A Nice Hard Slap – I Prematurely Ended a Shit to Be Handed Christian Literature.
I have a big “No Soliciting” sign on my door. This applies to salesmen of any shape and size whether they’re hawking industrial cleaner, cookies, or acceptance into the Kingdom of the Lord. With this in mind, I suppose people know I’m not going to punch them in the face if I open the door for them so they persist. I think you should be legally allowed to punch someone in the maw if they disregard a posted “No Soliciting” sign at your door, twice if they persisted because they didn’t know the definition of ‘Soliciting’. Ignorance = Two Facepunches.
Let me set the scene for 10:45am today…
I’m crapping. It’s magical. I have the new EMPIRE with me as well as the iPhone Mille Bornes application to keep me company. It’s an embarrassment of riches. My daughter is at school. My wife is at work. My Beagle has a crapping problem of his own and is therefore condemned to the back yard. My 95 pound Ridgeback “puppy” is at Doggie Day Care. The house is quiet. There are no responsibilities for the next few hours aside from catching up on DVD reviews and Lists of Dumbs. Right now it’s a Lady and the Tramp moment between me and the commode, except that ain’t no meatball.
A loud knocking at the door alerts me, but not enough to cease enjoying the only instant weight loss program with any merit. I’m a little worried, because lately the FedEx folks have needed a signature for deliveries where in the past they’d just dropped them all on the front porch without a hitch. I don’t want to have one of those horrible “pick it up or wait until tomorrow notes” so I discontinue the adventure of a lifetime, assuming the latest Dante’s Cove DVD shipment had arrived.
KNOCK KNOCK! Loud. It sounds like one of the Constructicons is kicking my door’s ass. Whomever is out there is either the Grim Reaper come to claim me, the guy from all those kid’s jokes, or someone with a delivery of maddening importance.
“Gimme a second!” I scream from the hallway as I resume the act of being a clothed once-shitter. I high-five the toilet as I leave.
I turn the corner and see a mousy black lady of about thirty years of age. Dressed nice. Unassuming. NOT WEARING A THREAD OF DELIVERY ATTIRE. At the end of my driveway stands what is apparently her mother and in a stroller, her tiny solicitorial spawn. Now it’s too late to turn back. She’s not delivering anything I need or requested. When I see her she’s looking at my “No Soliciting” sign with a look that seems to speak “Whew! Good thing I’m not soliciting because what I’ve got is bitchin’!”.
I open the door, stool sad and peeved.
Of course she’s a Jehovah’s Witness. How could she not be? She’s most likely here to tell me that “Instead of being a frightening cataclysmic end, Armageddon will signal
a happy beginning for righteous individuals, who will live forever on a
paradise earth” which is cool since I really want to know what Armageddon holds besides a paycheck for Shane Salerno. As far as I’m concerned, Armageddom is spiraling towards the local sewage plant, sent packing by my divine powers of wristflick flushery. I don’t need this in my morning. No one does!
I take her Watchtower and see her off, politely telling her that I hope she trips and falls into a blood transfusion.
So, I’ve decided to make a “No Jehova’s Witnesses” plaque for the CHUD Cafepress Store. I think I grew a little wiser today even though I compromised my sitting tasks.
Folks, going door to door hawking religious propagaliterature is still soliciting. Interrupting the brown moments… that’s just tragic.
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Nick Nunziata should have shitshaken her hand.
Before
I go, here’s the latest thing I’m adding to the blog. Each day I blog I’ll
have a song, a piece of artwork, a photo, a Mary Worth, or something to
further justify your click and to give the trolls a little more ammo. Today, the first out of our SuperHero and SuperVillain Notebook, Naked Harvest:
