Recent research claims that there are approximately seven hundred thousand four hundred and sixty seven and a half different ways to piss off the Roman Catholic Church in the living realm alone. In the interests of My Name Is Earl style investigation, I decided to work my way through the list and see what happened. Needless to stay, I was more than anticipating thirteenth century style revenge attacks upon both my village and my wimmins, but the first day of the holidays is always something of an experimental and indulgent time.
Naturally, the first thing I did was shamelessly play with myself. Mid-event, there was something of a minor shudder in the apartment but that was merely the conditioning fan in the bathroom knocking over a long redundant shampoo bottle into the bath. Despite the piety of the moment, I was hardly knocked off my stride. I was however feeling the strain of those potential revenge attacks quite strongly and so the whole experiment was taking rather longer than I had hoped. Nonetheless, after a few seconds of soulless searching, the deed was done. Six million reasons for me to be castigated at the gates of hell and beforehand burst into the world; confused and disoriented by the absence of their eternal goal. It’s hardly an exaggeration to say I jumped upon hearing an almost immediate ethereal hammering on the door. Was this it? Had they found out about it? No… I’d left my keys in the door last night. Goodness me, I wiped my hand on my shirt and grabbed them in. Holy shit!
I’d inadvertently indulged the second sin on my list upon uttering those two words and spent a moment pondering the lunacy of the last few moments. If the door was smashed in right now by the militant arm of the RC because I unconsciously uttered holy shit, what would I say? I for one would be most pissed off if they damned me to hell and then committed the sin of murder upon my flesh! Arguably, my unconscious expression of the phrase in question is by definition not my fault. It is merely the work of a brain that I have done my best to reign in from expressing such thoughts implanted by other sinners. And let’s face it, we do work pretty hard keeping these kind of things under control in our brains. That’s right brain, you can imagine all kinds of depraved intercourses with Susan Boyle but I’ll never fully accept that I actually want to do it…
The front door was still intact in any case. Maybe Mr. Happy on the concierge desk downstairs was in one of his moods and had told the swarming armies of the RC church (in Cantonese of course) to get the fuck oot!
This of course presented me with something of a problem. If I continued along this path, I’d be presented with the very real problem of discerning which of my sins actually incurred the visit of the RC fuzz! Nonetheless, I was enjoying myself and totally enthralled by the spirit of rebellion. What next?
I stood before the mirror. I’m not really one for engaging in protracted self-maintenance as is evidenced by my invariably unkempt appearance and general tendency towards looking like I work on the scaffies. However, in the spirit of spiritual realisation and incurrence of wrath I had a duty to attend to. I brushed my hair to one side and then to the other, ran a nasal hair trimmer with Freudian precision into my nostril – chuckling somewhat as I heard the rustling destruction of some pulmonary excretions - and then set to work mowing the expansive tangled lawn strangling my pubic regions. Now if anything was going to piss of the federalés of the RCC then this would be it. However, nothing happened…
It suddenly struck me that pride and the sin of self-maintenance in which I was partaking may have been struck off the list of punishable sins down at the RCC. Probably due to a shortage of talent and populous up there in the clouds. After all, surely all those people monitoring their behaviour so stringently down here on Earth in worship are guilty of that very sin and therefore actively deny themselves a route to heaven along with all the sinners and Protestants? I began to realise this was something of a frugal exercise given the tangled up maze of variables under consideration; I’d got a wee wank out of it though which was nice.
This is the problem with religion, you never know when you’re actually doing the right thing. Can I really kick the shit out of my kids six days a week and then say a couple of penances to absolve my sins? Would my record be completely clean or would I be earmarked as one to keep an eye on? Who deserves a place in the big house – a part-time Catholic who shops and shags all week but says they believe in God or a devout attendee whose attendance is motivated solely by a fear of what will happen to them if they don’t go? It seems weird to me that an all-seeing figure could overlook his omnipotent observation of such indiscretions so long as we have a minor flirt with one of His mates.
Oh well, even if the RCC polis don't drop by, at least there's a possibility I’ve got six million and three reasons not to worry about what they think anyway…
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