Sunday, October 9, 2011

It's The Only Christianly Thing To Do

It's The Only Christianly Thing To Do
A short story -by Steve Hough this is total gossip.
Believe it or not.

So, Tony and I were invited to a Christian home for dinner. These people own a sail boat in the marina next where our boat is slipped, and they are generally very nice people, although they seem to drink a lot of alcohol and argue often. Sometimes the husband sleeps on his boat after a heavy night of drinking. He'll sit and talk to us about pussy, cunt and big tits, even though we're gay and the last thing we care about is pussy, cunt and big tits. His wife seems to get mad at him, a lot. I wonder why? One of his favorite stories that he repeats often, is how is large dog loves pussy. He takes his large dog to the beach and lets it run loose. He says the dog loves to run up to women and bury his head in their crotch, and Dave has to go try to wrestle the dog free from pussy. He thinks that's just the funniest thing ever.

He also has a story that I've heard 50 times, about how the dog also likes to eat dirty diapers & tampons when they're full of stinky shit.

 We've had a lot of fun talking to them over the past few years, when we're on our boat. Their boat is right next to ours and we share a few things in common, mostly the love of fresh air, the outdoors and water.
We get along pretty well, except when the subject of religion, Jesus or God is brought up.

The husband is the type of person who talks incessantly, nearly constant unless he's working on his boat. One time I had just flown in from the east coast to the west coast, and I was exhausted. I was sitting on the back of my boat, starting to doze off in my steamer chair  -lounging, when he started up a conversation with me.
I was so tired that I continued lying there with my eyes closed. I think I even snored lightly and he talked to me, the entire time.

A one way conversation.

He believes he knows just about everything there is to know about everything. He often claims that his brain is similar to a sponge and that he retains a tremendous amount of information about history.
Except, when the subject of Jesus comes up, he doesn't appear very well versed in history, because there is absolutely zero evidence that such a person ever existed. What is known or written about Jesus is actually hearsay, because Jesus never wrote anything, 'himself' and nothing was written about Him, until many years after his death. Rumor and speculation, as I said: hearsay. That's all it is - a magic story about a magic man who died, went to heaven and then was resurrected. If you believe in that sort of silly, juvenile stuff.

Even children don't believe it, they have to be brainwashed into it.
Children are not born with any religious affiliation, they are indoctrinated into it.

We've shared cocktails with our Christian friends while we are sitting on the back of our boat and we've even shared a few nice outdoor BBQ's with them on our boat dock. They adore us, and this is the first time they've invited us to their home, for dinner.

It was either late in the year, or early in the year. Which, I cannot remember. I do remember that it had been cold and rainy and we were living on our boat for a few months.
I think they felt sorry for us, even though we adore our boat and are most happy when nobody else is around.

The couple is in their late 50's or early 60's and relatively attractive. They have adult children who are fundamentalist Christians, and a grandson whom they are busy indoctrinating into their brain-washed cult.
And I say it is a cult, because the people who follow it know it doesn't make sense, yet they embrace their invisible world with every fiber of their being.

-One time their daughter brought up the subject of evolution. She said a boyfriend of hers wanted her to read a book about evolution, and that she had just finished reading the book. She said evolution is a rather un-creative idea, relatively boring and so fabricated and coerced, that only ignorant -and stupid people, would believe in evolution.

She even laughed out loud, as if putting an exclamation point on her thoughts.

I decided to keep my mouth shut at that point, because we are such close neighbors with her parents, why start an argument? Parents get very angry and upset if you challenge their priceless little angels on what they believe, and such. I mean, children.

In any event, they invited us to dinner and we had no way of making excuses, and we were ready to go have a nice meal inside a warm and cozy home.
I thought it was nice that they invited two gay men to their home for dinner. It shows they are truly loving towards my partner and me, and open minded and do not have a problem with us as gay people. Trusting, aren't they?
Just kidding, I'm so adorable that anybody would be lucky to have me go to their house for dinner.
*narcissism at its finest.

The people who invited us know that Tony and I are atheists, but they invited us anyway. The wife is very kind and sweet to us, unless she's been drinking. Then she gets a little bit belligerent.  Well, sometimes she's very belligerent -I've seen her so bombed out of her gourd, that she doesn't really know where she is, and she becomes incoherent. Even in the middle of the day. I don't know how people can do that.

