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Inspirational Reads

What Do You People Want from Me?

July 13, 2009

I'm certainly no stranger to door-to-door religion salesmen. We used to be plagued by Jehovah's Witnesses all the time up in Bumblefuck, IN. Most of the time, when these young men dressed in their spiffy white shirts, black pants, and ties would knock upon the front door, my mother would ignore them. Even if my brother and I would be standing in the front window where the God-peddlers could see that the house was, indeed, occupied, she'd just ignore them. They'd knock and knock and, eventually, would traipse away without getting to spread the joy of the gospels to us.

But, alas, my mother would have already been on the neighborhood watch line--also known as the telephone--informing the neighbors that there were Jehovah's Witnesses in the town and that they should lock their doors and ignore them. Also, that Christi Tiegland was pregnant again. Can you believe it? What a whore.

Now that I've moved to the South, we don't get Jehovah's Witnesses so much, but we get a far worse kind of plague: Baptists. The first time they came, they tricked me. Two rather attractive young ladies dressed in short skirts and sleeveless shirts were standing on the step out front ringing my doorbell. Thinking that their car had broken down in front of my house and if I helped them to repair it or call for help, they'd repay me in true porno movie style they were selling cookies, I threw the door open. To my horror, they had neither automotive problems nor delicious snacks to sell.

Ladies: Good afternoon, sir. We're with Liberty Baptist Church, and we'd like to invite you to come worship the Lord with us.
Me: I'm Catholic.
Ladies: We want to extend the invitation to worship the Lord to all God's children.
Me: I'm Catholic.
Ladies: The table of the Lord is set for anyone willing to be born again in His glory and righteousness.
Me: *blatantly staring at their breasts*
Ladies: Sir?
Me: *still staring at their chests* Thank you, Jesus!

Eventually, they left. Since the initial confrontation, I had become wary of their religious guile. Another time, I was sitting at home and I had ordered a pizza for me and the kids to enjoy. The doorbell rang. Expecting a big round slice of Italian heaven, instead, I once again got invited to join Jesus at his banquet table--apparently, all that walking everywhere made him hungry. Again, it was two attractive teenage girls peddling the Lord's wares and not delivering me with a pizza nor offering to massage my sins away.

Finally, a third time they arrived. I wasn't expecting anyone this time, so I didn't immediately throw the door open. The kids were running back and forth, screaming that someone was at the front door. Undeterred, my uninvited guests continued knocking and ringing the bell. Finally, the football game had gone to halftime I had had enough, and so I decided to end this little charade here and now.

That, of course, meant dropping my pants. I kicked off my shoes, ripped off my socks and dropped trou. My daughter asked what I was doing. I just nodded to her and said, "Answerin' the door, honey."

I ripped the door open, fully expecting it to be yet another pair of teenage girls looking for a jump to peddle Jesus to me. Instead, it was a couple of dowdy middle aged women, and you could see by the shock on their faces that they were not expecting me to be standing before them in my underwear and a t-shirt. However, they pushed on with their spiel message:

Women: Good afternoon, sir, we're with Liberty Baptist Church and we wanted to ask you some questions.
Me: Aren't you two supposed to be teenagers?
Women: We have many members of the congregation who do door-to-door missionary services.
Me: Well, I guess I'll just have to 'covet my neighbor's wife' instead of his daughters this time.
Women: Are you familiar with Jesus?
Me: Familiar with? Hell yeah. He's a great guy. Cuts the lawns on Tuesday. He does a good job. I recommend him.
Women: We're talking about our Savior, Jesus Christ.
Me: Oh, yeah. THE Jesus. Yeah, I have a healthy snack of his blood and flesh every...well...once a year, at least. Sometimes twice.
Women: Well...if you were to die today, do you know where you'd go?
Me: Are you selling funeral plots or funeral planning? Cause I'm not interested. I want a Viking funeral.
Women: No, we're talking about your immortal soul.
Me: *reaches down to my balls to scratch...and just keep scratching* Oh, yeah, that. Well, I figure I'd go to Purgatory for a few thousand years or however long it takes. They're a little fuzzy on the details. But I'll eventually make it to the Pearly Gates...unlike those bastards who decided to go nailing stuff to the church's door. I pity those poor souls and their eternal torment. *lifts fingers up to nose and sniffs* Yergh. That smells terrible.
Women: Thank you for your time, sir.

