Same Church, different days
When the fascination of being in an empty Church during the day began to wear off, myself and Darkie Bacon, not his real name, but one of his many psuedonyms, decided to explore. We decided to venture up to the pipe organ and possibly have a wee tune. On getting there we found it be locked, undeterred we messed up some hymn book, possibly frisbeed them about a bit.

It wasn't enough.

Taking matters into my own hands, literally, I decided to moisten the organ players special shoes by liberally pissing in both. Their construct guaranteed a non permeable receptacle that readily held the salty ballast. We felt this was enough and left. This was also the day I decided God was a cunt and didn't exist.

This behaviour and belief didn't stop me putting my hand up in class when they were looking for volunteer altar boys. After all, they had great Summer and Xmas treats. So, my training commenced much to the chest swelling pride of my parents and I am pleased to say I was never nonced, beasted or groomed.

Some months later I was to do a 5pm Sunday mass and headed down to get prepared. The Church was eerily quite as I let myself into the Sacristy (vip area) to get changed. It was then I realised the clocks had went back, and I was an hour early. This is a lifetime when you are 10. So I decided to have a nosy about in where the Dirty Beast would get changed, an area we weren't normally granted access to. I quickly found, fuck all, save for the silver bowl that held the unconsecrated hosts, the big ones that the Dirty Priest held aloft during mass. So I grabbed a dozen or so, got my jacket and left, handing in an unsaid resignation as I slammed the door shut.

I dawdled home, chewed on a few of the Hosts and thought about how I could best exploit these holy artifacts. (Yes I know that they weren't the body of Christ yet, as they hadn't been blessed, but that was a mere detail). Looking around me I could see lots of dog shits, so what better way to say, "FUCK GOD", than to plant a host in each dog egg till they were all gone.

I admired my handywork and made a swift exit as a party of God botherers were approaching. I still wish I had a photo, or at least hung around to overhear any appalled gasps that my piece of protest art may have produced.
(Cancer Joy was short lived, Thu 1 Sep 2011, 18:32, 5 replies)

Y'see...
That ain't funny, just cuntish.
(The Luggage is haunted..., Thu 1 Sep 2011, 22:47, closed)

May-bee
But b3ta is my confessional and I seek forgiveness.
(Cancer Joy was short lived, Thu 1 Sep 2011, 23:25, closed)

No.
It's funny.
( 4Q just lurking, Thu 1 Sep 2011, 23:50, closed)

It's cuntish
Did you consider the poor person who'll have to clean that up. I'm guessing it will be an old woman, probably a widow, who spends most of her time alone but the one place in her life were she finds solace and companionship is her church and helping out in the church one or two days a week helps keep her busy and her mind off the aching lonliness in her life.

You cunt.
( rjmrjm, Fri 2 Sep 2011, 9:40, closed)

Well, its the burning fires of hell for me
Your wild, heart string tugging assumptions did me make laugh though, but it's time to fuck off back to your hand wringing.

I was a 10 year old cunt, well done for stating the obvious.
(Cancer Joy was short lived, Fri 2 Sep 2011, 18:16, closed)