Although, she is completely astounded as to why we don't believe invisible Jesus is real. Regardless, she likes us. One time she and an overly religious, drunken, pill popping, marijuana smoking Christian fundy-friend of hers tried to discuss God with me.

I was sitting on the back of my boat, minding my own business when they pulled up in a dinghy. It was mid-day and they were both fairly drunk and her loud and extremely obnoxious friend was smoking a cigarette between her dirty, brown, nicotine stained teeth. Her face was as tan as shoe leather, and they decided to motor up to the back of my boat and start a little shit with me.

I love to stir up shit, they get that, so they figure I'm fair game.
So, they brought up God, and they wanted to know why I don't believe in God.

It's not that I don't believe their might be a universal creator, or was one at some point, it's that nobody actually knows. What I dislike is people who claim to actually know the creator, call it God, and assume they have to live up to some impossible values that nobody could ever live up to. Certainly these two were not living up to what I've read about Christian values. So, I just looked at them and said: Have you ever personally heard from or seen God?

Jaws go slack.

The really loud one says: Are you fucking god damn kidding me, Steve?
And then she goes on to tell me that God is fuckin' all around us, in fact, he was right there with us at that very fuckin' minute.


Yes, they say: He's just like air. You don't see it, but it's all around us.

Actually, I think they must be a little naive and touched in the head, which is why they believe invisible magic Jesus is in the air, or all around us, watching all of us, and guiding our lives with seemingly reckless abandon, or perfect control, depending upon how they wish to perceive certain events.
You know how when something good happens, it's a miracle, and when something bad happens, it's chalked up to: God's will. If a religious person gets a really good parking space at a grocery store, or their football team wins a game, it's a miracle.

Never mind the hundreds of millions of starving children on the planet who are sitting around in squalor, waiting for their miracle that never comes. Nope. God only helps Christians with good hair, winning baseball teams and great parking spaces at the mall. Let those pesky little foreign kids starve to death. Obviously, God doesn't care for them so much.

That must be the mysterious ways they're always talking about.

The Christian friends are sitting around waiting for us to accept invisible magic Jesus into our hearts so we can feel the what? Invisible love? Okay. Sure. Whatever.
Last time I checked, Jesus was in my lower intestine, working his way up to my spleen. At least, I think I felt it there. There was a lot of rumbling in my gut, which explains all that stinky gas I have.
But that's how Christians are.

They think an invisible magic world is going on all around them, even though it's invisible and they can't see it. In fact, their belief which exists only inside their head, is so strong that they cannot discern the difference, and they cannot fathom that it is not real to save their soul.
They have what they call faith, even though the definition of faith is: "A belief or trust, a belief in, devotion to, or trust in somebody or something, especially without logical proof."

And there are the key words: especially without logical proof. Because, it's not logical.

Christians also believe in other invisible things like: angels, holy ghosts, the devil and lord knows what else kind of crazy.

However, if you ask them if they also believe in flying pink unicorns or flying monkeys covered in sparkles and glitter, they'll look at you like you are bat-shit crazy. They'll reply in a perfectly calm voice with a slightly amused smile on their lips and say: Of course not, don't be silly.

Um no, I say: there are no such places as heaven and hell. It's purely a myth. And I say, there are no such things as the devil, leprechauns, witches, warlocks, ghosts, fairies and ...
...right in the middle of trying to explain reality to a delusional Christian, they might shout out something like-

Oh! ghosts are real alright! And then they'll proceed to tell you about their best friend's, sister's dead uncle who appeared before them one Saturday night following some unexplainable oddity like: a window opened and then slammed shut and there was nobody standing near it.
Or some other stupid story that they have heard from so and so. They'll try their hardest to prove to me that ghosts are real. I even had a friend once tell me her dead husband appeared before her in the middle of the night.

I replied: Jana, all the years of mushrooms, drugs, cocaine, marijuana and booze combined with the fact that you're an odd eccentric kook and a nut, is the reason you think your husband appeared before you in ghost form, in the middle of the night. Jana has even been on some remote television program, watched by hardly anybody, to tell of her ghostly apparition.

