[NOTE: This might be sorta NSFC (Not Safe For Church)]
Just a little something from the “All My Friends Are Going To Hell” files …
A couple of weeks ago, a few friends and I drove up to the lovely town of McCall, Idaho (home of the McCall Winter Carnival, featuring the Monster Dog Pull and the Snowshoe Golf Tournament), for a day of skiing and a couple of nights of
The friend that I drove up with is a Sister in the local convent, which explains why she has a plastic Jesus on her dashboard with a mirror in his belly and the words “Look Good For Jesus” inscribed at his feet. It’s very tasteful:
Anyway, we had a wonderful Friday night and a great day of skiing Saturday, and gathered at the home of a friend who lives there that evening for enchiladas, all sorts of homemade elk sausages, cheap tequila, and riveting discussion on the folly of the austerity measures being enacted on the continent. A magical time all 'round.
Eventually, the revelry wound down, and a few friends who were staying at a nearby cabin borrowed the car that we drove up in to get back there, giving assurances that they would be back bright and early Sunday morning with multiple vehicles. They were, and we had a nice chat arguing what constitutes “planethood” (Dear International Astronomical Union: Your momma thought I was big enough! Sincerely, Pluto.) before deciding to head back to the Big City. I thought it a bit odd that the friends who stayed in the cabin were so giggly as we departed, but they’re giggly people in general, so I didn’t dwell on it. But then we got in the car …
… and found this:
It’s going to be lonely in Heaven, what with all my friends being down in Hell and all. I later asked one of them where they got a raw bratwurst, to which she responded “Oh, Sheila-JoMarie* had it in her pocket.” Yes … yes, of course she did. That makes perfect sense.
Sausage Jesus made the entire trip back sporting his new headware, and I suspect that the holy bratwurst has been preserved and will be resurrected sometime in the future for a bit of revenge tomfoolery. I did get an update on the state of Plastic Jesus the next day: “Well, the dishwasher wasn’t enough to wash the blood off of Christ, so I had to give him a sponge-bath.”
That’s Ninth Circle material right there.
* Not her real name … nobody is really named Sheila-JoMarie. That would be ridiculous.