The border crossing station stuck out against the barren desert. The two guards laughed as they contemplated their easy assignments. “Lo tenemos hecho,” one said to the other.
Suddenly a lone figure barged in. The guards stared in awe at the ominous character. “Passport, please?” one asked in broken English.
The mysterious figure pulled out his .38.
“Jack Hardcock,” a guard gasped.
“Which way to Juarez?” Jack asked.
The guards silently pointed to the west.
“Gracias,” he said.
As Jack walked away, the guards watched as marched towards the horizon. “Dios ayudanos,” they uttered.
Gunshots and Mariachi music echoed through the streets of Juarez. Jack feared no evil as he walked through the valley of death. He knew the city would face the fate of Sodom and Gomorrah; God’s vengeance would soon reign.
If he himself was the one to deliver this vengeance, Jack did not know.
“I’m looking for La Casa de La Muerte,” Jack said to a random street vendor.
“Que?” the vendor replied.
“I’m an American,” Jack stated, “it’s my right to not speak Spanish. So you better answer me or answer to my .38!”
“sé lo que estás diciendo,” the vendor said, “pero no conozco este lugar.”
Jack pistol whipped the vendor and prepared to empty his revolver into the poor bastard. But Heaven granted the man a reprieve: at that moment, an angelic voice appeared. “Jack, no!” it ordered.
Jack’s hand began to shiver as he aimed the .38. He knew this voice.
“Maria,” he uttered.
Jack slowly turned around. Maria was as radiant as a bluebonnet under the Texas sun. He thought he’d never see her face again. “Wh-what are you doing here?” he asked.
“I’ve been in Juarez for sometime,” she said, “why did you not respond to my letters?”
“Maria,” he pleaded, “I’m so sorry. I…”
That moment, Pablo Santora came marching up in his Wrangler jeans and snakeskin boots. He put his arm around Maria. “Jack,” Pablo smiled from underneath his mustache, “so pleasant to see you again.”
“Pablo,” Jack simply said. He had to restrain himself.
Pablo lifted a cigar to his mouth. “Jack, old friend,” he continued, “I am the proprietor of La Casa de La Muerte. Please, stop by and see us, yeah?”
“Thank you for the invitation, Pablo,” Jack said.
“Mi amigo,” Pablo chuckled, and he slowly strolled away.
“I can’t thank you enough for shooting me in the shoulder,” Brother Joses said, “sometimes all it takes is a bullet from the Lord to help one see the light.”
“Amen brother,” Jack replied, “Jesus wants you to know that I ain’t no puss. So don’t ever accuse me of that again. Or next time I’ll shoot you in the face.”
The sun beat down on the Preacher and Jack like a hellish balefire as they ate their afternoon brunch under the Utah sky. The two were conversing a lot in those days; they knew the plight of modern times represented the mark of the beast. They both trembled and reveled at the pending onslaught of blood and glory from the Lord.
“Tell me,” Joses spoke as he slapped down his napkin, “what’s this business with Johnson? He must know the Lord’s vengeance is near.”
“Oh yes, Brother Joses, he is well aware,” Jack retorted, “but there remains this business with our father.”
“Your father? I thought Rod Hardcock was dead.”
Jack looked out to the deserted horizon, wishing he could push the many years of pain off the edge of the earth. “I believed he was too,” Jack lamented, “unfortunately he was only in Mexico.”
“Mexico? Why the devil would he be sent to such a castoff corner of hell?”
“Drugs,” Jack replied, “and churros. But mostly drugs. He presumably shoves them up his ass and smuggles them into the United States.”
“A mule, in other words.”
“So your father has never heard the Good News of Jesus Christ and the impending destruction of earth and the violent demise of all unbelievers in His Name?”
Jack chugged his beer and spat on the ground. “I’m afraid not,” he said, “moreover, the cartel is holding him ransom for unknown reasons.”
“My word,” Joses gasped.
A haunting silence fell between the two as they pondered this unspeakable predicament. “Then you must go to Mexico,” Joses finally spoke, “deliver the Word to your father…and rescue him from the clutches of Satan…before it’s too late.”