Of course, you'll never hear people like her say, "My dead husband appeared to me in ghost form in the produce aisle of the grocery store while I was looking at watermelons," or... "I was in Wal-Mart the other day, in the dressing room trying on bras and panties and my dead husband appeared in the mirror before me. He was staring at my tits like he really wanted to sex me up again."
And then I'll look at the nut-ball who believes in ghosts, and I'll ask: How come you never hear of ghosts on the beach? And then I'll go on to say, you know, I was in Maui and Kauai many times and I never once saw a ghost on the beach. I mean, if I was a ghost, I certainly wouldn't hang around some musky, stanky old building. No, I would fly down to the Caribbean or maybe fly to Fiji and be a beach ghost. Ooh, I know, I wanna be able to be a snorkel ghost so I can  enjoy those crisp pristine beaches while exploring the coral reefs. I want to be around gentle swaying palm trees and lay in the sand and soak up all that sunshine and loveliness.

Ghosts can get tan, right?

I'll have to look that up in the 'Ghost Handbook,' just to make sure. One thing is for sure, if I was a ghost, I'd drink margaritas and other fancy drinks like that all day long.
Sometimes there's nothing better than a margarita with gold tequila, topped with a shot of Patron Citronge: A premium orange liqueur with Mexican flair. A shot of that on top of a margarita -rocks -salted, will knock your socks off.

I'm dying for one now, aren't you?

Like, maybe a pina colada with two shots of rum for breakfast along with pink and yellow umbrellas in the glass. A toasted coconut rim would be nice. I'd spend my days sipping rum while searching the beach for sea shells and urchins.

Yeah, that's the kinda ghost I wanna be. Not some spooky old musty basement or attic ghost. I'd like to be a sea ghost. Not like the one that was the ghost of Mrs. Muir. Except he was a sea captain,  -the ghostly apparition of the former owner of a haunted house. He was a roguish sea captain named Daniel Gregg, played by the sumptuous looking Rex Harrison. I think he drank scotch, or bourbon or some manly drink. I had the hots for him as a kid. He could crawl into bed with me anytime, and haunt the hell out of me.

I don't want to work that hard. If I am going to be a beach ghost, I certainly don't want to have to wear a sea captain's uniform. I mean, if I'm dead, and ghostly, I just wanna wear shorts & pink flip flops. Kind of like a gay beach ghost.
I might even wear flowers in my hair. You know. Or perhaps, I'll just be nude every day, except I like bathrobes. Uh huh, I could be a nudist beach ghost. I like that.

That's when the crazy and mentally unstable ghost believers think I am -the silly one, when I start talking like that. They look at me like I am absolutely ridiculous, because they are positive that there's no such thing as a happy scuba diving beach ghost. Only spooky ghosts are real. Or children ghosts. Or love-slighted ghosts. You know, real ghosts. Not fake ghosts.
And then, that's when the person I'm talking to generally walks away, ignores me or pretends I am invisible.

What's wrong with beach ghosts?
Oh, I know... there's no such thing, right?

Honestly, you can't discuss the crazy with the crazy.
Mostly because they're crazy. Sometimes I try to explain to them where religion and other myths originate. I try to educate them with historical evidence and stories about humans about where and how myths are created, but they always shake their head and then revert right back to their invisible magic-land stories.

I try to send them links from the Internet, or share an interesting book with them. One that explains myth.
Some of which ask provocative and thought provoking questions like: Why won't God heal amputees? You never see an arm or a leg grow back. Never. People pray and they swear that prayer works because their Aunt Edna was miraculously cured from anus cancer when their entire congregation prayed for her. But you never see an arm or leg grow back, no matter how much and how hard people pray for that to happen.

You could put an armless and legless person in the middle of a football stadium and have the entire crowd, with thousands and thousands of people pray all day long, all month long -twenty four hours a day and that person's arms or legs will never grow back no matter how hard and how long they pray.

I try to educate the delusional about about things that I think they would find it interesting, but they don't seem interested. That's when I start prodding them a bit...but in a poking kind of way, just to tease them and have a little fun, b'cuz I am like that. I like to stir up a little trouble. I will cite scientific prayer studies which prove prayer has zero effect on anything - but the person I explain this to will just look at me with a blank stare. Perhaps their jaw will relax slightly and drool might form in the corners of their mouth, but they refuse to believe that prayer doesn't work.

Honestly, you can flip a coin and get the same results as prayer.