I should probably mention here that I don't really believe that Purgatory stuff, but I had a football game to watch and kids to ignore, so I needed to employ drastic measures. So, if you're a Protestant, don't worry...I know that you won't go to Hell; you'll just keep languishing in Purgatory for a while longer than I will.

Anyway, that was nearly three years ago now, and they haven't been back since. Not at least while I've been home. I don't know, maybe they've visited my wife, but I do like to cling to the notion that I've scared them off and that there's a big red X over my house on their Heathen Map.


Cooper Green said...

Every home should have an inside-the-home sprinkler control. The carpet gets a bit damp, but it's remarkable how your visitor's depth of reverence for Our Lord Jupiter Crisp is suddenly less profound when her poodle skirt is developing a stain. It's a trance-buster.

JennyMac said...

Gross..and hysterical...and gross. Ball scratching is apparently a great deterrent to sharing Psalms.

Chemgeek said...

If someone comes to your door and asks you if you would like to join the Universal Church of Thor, Odin and Frey, don't worry. It's just me.

And yes, we will do Viking funerals. Hell Yeah!!!

JJones said...

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Kimizzy said...


Oh wait... should I read the post first?

corticoWhat said...

We get our fair share of Mormons. I find they have an aversion to snakes.

Eric said...

Hah! Viking funeral!

I want to be encased in clear resin like a big ice cube and thrown in the ocean. That way, some day I'll bump up against a boat and really freak someone out.

Kimizzy said...

Bwahahahahahaha! Glad I read it!

"Jesus? Yeah, sure, anything, just keep talking to me" made me almost tinkle myself.

(and I hope THAT is not a comment found by google searches.)

Soda and Candy said...

That. Is. Awesome.

And if it were anyone else I'd have trouble believing it!

Nej said...

Even though you might think the opposite...answering the door to two male jehovah's witness, while butt naked...does, in fact, keep them from knocking ever again.

Not that I ever did such a thing.

At least, not that you can prove. :-)

Noel said...

You sir, are my hero. Maybe you need t tell them you worship Thor because you know. Your god has a hammer and their God was on a plank of wood.

Just sayin'

Frank said...

I did a similar thing the last time I was home and the Jehovah's Witnesses came through the neighborhood. It was about 8:30 AM and I was still in my boxers, eating cereal. I peeked out the window when they rang, then answered the door in nothing but a pair of saggy boxers while holding a bowl of cornflakes.

I burped really loudly, the two men looked at me, then at one another, said "good day," then left.

Haven't been back since.

mo.stoneskin said...

How did you know I had been hammering nails into the church door?

Oh wait, you mean Luther?

I think I may have to ask Jesus to cut my lawn, I hate lawns.

Jidai said...

You know, I wonder about the baptists. We had a few try and visit last week, and they were teenage girls wearing skirts.

In the immortal words of Admiral Ackbar, "It's a trap!"

Mel O said...

What exactly is a Viking funeral? I AM mostly Norwegian, so I should really know these important details :)

Jules said...

The last time anyone of the religious nature stopped by, Hubby said, "Yeah, we don't believe in that shit. See? We decorated our house with Buddhas. But sure, we'll take you're pamphlet. We're into recycling."

And if you die, can you have your wife call me. I want to go to your Viking funeral. It makes me think of Entourage.

Whiskey Girl said...

You fuckers crack me up.

The Peach Tart said...

Oh good idea. I hate those Baptists coming around trying to save my soul.

LiLu said...

Was the "table" their "racks"? Hahahaha!

P.S. I am stealing the tag "pantlessness."

Fancy Schmancy said...

My ex did something similar, but with a cigarette hanging from his mouth and a beer in hand - at 9am.

Scope said...

The closest I get is kids selling candy for their basketball team.

Not sure when the little gangbangers ever get to PLAY basketball, because they are selling M&M's 24X7X365.

mylittlebecky said...

this post made me giggle. that, christi is such a whore!

jesus saves.

Chemgeek said...

Jesus saves!!

But, Gretzky scores on the rebound.