Jack pulled out his .38 and looked down the sights as he pointed it in the direction of Mexico.
“Please take the barrel of your .38 out of my nose!” the manager of the porn theater cried. “I don’t recognize the girl!”
“I know you know something!” I replied. “If you like having a nose, you better spit it out!”
“I know nothing! I swear!”
“You’re a liar. And you know what the Lord does to liars and pornographers? There’s no forgiveness! The Book of Isaiah says so,” I said. “But you will live to die another day. So get right with the Lord, for hell is in your not too distant future!”
I pulled the trigger and his nose splattered against the wall. The manager screamed on the floor while blood streamed through his fingers as he held his hands over his face.
Meanwhile, Peter Tucker was waiting outside of the manager’s office. “I’m proud of you, Jack,” he said. “You didn’t put a bullet in the suspect’s brain this time. You’re really maturing as a person.”
“Thanks Peter,” I replied as I put the .38 back in its holster. “Gosh though, this Layla Huffington girl is really hard to find. I mean, millions of men beat off to her picture everyday! You’d think SOMEONE would recognize her.”
“People go missing all of the time. I think you’ve done enough work for the day. C’mon, let’s get drunk and forget about it.”
I nodded then Peter and me left the theater and began walking past skid row. I couldn’t shake the image of Layla from my mind. There was something about her face that was haunting me.
As we were about to enter the bar, a street performer was playing a familiar tune on his guitar. “Do you hear that song?” I asked Peter.
“Yeah, it’s a shitty acoustic version to that Eric Clapton song. What of it?”
“Layla,” I said.
I walked up to the street performer and handed him a $20 bill. “You better take the money,” I told him, “cuz if you don’t give the answers I want, you’ll get a bullet instead.”
“Fuck off copper!”
I slapped him across the face with the butt of my .38. As he laid on the ground, I pointed the gun at his skull. “I ain’t no cop,” I said. “I’m Jack Hardcock and I don’t play by the rules. So tell me about Layla or else you’ll be my next victim of the day.”
“It’s just a song, man!”
I cocked the .38.
“Alright alright!” the performer cried. “She’s my ex-girlfriend! She dumped my ass and fucked off to Los Angeles!”
“Why did you give me this ‘Jesus Saves’ tract?” the bank robber asked me. I had the .38 pointed directly at his skull.
“Because I’m giving you one last choice,” I said. “And I suggest you accept the Lord Jesus as your personal Savior.”
“And what if I tell you that you can wipe your ass with this?”
I shook my head in disappointment. “Then tell Satan he’s next,” I said. I pulled the trigger and unleashed the full fury of my .38 right there in the bank lobby.
Shouts and screams echoed throughout the halls while the robber’s brains spewed out onto the marble floor below. I raised my hands to calm the crowd. “No need to thank me,” I said, “I’m just a good Christian Samaritan doing his job. Have a blessed day.”
I exited the bank just as the police arrived. The officer in charge started yelling in my face. “Goddamnit Jack Hardcock!” he screamed, “you had the suspect disarmed and apprehended, but you shot him anyway!”
“It’s good to see you too Sarge,” I replied sarcastically. “I figured that I save the taxpayers money by executing the bastard right then and there.”
“That’s not how justice is done!” he exclaimed. “Get out of my city before I throw these cuffs on you!”
“With pleasure,” I said then spat on the ground. But that’s the kind of thanks I get for being an instrument of the Lord’s Wrath.
“It’s time to go to Bible study,” my brother Pete Hardcock said. Him and his wife were kind enough to allow me to sleep in their garage while I got my life together. This was a year after I saved the city of Cleveland and Progressive Field from a renegade FBI agent. To pay the bills, I was now doing private detective work; stalking cheating spouses and such. It was beneath the dignity of a lethal holy weapon such as myself.
“You know I don’t need that shit,” I said to Pete, “I don’t have to read the Bible. I know everything in it is true and divinely inspired. That’s good enough for me.”