I actually had a woman tell me one time that she fell off of a cliff as a child. She clung to the edge of the cliff, precariously dangling high above certain death. She clung there, perched above the end, prayed and she prayed and prayed and prayed again -and then magically, the hand of God lifted her up and set her back on solid ground.

That's usually when I tell the story-teller about temporal lobe epilepsy, or explain to them how this might have occurred in reality, rationally. But they most often will refuse to believe me, preferring to believe in magic and invisible, instead.

So, anyway, we've been invited to this Christian home for dinner, and I'm thinking it might be some kind of a trap or something. I am very cautious and sometimes get a little paranoid about going places that I am not familiar with, if it's not on my terms and on my own turf.
I start thinking maybe there are going to be a bunch of Christians in their closets and they're going to jump out of the closet and-

...and then I remember: Christian's don't, "come out of the closet." There's no such thing as gay Christians. Heck, they don't even masturbate for fear that Jesus will be watching them tweak their private parts with a bit of flourish and tickle. And, God forbid should they get turned on by their own body or have any enjoyment as a human being, because they think it's a sin.
Some even believe gay people can become heterosexual by praying.

-Until you actually look up the definition of the word: Sin, in the dictionary. That's when you find out more silly things about Christian beliefs.

"shameful offense: something that offends a moral or ethical principle
estrangement from God: in Christian theology, the condition of being denied God's grace because of a sin or sins committed."

Well, heck, if God didn't want you to enjoy diddling your peen or pajima, why would he have made it so enjoyable, followed of course, by riveting orgasm? And why would God create humans with all of these sinful things hanging over their head, and then deny them for being human?
It makes no sense.

And that's the point about Christians. They've got so many made up kooky and nutty ideas that none of it makes any sense.

In any event, before we go to the Christian house, I loosen up a bit when I remember that Christians like wine, and getting drunk is one of their favorite things to do. It probably isn't a sin, since their magic Jesus invented wine, or at least he turned water into wine -magically. I will most likely go inside their home and go straight to the kitchen or bar, or even better: I'll bring several bottles of wine and have them open and ready to pour to numb my senses just in case they tell me more of their silly stories. The man that owns the house actually has stories about Jesus living in caves.

I don't even want to know.
*sips wine... glug, glug, glug.

Maybe I'll just bring a bottle of gin for myself, just in case. I'll have to remember not to bring up the subject of marijuana, even if it's just for fun, because marijuana is a sin... but calling your wife a sexy cunt with huge tits behind her back is not. I haven't read their rule book to know for certain. I just know they are extremely sensitive about the subject of marijuana. Dave even said he would call the police on anybody who had it in their possession.

I said, really? You don't think drinking and driving is bad, but people who sit around inside their homes eating pizza and chocolate chip cookies while getting stoned, is?
Yep. The worst, he'll say. It's a drug.

They don't seem to care that their daughter shacked up with some guy out of wedlock, got pregnant and is now raising her son alone, and that her parents have extreme hatred towards the boy and the boy's father. Christianly? They've even gotten in knock-out drag down fights which involved cops. It seems that and getting drunk around the kid are perfectly fine. They even drive the little kid when they're bombed out of their minds and have no business being in a car. But marijuana?

That's taboo.

Even if I tell them God invented marijuana, and the trees that give us rolling papers and matches to light a nice, tightly-rolled fat-joint, they'll look at me as if I am whispering satanic verses. Words of the Devil.

I mean, what respectable Jesus lover doesn't like wine? Right? It's like the first thing on their list... Jesus + wine = a good buz and maybe a nice fuck. So I bring 3 really nice bottles of wine & some flowers...white, even though traditionally, white is for death, right?
Gay people don't have to follow those rules. We just know what's pretty and classy and ignore all other social etiquette.

Okay.... so they open the wine, show us around their lovely home and I start noticing little crosses here and there, nailed to the walls. I start thinking if I don't mind my P's & Q's I might end up being crucified.
So, I try to be on best behavior since I'm in their home, but the word "fuck" just kinda slips out of my mouth like: "Fuck, look at the size of that cross and, fuck
-that's a really nice painting you have on your wall there." -b'cuz, in real life I swear a lot, even though I have an angelic look about me.

