Anal Hijinks

 

(I'm not qualified to judge anybody.)

On Saturday, I woke up at 7 a.m. and went downstairs for a cigarette. But it was pissing rain outside, so I had to settle for a piece of nicotine gum instead. Then I called my mother using Facebook messenger. I was sitting on the sofa at the time.

She said, “You look rough. What’s wrong with you?”

“I had beer at the chicken house last night. Perhaps I overdid it.”

“How much did you drink?”

“Only a pitcher.”

She shook her head in disdain. “That’s insane! A full pitcher? Are you out of your mind?”

“A pitcher really isn’t that much alcohol. I used to do that with no problem at all.” I paused for dramatic effect. “I’m really worried about myself. I’m turning into an old lady. Soon, I’ll be reduced to sipping tea and snacking on Kit-Kats.”

“Have you been eating properly?”

“Not so much these days. I usually just have jelly donuts for breakfast.”

“Jelly donuts? What about your diet?”

I sighed heavily. “I don’t have time for that shit anymore. I’ve got a full-time job. Plus I’m taking on the role of a housewife. And let me tell you something. A woman’s work never ends.”

“Maybe you need to go back to bed.”

I nodded. “I think you’re right.”

And that’s exactly what I did. I slept for another four hours. In fact, I didn’t wake up until noon. But there was no time to relax. I had to clean the bathrooms. I performed this feat using copious amounts of bleach, and I just about burned my lungs out. I spent the rest of the day coughing and sneezing and blowing my nose. The snot wouldn’t stop dripping down my face.

Rice-Boy Larry said, “Are you catching a cold?”

“No. It’s the bleach. There’s got to be a safer way to keep the shitters clean.”

My son went to his room to play computer games while I enjoyed Netflix. I watched a three-hour documentary about Johnny Depp’s divorce. He used to be married to a beauty queen named Amber Heard. Their marriage was a real disaster. They couldn’t stop beating the shit out of each other. Mr. Depp even lost the tip of his finger when she hit him with a full bottle of vodka. Yet it was tough to feel sorry for either of those loons. They’re both a couple of Hollywood assholes.

The next day, I walked to church by my lonesome. Rice-Boy Larry didn’t want to come. Instead, he hung out with his friends. The weather was brutal. By the time I made it to the building, I was covered in sweat. I had to hose myself off in one of the public restrooms.

The sermon was about the Samaritan woman at the well. Jesus gently rebukes her because she’s had too many husbands in her life. But he doesn’t send her to the fiery pit of hell. Instead, he offers her living water so that she won’t have to spend the rest of her life living like a thirsty sexual deviant.

I notice that Christ often gives sexual sinners a pass as long as they repent. Just look at John 8 and the tale of the adulteress. That’s why I never slam homosexuals in spite of their anal hijinks. It’s not my place to judge. I’ll leave it to the Lord.

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