Pete’s stay-at-home wife, Jesseka, brought me a plate of green bean casserole. “Where’s the bourbon?” I asked.
“You know we don’t drink in this house,” Jesseka replied.
“If God didn’t want us to drink, He wouldn’t have made Kentucky bourbon,” I explained.
“Say Jack,” Pete said, “why don’t you come to church and meet a nice Christian lady. You’re 21 years old. Don’t you think it’s time to settle down and start a family?”
“Poppycock,” I replied. “How can I settle down when there’s so much evil on the streets? Like I tell everyone, I’m a blunt instrument of the Lord. So I have no thoughts or desires of my own.“
Pete and Jesseka’s son, Klyde, came rushing into the garage. “Uncle Jack,” he said, “someone’s at the door for you.”
“Back to work,” I uttered to myself. So I pulled up my pants, lit up a cigarette, then walked towards the front door. There I found a woman with tears streaming down her face.
“Are you Jack Hardcock?” the woman asked. “My daughter has gone missing. I need your help!”
My obsession with the Gospel of Mark might seem odd at first glance. But consider this: it’s the most basic of the four canonical gospels, no one knows who wrote it, we don’t know why it was written, it is the oldest known narrative of Jesus, all other Gospels are based on it or are in some ways responding to it. Therefore, this Gospel essentially invented the story of Jesus, making it one of the most important documents of all time, literarily and/or historically.
This document is a mystery; a mystery that will almost certainly never be solved. But that doesn’t mean certain quack scholars like myself won’t give it a shot.
Unfortunately, when you spend an inordinate amount of time researching a specific topic, people tend to read more into it than what’s actually there. I try to keep that in mind while reading Mark. I don’t find this gospel to be a particularly brilliant document and whatever “themes” are there, I think, is just a reflection on the reader.
Case in point is the abrupt ending at 16:8 (the original ending, after Jesus’s death, when the women enter his tomb only to find a man in there telling them to go to Galilee):
“Trembling and bewildered, the women went out and fled from the tomb. They said nothing to anyone, because they were afraid.” Mark 16:8 NIV
What a weird way to end a story eh?
And maybe the author of Mark did have an “artistic” purpose for ending his or her story in that way. I just think he (or she) ended it there because why the hell not? I’m not saying it was a GOOD decision, just A decision.
So never read more into Mark than what’s actually there. But there does seem to be a growing consensus amongst scholars regarding its genre: it’s a Greco-Roman biography.
I think Helen K. Bond, in her book The First Biography of Jesus, makes a pretty good case for this. While Mark doesn’t fit perfectly with the biographical genre, it does share enough of its characteristics to possibly shed some light on the meaning behind this strange document.
But whatever Mark’s intention was, as Bond summarizes in her book, the story of Jesus IS, essentially, the Gospel of Mark. So whatever your beliefs are, there is a great deal of historical worth in that.
Personal update: my career at the toilet factory might be coming to a close. New management is taking over and, although they can’t fire me, they can make my life difficult which is how they treat veterans whenever they want a clean slate.
I don’t understand why new managers feel the need to do this, but so it goes.
So again, might be extremely busy for the next month while I find a new career. I may be writing A LOT or writing very little. Sucks, but life goes on.
New Testament scholarship has plenty of quacks. Not only from Christian apologists who argue that everything in the Bible is literal and true, but also from atheists who argue that Paul pulled the entirety of Christianity and Jesus out of his ass. Some argue that there’s no harm in arguing for such outrageous claims (which usually rely on mere conjecture) but that’s simply bad scholarship.
And bad scholarship is just that: bad scholarship. (And honestly, atheists, of which I consider myself, should know better)
Unfortunately there’s just too many holes in New Testament history, and given the nature of its study, it’s understandable that people are going to have some strong opinions. Moreover, new evidence is few and far in between, so scholars sometimes let their imaginations run wild with what scant data there is.
Nevertheless, MOST academics, ranging from the secular to the devoutly fundamental, can agree on a few things: 1st Thessalonians is probably the first Pauline epistle (likely written in 52AD) and the Gospel of Mark is the oldest gospel (likely written just after the destruction of Jerusalem in 70AD). In fact, I’d argue, from the perspective of academia, these dates could almost be deemed ironclad.
