Can I Get a Witness?

My neighborhood is being overrun by Jesus freaks.

I don’t even know what kind they are, because Jesus freaks are so terrifying to me that I can’t even engage them in conversation. We used to have a lot of Jews for Jesus in my neighborhood (or Jesus for Jews, or Jesusy Jews Who Like Candy, or Secret Squirrel Christians or whatever) but they seem to be gone now. They would mostly stand on street corners with their literature, asking everyone if they were Jewish and smiling creepily. Way easy to dodge. My feet have little wheels on the bottom, so I can maneuver around that shit. These news folks, though … they’re another story.

They come to your door, for one thing. Today I was enjoying a much-needed nap, when my doorbell rang. Figuring it must be either a) presents for me or b) Drunken Mouse, lost and drunk and confused about his address, I got up and pressed the intercom button.

“Hello?”

“Hello, my friend and I were wondering if we could get your opinion on the Kingdom of Heaven … hello? Hello?”

I just let them talk and got back on my couch. What a weird way to start that particular conversation, though. It seems like asking for trouble.

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