Crumby’s Belly Dancing Hermaphrodite
In Oklahoma, I got used to having the carnival come to town. Mercy! Those memories are fond. Yet the belly dancing hermaphrodites were my favorite attraction. Still, many years later, I can’t believe my eyes. Those belly dancing hermaphrodites probably had more influence on my young noggin than any other phenomena in my young life up to that time, maybe. Those belly dancing hermaphrodites sent me straight to the seminary, to atone for the dreadful influence they had on my wicked noggin.
At the seminary, I longed for companionship. Not the companionship of my dopey fellow preacher trainees, but the companionship of a particular lovely belly dancing hermaphrodite. But, I also knew, from my preacher training, that such longings were beyond wicked, and that I should put those thoughts out of my noggin, concentrating instead upon my exorcism lessons.
That is how I discovered self-exorcism. Here is how that works. Pretend to be possessed in a public place, like church. Make sure you have a Fizzy. Then, when communion comes around, surreptitiously pop the Fizzy in your mouth along with the grape juice. The result can be spectacular, especially for those who have also mastered most of Curly’s Three Stooge wooly bup maneuvers.
But then, once the congregation is appropriately astonished, crawl to the cross located behind the pulpit. Drag yourself up to the cross. Strain mightily to actually touch the cross. Quiver and moan. Then, announce to the congregation that you have personally, thanks be to Jesus, exorcized a terrible hideous demon that was fixing to possess you forever.
After that maneuver, I got my theology degree signed and certified in 48 hours, tops. I was a prodigy.
But never mind all that. Once I waltzed off with my theology degree, I went in search of that special belly dancing hermaphrodite. Long have I searched for, uh, it. Yet I have never, ever, found, it. Nonetheless, I wearily search on. So that is why I am headed off to the carnival, anon. Perhaps it is there, at this very carnival.
Yes. I intend to totally compromise myself. It is National Dark Sky Week. What habitat is more lit up than a carnival? Yet off I shall go, in search of my belly dancing hermaphrodite.
At the seminary, I longed for companionship. Not the companionship of my dopey fellow preacher trainees, but the companionship of a particular lovely belly dancing hermaphrodite. But, I also knew, from my preacher training, that such longings were beyond wicked, and that I should put those thoughts out of my noggin, concentrating instead upon my exorcism lessons.
That is how I discovered self-exorcism. Here is how that works. Pretend to be possessed in a public place, like church. Make sure you have a Fizzy. Then, when communion comes around, surreptitiously pop the Fizzy in your mouth along with the grape juice. The result can be spectacular, especially for those who have also mastered most of Curly’s Three Stooge wooly bup maneuvers.
But then, once the congregation is appropriately astonished, crawl to the cross located behind the pulpit. Drag yourself up to the cross. Strain mightily to actually touch the cross. Quiver and moan. Then, announce to the congregation that you have personally, thanks be to Jesus, exorcized a terrible hideous demon that was fixing to possess you forever.
After that maneuver, I got my theology degree signed and certified in 48 hours, tops. I was a prodigy.
But never mind all that. Once I waltzed off with my theology degree, I went in search of that special belly dancing hermaphrodite. Long have I searched for, uh, it. Yet I have never, ever, found, it. Nonetheless, I wearily search on. So that is why I am headed off to the carnival, anon. Perhaps it is there, at this very carnival.
Yes. I intend to totally compromise myself. It is National Dark Sky Week. What habitat is more lit up than a carnival? Yet off I shall go, in search of my belly dancing hermaphrodite.
posted by ray pistrum at Friday, April 04, 2008
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