Few, if any, from the hardline atheist side (especially the “mythicist” school) would move these dates forward, largely to put as much distance between the (“alleged”) death of Jesus and the first written accounts. In fact, from this perspective, only the most ardent apologist would attempt to do so.
Then there’s Jonathon Bernier’s Rethinking the Dates of the New Testament.
The book was released this year, so I don’t know what it’s academic reception is. But a few armchair scholars are already labeling it a work of apologetics. And that’s a bit too harsh, in my opinion.
Nevertheless, when one pushes the dates of the gospels up by nearly 30 years, it should raise a few eyebrows. Much of this argument hinges on the dates of Luke (and by extension, the Book of Acts), which is largely agreed to be the last synoptic gospel written. I agree with Bernier that the “we” passages in Acts have been a difficult thing for scholars to explain, especially if we want to date Luke/Acts post 90AD. Additionally, Bernier makes a compelling (although not fully convincing) argument that the ending to Acts wouldn’t quite make sense to readers had it been completed sometime after Paul’s death.
Yes, Bernier is a professor at a theology school attached to the University of Toronto (but honestly, those are the only places you can find a job teaching about history of early Christianity and the New Testament). But he certainly doesn’t rely on “apologetics” to make his arguments. You may not find it compelling, but I think the importance of Bernier’s work is to highlight that an earlier dating for the New Testament is not entirely unfounded.
This book may not be a “paradigm shift” in New Testament studies, but the author does ask important questions and the knee jerk reaction shouldn’t be to label it apologetics.
Besides, doubt in god and Christianity shouldn’t hinge on Jesus’s existence or the dating of the New Testament. That’s a weird argument to make. So atheists, particularly ones like myself who can appreciate the New Testament for its historical and (at times) artistic value (as opposed to misusing it by believing it to be some holy document), should be open to reading Jonathon Bernier’s work.
Finally the conclusion to a disastrous story. Let’s just hope we’ve seen the end of this “Christian erotica” sub genre.
Just want to tell you guys that you are all disgusting, deplorable people for making me write this.
“Now that’s what I call a successful camping trip!” John said as he way laying in the hospital bed.
“But John,” Alyssa said, “you were mauled by a bear and violently killed three people. How was that in anyway successful?”
“Well I had a good time.”
The doctor came into the room with a huge smile on his face. “Great news everyone,” he began, “John you will never have use of your right arm again.”
“How is that good news?” John asked.
“Now that you no longer have use in that arm, the excess blood can flow into your massively large penis. You can now achieve a full erection.”
John began to weep for joy. “Thank you Jesus! I knew this had to happen for a reason.”
Alyssa walked up to his bedside and held his hand. “I’m happy for you John,” she said, “maybe you can share some of that happiness with me.”
“What do you mean?”
“John, I kept trying to tell you in the woods: I love you. I want to spend my life with you.”
John squeezed her hand in response. “I feel the same way Alyssa,” he replied. “I was afraid that because my penis is so big and you saw me shit all over myself, I didn’t think you’d like me.”
Alyssa smiled and put her hand to his face. “I love you for you,” she said, then kissed him on the mouth.
But Alyssa couldn’t help but wonder: “Let’s see if what the doctor said is true,” she said. She placed her hand right on his weiner.
John began to pitch a tent underneath the covers.
Then Ted, Geoff, and Becky came into the hospital room. “Hey hey!” Ted said, “We heard the good news.”
John’s boner was standing at full attention, plain as day. Ted placed his hand on John’s penis and began to pray. “Dear lord,” he said, “I just want to thank you for healing Brother John. Please use this wonderful penis for your glory. Amen.”
“Amen!” Geoff said.
“So what are you guys doing?” Ted asked.
“John and I are getting married!” Alyssa replied.
“Hallelujah!” Ted exclaimed. “Were you two about engage in premarital sex?”
“I was thinking about it,” Alyssa said.