And then I feel bad for saying the F word...even though I've heard them say the F word millions of times before. In fact, every other word out of their mouths is fuck this and fuck that and no fucking way! No, this is one set of Christians who say fuck and pussy and cunt and all kinds of other vulgar words all the time. I've even heard them use the word, 'nigger' many, many times. Of course, they don't just use that word. They seem to have a nic-name for everyone: Chinks, Gooks, Spics, Jews and Krauts. I'd hate to really know what they think about queers.

I'm certain it's not what I would hope they would think they think. Perhaps it's best to not think about it. That would be the Christian thing to do, right? They're always saying something about -not judging.
I don't read the bible, mostly because it's so full of bullshit and stories that are absolutely bat-shit crazy. I wouldn't even begin to know what the bible says about Christians who say fuck, pussy, cunt, jackass, mother-fucker and all the other foul words they use. Even if I were to be paid for knowing the answer, I wouldn't know what it is.

Do you?

They're prancing me around their home and showing off their lovely leather sofas, and fireplaces and art collection. The house is really lovely, if it weren't for all the creepy crucifixion crosses nailed to the walls and propped up on the book cases and such.
So I say very sweetly, 'Gee, it's a good thing Jesus wasn't electrocuted or you would have little electric chairs hanging all over your walls.'

Although, they don't seem to find humor in that and I think I saw the wife wince a bit.

But it's true. What if Jesus was hung? I mean, not well-hung as in: what if Jesus had a really huge dick, but what if he actually was hung by the gallows or from a tree or something? You know, instead of being crucified. Would Christians walk around wearing a noose around their neck?

So, by this time I'm on my second glass of wine when they sit us down for dinner, and it's a lovely meal with a cold, crisp salad, garlic bread fresh out of the oven and a lovely bowl of pasta with a side bowl of giant meatballs in spaghetti sauce.
And then I get a little nervous, what if they ask me to lead the evening's prayer before dinner? I mean, the only prayer I know is:

"O Lord please don't burn us,
don't grill or toast your flock.
Don't put us on the barbecue,
or simmer us in stock.
Don't braise or bake or boil us
or stir fry us in a wok.
Oh please don't lightly poach us
or baste us with hot fat.
Don't fricassee or roast us
or boil us in a vat,
and please don't stick thy servant Lord
in a Rotissomat."

-From Monty Python
The Meaning Of Life 1983

I mean, b'cuz that's how their lovin' god is written up in the bible, right?
He created humans and then He tortures them to teach them a lesson about, His Love.  And then He ignores hundreds of millions of them, allowing them to starve, suffer dehydration, become sick, and rot in their own puss while suffering inexplicable pain and agony.
I can understand Him doing that to a few adults that I know and dislike, but the children. Really.
Why the children?

Just look at all the children around the world who are starving to death, they are sick and spend their lives in excruciating pain, wasting away in their own excrement while Christians in America are dining on spaghetti with giant meat balls.

I guess that's where the slogan, "God Bless America" comes from. While God loves America and blesses the people in America, he's not too concerned with the people he created in other parts of the world. . . certainly not those damned Arabs or Iraqis. Not Muslims, that's for certain. Why, that Quran is so evil and vile. Don't even get me started on the Jihad verses.

Never mind that there are three times more violent verses in the Holy Bible. Christians seldom talk about the violent verses, and ignorant verses in that old, outdated archaic piece of crap. Mostly because they ignore it and seldom if ever, actually read The holy bible. But I will tell you what, it is chock full of ass kicking verses. Like II Kings 2:23-24 where some bald-headed mother fucker is teased by a bunch of kids, so he calls down a curse upon them in the name of God, and then two bears come out of nowhere and maul 42 boys to death. Really bloody and gruesome, too.
Sweet, isn't it?

And of course, there are also kinky verses in the bible, like Ezekial 22:19-20 where some whore in Egypt lusted after her lovers whose cocks and balls were the size of a donkey's: cocks that shot jizz in streaming volumes like horses.
Wow, I bet that would be really hot to watch.

I wouldn't mind seeing guys with huge cocks who could shoot a load equal to say, a gallon.
...and then, thankfully- nobody says a prayer at the dinner table. In fact, nobody says anything remotely religious.

Not a peep,

Not a burp,

Not a sound.

