Of Jesus, Eunuchs and the Trojan Horse

Drawn in by the mannequin with double D breasts, Shackles and I entered the Twat Shop to browse through edible undies and lickable warming lotion. Saleslady, already peeved from having to chastize us for fondling the impressive plastic melons, assured me in her haughty taughty way that the chocolate and strawberry drawing pencils DO taste good, in fact, she'd bought her daughter a set based on the flavour factor alone.

I watched as Shackles, ever discreet, moseyed to where madame sex candy connoiseur was sitting in front of her computer assuming my friend wanted to size up her internet porn. But alas, Theresa Twat had her Christian minded attention focused on some hot and steamy gospel videos. I had this sinking feeling that we should run but the legs wouldn't move. With our shutdefuckup purchase of Irish Cream Liquid Heat we got a complimentary critique on our shabbyness as wives and mothers. Something about my child- the victim of my assailing selfishness, something about my life- a derailed train to disaster, something about her wisdom- happily giving her marrow through 4 years of marriage, something about Jesus- the light, the truth, the way. I think she just was angry I didn't buy the chocolate pencils.

On my way home today I was held up in a eunuch motorcade. Young men, no longer in school yet still without a thing to do but wait for the final bell to ring, joined forces of about 6 to 1 and entertained the Pine intersection by cuffing and kicking the shit out of boy solo. They then proceeded to take full advantage of the road works construction and armed themselves with heavy boulders- heaving and chucking them at the boy's back, chest and head. I hung up my phone, rolled down my window and hollered "LEAVE THE FUCKING BOY ALONE!" and then I leaned on my horn unil I was joined in concert by the line of dumbfounded eunuchs suddenly riveted by the idea of doing something. 6 against 1 paused for a moment to assess the sudden noise. The victim tore off running down the highway. All I can wonder is how many boulders us spectators at the Pine would have sat through before a reaction. Would we have watched from our air-conditioned comfort- the skull of a young man collapse into his brain?

We regurgitate our Sunday lessons interpreting the 'judge not' to be passive.
We attack the consumer with Christian propaganda and moral superiority surrounded by crotchless thongs and lubricant. We think our responsibility for the betterment of the nation is watching human injustice as if it were a flic at the drive-in then placing a call to Brass Tacks to compare our disgust in the youth of today. Where do we fit in to this picture? What mark do we want to leave here on this rock? What contribution are we hoping to make when we lunge at the unsuspecting with a Jesus vaccine in a ten inch syringe then sit idle as a young man is stonned to death on the sidewalk? Will we ever have the courage to stand naked in front of a stranger and let them see us for what we are- dirty little self-gratifying creatures? Can we take ourselves light, step up on the stage and bear whatever's thrown at us? Because the way I see it, until we get off that high horse we've been straddling- we're doomed to the Trojan fate.