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 The SummonersPosted 11.06.2007 by Doo-rango (69)
My brother Paul and I were quite evil as teenagers, getting into mischief of a magnitude only slightly blunted by the passage of almost two decades. According to our poor mother, such behavior could only be tamed by the Almighty Himself. Thus we were dragged to church and sent to church camp year after year. Years of choir, stints as acolytes, confirmation class, and Sunday school did little to stunt our devilish ways. Before our senior year of high school, mother tried one more time to bring us into the fold by sending us off on a three-week mission trip to Honduras.
It was a small teenaged group of about six of us, led by a short, fat, bespectacled, and immensely devout fireplug of a woman named Denise. Before we even left for the airport, we started off on a spectacularly bad note. Our small group met at a family restaurant for a "prayer breakfast" prior to leaving. I believe that Denise was dimly aware of our "ways", but after asking Paul to give Thanks for breakfast, she became highly attuned to our capabilities. The prayer started out with appropriate sincerity and was peppered with the usual invocations and key words gleaned from years of religious dogma. "Lord, please keep vigil over us as we prepare for our journey. We hold up our thanks to you today, Oh glorious One." I opened an eye as his prayer quickly thickened with sarcasm. It then took a turn for the worst. "Oh, glorious One, hold us UP! Oh, Satan! Blessed Beast of the number six-hundred and sixty six! ARISE!!" Paul shook the table for added effect. "Satan -- COME FORTH!!" We both started laughing. "STOP IT!!! STOP IT!!! BOTH OF YOU!" Denise's porcine face was contorted into a red and tearful grimace of pain and embarrassment. She broke into a sobbing prayer, her great chest heaving up and down like a bellows. "Lord, give me the strength to save these young men, these BOYS" (opening her eyes to glare at us) "from the eternal damnation of hell. Give me the courage to stand up to their demons within. I ask you to forgive them of their sins and OPEN UP THEIR EYES" (more glaring) "to your ever-shining light and glory! In Jesus' name we pray, AMEN!!" "Well, that oughta do it," I added. Her beady eyes leveled with mine. "God will get you for that. God will get you!" The next time she talked to either one of us was after about two days "in country." We were helping to build a church and we both were actually enjoying the work. We were getting tan, swimming in the river every day, and even learning a little about carpentry and masonry. We had little time for actual mischief, but we knew that we had to play a prank on Denise. One morning, the opportunity presented itself to us as we sat huddled by the fire. Paul went out to look for some more sticks. He came back after about ten seconds and beckoned me to come along and take a look at something. He led me to Denise's orange tent, where from within we could hear her loud snoring. About two feet from the entrance to her tent was a great and terribly coiled brownish green turd glistening with morning dew. It seemed so obviously human, and we surmised that Denise, afraid of going out to the bathrooms at night, simply hung her great ass over this spot and did her business. Paul whispered his idea to me and I took off running towards the fire. I brought back a flaming stick, which he inserted into the pile. We took our t-shirts off and wrapped them around our heads like turbans. Paul began to speak in a low, gravelly voice before the burning stick. "Satan… Great Satan. ARISE!!!" I joined in. "Glorious Satan, show yourself!" We fanned our arms before the flames. "COME FORTH in all your glory! Great and Glorious Satan, ARISE!!!" The tent shook. Loud and furious zipping noises ensued. Denise's face, ringed in a beard of fat and a halo of unkempt reddish hair, appeared from the tent. "BEHOLD, SATAN!!!" By then a small crowd had gathered, most of them thinking the whole thing was like a hilarious skit. Denise angrily chased us off and cleaned up the mess. Of course Denise complained to the pastors about our behavior and we had several "talks" about the seriousness of dabbling into the occult. But by far the funniest part was an announcement later on, by the head pastor, encouraging the missionaries to use sanitary discretion and not to dig "cat holes" at night. We looked at Denise as he said this. She kept looking straight ahead, nodding her head in agreement. Post new comment
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