Nothing. Except, "Honey, could you grab the wine bottles off of the counter so we don't have to get up again, if we run out." I guess the wine buzz had kicked 'in.'
And I am sitting there, wanting to scream while gently biting at the skin on the side of my thumb along the fingernail. I am nervously thinking to myself:



Of course, I'm only thinking this to myself, and I grab my wine glass and try to steady myself. Damn, I should have brought some marijuana along with me, or at least some marijuana brownies to get my unsuspecting guests high so the dinner conversation will be elevated above Clos DuBois.
I mean, isn't that what they're supposed to do? Pray for their meal? Thank their invisible Lord? 
But they don't.

They don't say or do anything, except to say: "Honey, these meatballs are really big. They look great." and "pass the garlic bread, I'm starving." Then we sit and listen to the secret behind really-giant meatballs.
Let's see: bread, garlic, parsley and the secret ingredient-

Except, nobody cares that Jesus and The Lord have left this heaping steaming pile of pasta on this table, while He has left hundreds and hundreds of millions of other people around the world starving on this very same evening. Retching in pain and laying in their own spew. Why, I bet they would kill to be able to even lick a meatball.
But, I don't scream or say anything. I just sit there like it's all "normal," and it was. Why cause trouble when there is none. The only religious reference made during the meal was when the husband spoke up and said he went to church that morning. You know, he pipes up real cheerful like: Well, I had a good day... I got up early and went to church this morning...

Although I am not certain I believe him.
And I'm sitting there waiting for the other shoe to drop. Here comes the conversion sermon. Uh oh, I've been invited here to be asked if I wouldn't like to become a Born Again freak.
I've read all about those born again revival meetings. It usually begins with the men. They all get together at their church, and some loser joins the church.

Of course he's a loser. He hasn't accepted invisible Jesus into his heart.

His life is going poorly and he can't figure out why everyone else in his community is living life so freely, so gay. So happy and cheerful, except he's miserable, right?
His wife caught him cheating with another woman, even though his wife is a nasty bitch who won't have sex with him because she's angry and frustrated with their kids and her position in life. She blames it all on him, and when he finds comfort in someone else's arms, she throws him out onto the the streets and divorces him. That's one of the reasons Christian divorce is so high - the women are nasty and so angry, often. At least half of them are, according to divorce statistics. Gay people can't even get married if they've been in a committed relationship for decades, but two heterosexuals can fall in love and marry on the same day if they want to. Perhaps the born again candidate's dog died some horrible death, or worse, got hit by a car and he saw it happen. He's lost fourteen jobs due to being lazy and worthless, and he drinks and uses drugs, often.

So his fellow church members throw their arms around him, and they enlighten him about becoming, "Born Again."



Then they invite him to some private weekend retreat with other losers where they sit around and listen to the people in the group tell their sad tales about how they were all losers until they stood up and declared Jesus as their savior. A bunch of men get behind the 'un-loved' one by one, just in case he faints when they ask him if he accepts invisible Jesus into his heart. The leader of the group asks him to take Jesus as his savior. Most of the pre-converts are so nervous by this time, waiting for some magic miracle to occur, that they actually do fall back on their ass, or worse: faint.
They had better accept Jesus into their hearts because if they don't, the men behind them might let them fall to the floor where they will most likely get a concussion, followed by swelling, and an incurable headache followed by an aneurysm that slowly loosens from within their brain and kills them instantaneously while they're out mowing the lawn or something.

And when our host says that he went to church this morning, Tony and I kind of glance at each other like: uh oh, here it comes... but we don't say a word and we shake our heads slowly and lock eyes, like some kind of secret signal.
Only our host is so buzzed that he doesn't say another word about it. Uh huh... as if we all go to church on Sundays.
I mean, doesn't everybody?

And, the whole evening was really lovely. We had a really great time and laughed and said 'fuck, cunt and pussy' a lot. We probably polished off six bottles of wine. I never told them they were total screwballs for believing in invisible magic Jesus and all that made up crap. Pure myth.
We even hugged them and kissed them on the cheek when we left that evening.

Who knew Christians could be so fun?

But like, I totally don't trust going there again for dinner. Do you?


  1. I want you to go there again for dinner so you'll have another story!! AND don't you know the "Dear Baby Jesus" prayer from Ricky Bobby in "Talladega Nights"? It is a funny thang... <3

  2. What a fantastic read! I hope that you're working on a second book.

  3. What a fantastic read! I hope that you're working on a second book.