I found myself in a nice little sanctuary. Cool and fairly dark, with the glow of my computer screen providing the only light I needed.
I was bored. I didn't have much of anything to do. So I cracked open a beer and started surfing around online, clicking through pages of multi-colored porn goodness. Yeah, that's right, I was drinking cheap beer and jerking off in the dark. So what? I was content, like a zoo-bound Gorilla with all his needs being met. But then somebody started whaling on my front door. That didn't make me happy.
"Damn it!" I muttered angrily. There are few things worse than having to answer the door when you're in the middle of fisting your flagpole. But after a quick look at the clock, I figured it must be a UPS guy, because it was only ten in the morning. And I had in fact ordered some new porno DVDs recently, something which could have come in quite handy at that moment. So instead of just ignoring it, I decided to answer.
I hauled my ass from the captain's chair and opened the front door. I was then confronted by two really well-dressed people. A guy and a chick. Her with a funny accent, him...not so much. I stared back at them suspiciously, adorned in my sweat shorts and t-shirt. The uniform of the modern American writer.
"Hi! Good morning! Do you believe that the Lord Jesus Christ is in full control, and getting ready to bring his heavenly kingdom to earth?" the good looking chick with the accent asked me.
"Hmm? What was that?" I asked, a little dazed by the combination of sunlight and the healthy Ta-Ta's trying to burst out of her blouse.
The hot little number in too many clothes for a sunny, San Diego day got a little exasperated. I think she noticed me oggling her womanly charms. What can I say? She looked good for a Jesus-freak.
So she repeated her little speech and then waited with a smile on her pretty features. But I wasn't quite sure how to respond. Oh sure, I'd studied my share of the major religions, and I had a pretty good idea what this chick was all about, but I still found myself at a loss for words. Maybe it was the suddenness of the whole thing. You know, sunlight, 10am, me looking at porn a few seconds before answering the door...the whole situation left me kind of sloppy upstairs.
After I'd been staring back at her speechless for several seconds, I think she figured I must either be a mute, or retarded. Maybe both. So she started talking much more slowly and loudly. The guy turned out to be her husband, and the two of them handed me a bunch of pamphlets, and stuck the bible in my face a few times too. All the while, each of them were enunciating their words like teachers in a special-ed class. And I still hadn't said a damn thing. I just stared back at them blankly, taking the offered pamphlets like a good chimp. I think I was still in shock.
They were pretty persistent, and I have to admit, I was a bit of a push-over too. I've never been very good at telling people to shove-off. Especially not when I'm face to face with them. On the phone? Sure, no problem. If I realize it's a telemarketer, I just hang-up right away. But it's a little more difficult to slam the door in somebody's face, know what I mean? So by the time I'd gotten rid of those two, I'd actually agreed to let them come back for a more indepth visitation later in the week. You know, so they'd have more time to work on my brainwashing. I have no idea how I let that happen. Now I have to pretend like I'm not home the next time they show up. What a pain in the ass.
So I went back inside, feeling like a first class cock-wrench, and wondering what drawer I'd stuck my balls in, 'cause I sure as hell didn't have them on me. But at least I was once again shielded from the mind-numbing light. I flipped through the first pamphlet, learned a few interesting things about Jehovah's Witnesses I hadn't heard before, and then tossed them in the waste bin. I sat back down at my desk, and found myself strangely obsessed with images of what that hot little foreign chick must look like naked. I started coming up with all sorts of perverted ideas. It was kind of like Christmas in my head. She was pretty hot. So with inspiration properly attained, and my fence-beater back at full mast, I went about taking care of that unfinished "business" I'd started earlier.
What? You want me to come right out and say it? Okay, fine. I beat my chimp like a red-headed step child. All the while, putting that cute little Jehovah's Witness chick through her paces in my head. Am I a pervert? Yeah, probably. But does it bother me? No, not in the least. I figure if God didn't want me to dip his broads in batter, he wouldn't make them so damn hot. Know what I mean?
Have you ever run a search online for porn featuring the hot, lusty babes of the Jehovah's Witnesses? No? Well, neither had I until that day. Trust me, now that's a spiritual experience.
Jonas Micah is a 26 year old writer who spends entirely too much time working in Broadband Technical Support. But hey, that's what you do when the scribbles don't pay the bills, right? He is a highschool drop-out, an Army wash-out, and a fool who strives to be less foolish with each passing day.
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