summons Moses to go to the top of Mount Sinai to receive the Ten Commandments. Exodus 19:18 tells us, God arrived in a flaming bush to the summit of Mount Sinai.’
Question, Mr. Minister Man. Why would God arrive in a flaming fire?’
‘What are you on about this time, Travesty?’ he asked.
‘If you’re God,’ I answered, ‘wouldn’t you just rock up and say, “Hey Moses, like man, I’m God; crack open a bottle of good red and let’s talk about your behaviour? From where I sit, it doesn’t look too good down here. I got a few rules for you, ten really good ones. Grab a rock and some slate pens.” That’s what God would do. He wouldn’t send an old man climbing up to the top of a mountain looking for a flaming bush.’
And off ran the minister. Beaten by logic, brought down by fact.
I knew I was walking a thin line with the church before they expelled me. Yes, the bloody Baptists expelled me. I had a bad attitude towards God and his boy. The telling blow which tipped the bucket in favour of my expulsion was when I told a bunch of Sunday school kids that if they had their bags packed for the Second Coming, best they unpack; it isn’t going to happen. I put my case forward as gently as I could, understanding the tender and vulnerable age of the young kiddies.
I said, ‘After what we did to Jesus the last time he was here, do you really think he’s considering coming back? There ended up being nails and stuff all over the place, bits of wood as well. Lots of crying too. We put him up on a Cross, left him hanging there, screaming his tits off in pain because of the nails we hammered into his hands and his feet. Blood and shit was all over the place. The Romans were laughing at him. One of them stuck a sword into his side. Come on kids, do you think Jesus is going to forgive us for that one? No way. He’s probably scared of us. Hence, no Second Coming, and besides, based on the evidence I’ve seen, there hasn’t even been a First Coming! It’s all crap.’
The kiddies’ little faces looked up at me and started to crumble as I told them, ‘If Jesus is true, then I’m betting he doesn’t love us; instead, I’m betting he hates us. We even made him carry his own big heavy Cross up the hill. And he was a king. Jesus wants us all dead, not in Heaven for eternal life with him. I’m telling you, Jesus has had a gutful of us.’
The little people were beside themselves with terror as I mentioned the pain Jesus would have been in when some flog slammed a Crown of Thorns on his head.
‘Jesus is probably still carrying the scars on his forehead! Every time he looks in mirror he curses us.’
More importantly, as religious leaders do not understand the Bible, they’ve missed the real message Jesus was trying to tell us about his death.
‘Don’t you little snot gobblers go believing all this hogwash about Jesus dying on the Cross for the sins of mankind. That’s not true. The message Jesus wanted us to understand from his death was that believing in God can be a painful experience. Sometimes you have to walk up hills carrying heavy shit. People can even die on a Cross from following God. Therefore, follow God at your own peril.’
The little joys of wonderment began screaming in fright with tears running down their faces and little bits of snot coming out their noses; a few did poo-poo in their pants. Parents heard their anguished cries and rushed over to shepherd their little lambs out of harm’s way, right at the exact moment I said, ‘And what is Christianity exactly? One woman has an affair, and every religious person in the world ignores it, and then quotes crap like ‘’Thou shall not commit adultery’ . You dummies, religion started because of adultery. Get it together. And don’t go taking the piss out of bald men; otherwise the bears will gobble up your sorry arses.’
I became the first person since Judas Iscariot (he stitched up Jesus at the Last Supper) to be expelled from a Baptist Church. This greatly embarrassed my mother. She never got over it.
‘How could you do this to me?’ moaned my wailing mother of the Baptist faith. ‘I’ll never be able to show my face around town again.’
Mother would rant, rage and call me a heathen as she made many phone calls to many people to see if they felt sorry for her because of my actions. Regularly, the Whinging Aunt from Whining Hill would appear with the ‘feel sorry for me train’. On Mother would get, and off they’d go, whinging and whining and complaining into the distance. Toot toot!
I said to Mother, ‘I don’t understand why people put money into the collection plate every week; it’s a con. They must be stupid.’
Mother snapped back, ‘I put money in the collection plate every week.’
Sometimes life is more joyous if we say nothing. I smiled and let her comment pass.
----2----
My fatal beating occurred many years after the Baptist church sacked me. At the time of my death, I was fifty-five and still living at home with my parents. I pioneered the ‘living at home’ concept long before the young folk of today got onto the idea. I should have patented it.
Once the Adopted Ones had moved out, it wasn’t too bad living at home. Wind Between Ears had run off to somebody’s happy hunting ground. It was a vacant block of land beside the local Unemployment Office. This gave me cause for great celebration and much happiness. I danced, and now it was my turn to yell whoop-whoops. I also tried to take scalps. The bright lights of my tepee shone for days and nights, acting as a beacon of warning to the world; Wind Between Ears had moved on to screw up other people’s lives – beware.
Though appearing most challenged in the brain faculty department (steroids can do that to you), Speed had enough common sense to migrate to a country where the good old ‘roids’ were almost legal. I must admit, I did miss him. As he mostly grunted and moved about with his knuckles dragging close to the ground, as a Neanderthal would have done, I was able to hire him out to school kids to exhibit as part of their ‘early man show and tell’ projects. I also hired him out to companies that moved furniture on weekends. Not that he knew what day it was. But, with his departure, those little money earners dried up for me.
Unfortunately, the Whinging Aunt from Whining Hill was still ever present, or perhaps that was omnipresent. No, that couldn’t be right, she was no God. She was the Devil masquerading as an interfering old busybody. I did miss my battle of wits with Speed and Wind Between Ears. Sure, it was unfair – they were always disarmed, but I still had fun.
As it was only me living at home with Mother and Father, I tried on a number of times to worm my way into becoming Mother’s favourite. I would tell her the Adopted Ones had died of stupidity. I tried to convince her that the Adopted Ones had left the planet as they had been abducted. I even used the old, ‘They were run over while trying to steal hubcaps from passing motor vehicles!’
Each time, Mother would call up the Whinging Aunt from Whining Hill who always informed her to take no notice of me.
‘Travesty is simply jealous because he doesn’t have Unemployment Benefits in his DNA and he can’t bench press ten times his body weight; ignore him,’ the Whinging Aunty would say. ‘Ignore him; it’s not as if he’s ever going to be one of your favourites.’
Many years prior to my death, I discovered working for a living didn’t appeal to me at all. I tried it once. I had a job, but I didn’t think I was very good at it, so I quit. I also became ill. Sadly, I contracted Workitis. I couldn’t shake it. According to the medical profession, the illness doesn’t exist – but what do doctors know?
Workitis was as baffling then, as it is today. It can only be identified by the medical procedure known as self-diagnosis. Workitis is far more serious than Mondayitis. Workitis is with you every working day of every working week. Strangely, on weekends and public holidays,