Jehova Jehova Jehova!
Another personal pearoast citing Mr FoxyBadger McAwesomeness Sr. (alas, dearest Grandad) has been stirred from the bottom of my soul after reading some stories here about the treatment of fundamentalist extrovert religious types keen to promote the knowledge and eternal sanctuary of their infallable gospel.

I refer to them as simple-minded peons.

Mr FoxyBadger McAwesomeness Sr. spent his Autumn years in a rather poor area situated near a large influx of Jehova's Witnesses. As a result, every other week or so when your young author and his family were down, two clean-shaven gents would turn up to intimidate the dear heathen into joining their ridiculous sect group. At first, the typical response of door slamming was adopted, but after a while Grandad's mind realised there was some sort of sport to be made.

Lo and behold, the wager was on with the drinking buddies to see who could stall/scare them the longest. For the sake of bragging, Mr FoxyBadger McAwesomeness Sr. took the gold with a hell-worthy example:

Grandad invites them door-to-door God salesmen in for a cup of tea. Engage in much religious debate and shows of a keen pseudo-interest in conversion as his current faith doesn't give enough satisfaction. After a good 45 minutes or so of pretending to give a toss what they think, at which point the peons are comfortable with their environment, your 8 month old author starts crying in the next room for whatever reason.

'Excuse me for a moment lads,' cites Grandad as he removes himself from the conversation.

10 minutes go by. Grandad hasn't returned.

20 minutes go by. Grandad hasn't returned.

By this point, peons are beginning to wonder what the hell is going on exactly and whether they should investigate, at which point Grandad bursts into the room wearing only a chef's apron brandishing a cleaver, both covered in blood.

'Sorry about that lads. As I was saying, Satanism doesn't give me the satisfaction I need as sacrifices are so hard to come by. Now, where do I sign?'

I think there may have been some loss of bowel control from persons other than myself in that house that day.

Out of pure respect for the man, I now adopt this policy myself. My record is about 30 minutes before I start talking in tongues claiming to be the desolate one. Bless, I was 12 at the time.
(FoxyBadger (try saying it backwards), Fri 12 Dec 2008, 9:50, 1 reply)

grandad
Have a clicky on his behalf
(andythepieman Is surfing the waves of indifference on, Thu 18 Dec 2008, 16:40, closed)