God's Judgment

 

(Sam Brinton is a snappy dresser.)

Yesterday, I went to church with Rice-Boy Larry. I'm a protestant, and I'm trying to raise my youngest son in the faith. It was a communion service. We take communion once a month. The pastor was sporting a black flowing robe and a bright-red sash. He dresses up like a clown every time we eat the bread and drink the wine. I don't like it. I'm not a huge fan of priestly garments. If I wanted the pomp and glory, I'd have converted to Roman Catholicism years ago. But I let it slide. What else could I do?

His sermon was centered on Isaiah 3. In this particular chapter of the bible, the prophet talks about societies that fail to follow God's law. They're often controlled by militant women and petulant children who run their nations straight into the ground. My mind suddenly flashed to Sam Brinton. Sam, a transsexual wonder boy from the ivy league, was recently in charge of America's nuclear waste program. He's both an MIT graduate and a sassy dresser. Anyway, Mr. Brinton got fired for stealing women's clothing at the Minneapolis Airport. I take one look at this disturbed kid, and I know that my nation is under God's judgment. Yet I don't lose sleep over the current state of things. I have no power, so what's a boy to do? I leave it all to the Lord.

After the service, I drove back to my apartment. Along the way, I struck up a conversation with Rice-Boy Larry.

I said, "Did you learn anything this today?"

He said, "Not really. How about you?"

"I'm not sure, but I do my best. In fact, I read something called the One-Year Bible on a daily basis."

"How's that working for you?"

I shrugged. "It's going OK. I don't have any complaints."

"Is it making you a better person?"

"Not really. But that's not how the scripture works. The whole point of the gospel is to become a better person by realizing what a complete lump of turd you are. This knowledge allows you to rely on Jesus to guide you through life."

"Do you consider yourself a sack of shit?"

I nodded enthusiastically. "Most definitely. I'm a complete idiot. There are dolphins in the ocean smarter than me."

I got home at 5 p.m. and switched on the UFC. I'm a huge fan of watching people beat the hell out of one another. The main match of the evening featured a fight between Jan Blachowicz and Magomed Ankalaev. It was a bit of a snooze fest. Not enough blood for my taste. Now, with that said, these two men were late replacements after the original main event fell through. They weren't given enough time to train properly.

I went to bed at 10 p.m. and slept like the dead. Then I woke up at 6 a.m. and called my mother using Facebook Messenger. She had a pensive look on her face.

I said, "What's the matter?"

She said, "Talk to your niece."

Mom handed the phone to Elizabeth. She's my sister's daughter.

Elizabeth said, "Do you know what your son is doing?"

"Which one?"

"Nurse Ken."

I shook my head. "I have no idea. What's he doing?"

"He's growing magic mushrooms in his room. He's selling them for extra money."

"Can I talk to him? Is he home right now?"

"No, he's at work."

"There must be some kind of mistake. Are you positive? I mean, how can you be sure? I wouldn't know a magic mushroom if it bit me on the ass."

"I'm 100 percent certain." She paused for dramatic effect. "I don't think it's fair for him to put Granny in such a terrible position. This is a felony, and she could go to jail for having drugs in her house."

I tried calling Nurse Ken later in the day, but he never picked up the phone. But I'm not going to panic before I get the straight-skinny truth. Elizabeth doesn't like her Korean cousins. She sees them as competition standing in the way of her inheritance. Plus she has no right to talk about anyone when it comes to the topic of narcotics. She recently lost a job because she got popped for pot on a piss test.

Americans and drugs. I simply don't understand the love affair.