Sorry, I couldn't resist that one.

The Ambiguous Blob said...

We haven't had religious visitors in our hood yet. Can't wait now!

Organic Meatbag said...

My Wife and I were frequently accosted by a couple of Mormon dorks at our first apartment...the signs inside clearly said "no soliciting", so they worked their way around this little snafu by accosting people in the parking lot! They would try to preach their shit upon me and I'd say "Whatever, dudes, I'm not interested" day, we saw the same two guys in the parking lot lighting those little jumping jack fireworks and they were leaping around like a couple of Russian ballet dancers... WTF???

Mala said...

Jesus saves - he cuts coupons and spends wisely.

This post gave me the warm & fuzzies (and not (just) because you were in your undies). You are my hero.

I'll be right over in my crappy, unreliable car to sell you some cookies.

dg said...

Snort! I want a Viking funeral.

the iNDefatigable mjenks said...

Christ Jesus, that was a lot of responses.

I need a nap.

the iNDefatigable mjenks said...

@ Cooper Green: Tossing a whiz on their poodle skirt does the same. Presumably, with less damp carpets.

@ JennyMac: I was hoping the pantslessness would do it, but I needed to kick it up a notch, so I went for the scratch and sniff ending. Mmmmm..salty.

@ Chemgeek: Oh, you were so close. I was all in until you said Frey(a). I prefer Frigg. I hear if you get her drunk enough, she'll do anything. Anything.

@ JJones: Sweet! Post something about Jehovah's Witnesses, get spam in the comment box! Score one for the boys back home!

@ Kimizzy: What? Not my devilish good looks or my witty repartee?

@ CorticoWhat: Re-read the story. So do the Baptists...if you know what I'm saying. Heh.

@ Eric: Going for the Scooby-Doo caveman funeral, then?

@ Kimizzy: Are you kidding? I hope like hell Google searches pick that up!!!

Oh, and thanks for reading the hovertext.

@ Soda & Candy: Despite the fact that I've been talking about it for a year and a half, some people did have problems believing it.

@ Nej: They stopped knocking because they converted to Catholocism.

Wait. Does that make sense to anyone but me?

@ Noel: Or Frigg. Because she has a big pair of boobs. Heh. Boobs.

Or I guess you could be like: "You've got Judas; we've got Fenris".

@ Frank: So, you're saying I could have avoiding the scratching and just burped? Oh well, my nuts itched anyway.

@ Mo: He even does the edging. At no extra charge!!! That's service, I tell you what.

@ Jidai: They may not like the sex, but when it comes to selling Jesus, sex sells.

@ MelO: Anybody with English blood in them probably has a substantial amount of Norse in them, as well. But, a Viking funeral is where they put your body on a raft, set it out to see, and then shoot flaming arrows at it until your corpse catches on fire.

@ Jules: I'll do you one better. How good are you at archery?

@ Courtney: I know. Man, you tell a historic story about a saint, and people are "meh". Tell them about jangling your junk in front of a couple of middle aged ladies, and you get all sorts of fun comments.

@ Peach Tart: I have nothing against Baptists, per se. I have everything against people who bother me during football games.

@ Lilu: I didn't think of that! Hmmm...I wonder if the Lord's "table" could use a peeled banana...

@ Fancy: Oh, that IS good. These were mostly in the later afternoon to early evening times.

@ Scope: The one good thing is that my daughter's team does not need to sell candy. The bad thing is, in order to pay for her to play, I need to go door-to-door selling candy...

@ mylittlebecky: He saves more on double coupon day.

@ Chemgeek: Dammit, Wayne, always cashing in on the sloppy seconds. Is Sean Avery around?

@ Tabbie: The next time they come around, I'll point them in your direction. I'll give you a head's up, though. I figure it'll take them a month, maybe two, to work their way out west.

@ Meatbag: Nothing says "come to Jesus" like fizzy wizzers and impromptu Russian ballet. Thanks for stopping by.

@ Mala: I've been suckered to the front window for the past four days waiting for you stop by. Where are you and your delicious treats? Oh, and the cookies, too.

@ DG: I need to remind the archer to hum "Flight of the Valkyries" as he or she fires the arrows off.