“You know that you can always come to me for advice,” Ted said, “I’m your pastor, and I’ve seen a lot of things. And let me tell you: if you’ve never had 14 inches inside of you, you need to be prepared.”
“This is true,” Becky said, “perhaps we should give you a demonstration.”
“Oh?” Alyssa replied.
Becky stripped away the sheets over John, which exposed his bare 14 inch erection. “As your fiancé, Becky,” Geoff said, “I should help you.”
Geoff removed John’s gown and began licking his nipples. “Aaaaaamen!” Ted declared as he began masturbating his penis. Geoff and Becky stripped off their clothes and climbed on top of John.
Becky placed John’s ginormous member between her legs while Geoff sat on his face and got his ass ate out. The two lovers on top began passionately kissing. “I love you baby,” Geoff said to Becky. “I love you too.”
The doctor walked into the room and slapped Alyssa on the back. “Love’s a beautiful thing, isn’t it?”
Two weeks later, John and Alyssa were married. While consummating their marriage, Alyssa experienced her first orgasm. Which is why this story is called The First Coming.
They lived happily ever after.
Geoff and Alyssa’s parents died of starvation in a North Korean prison three months later.
The two grieving siblings never received their parent’s remains.
Guys, honestly, I just want to get through this story as quickly and painlessly as possible. I don’t like it anymore than you do.
But we gotta get through it.
John’s abnormally large penis continued to dangle in the wind the next morning. “I need full mobility,” he said, “if I wore the loincloth, I would be constricted.”
Alyssa didn’t argue as she was ready to return to civilization. She was concerned for her brother, Geoff, who was usually always by her side.
“We’re running out of water,” Alyssa said while they were trekking through the woods.
“You needn’t worry,” John replied as he was urinating in his canteen. “My kidneys work at 100% efficiency. I piss pure water.”
Alyssa took a swig from the canteen. The water tasted as pure as a cold mountain spring. She couldn’t contain her feelings any longer. “John, we need to talk,” she said.
“Not now. I’m about to strangle a raccoon.”
“John I love you. I know that we met last week, but you’re the man I’ve been waiting for. When we get out of the woods, I want to settle down and spend the rest of my life with you. I think God put us together for a reason. Please…please, I hope you feel the same way.”
“My ass!” John screamed as he started writhing on the forrest floor.
“What’s wrong?!” Alyssa asked.
“My IBS is acting up!”
Alyssa began consoling John as he ceaselessly shat himself. To make matters worse, she noticed two small bear cubs investigating the scene. “Please God, help us!” she prayed.
Without warning, the mother bear snuck up and bit into Alyssa’s hair, flinging her several feet away. John, being an experienced survivalist, started to play dead.
The mother bear sniffed John’s body, and bit a chunk out of his shoulder. As he screamed out, she bit into his arm and started shaking him like a rag doll.
As John passed out from shock, the bear began sniffing his buttcrack. Because he was unconscious, he no longer had control of his faculties. Shit started squirting out of his rectum and onto the startled bear. Frightened by the horrendous stench, the bear and her two cubs fled the scene.
Alyssa was momentarily knocked out from the throw. When she awoke, she saw John’s blood and shit soaked body laying unconscious. “John!” she screamed.
She made a makeshift tourniquet using her shirt which successfully stopped the bleeding.
“John! John! Wake up!” Alyssa yelled as she smacked his face.
“Everything will be alright, Alyssa. I’ve been in this situation many times before,” John said as he came to. “Just do as I say: I don’t think I can walk. You’re gonna have to drag me to safety.”
She began to cry. “I don’t think I’m strong enough!”
Using his one good arm, John grabbed her head. “God never burdens us with more than we can handle,” he assured her, “you can do this.”
She nodded and prayed as tears streamed down her face. Using all her might, Alyssa threw John’s arm around her neck and lifted John’s limp body around her shoulders.
“I can’t get cell phone reception out here,” Geoff said as he was floating down river with Ted and Becky.
“That’s because you’re using a Motorola StarTAC. Those things haven’t worked since 1998,” Ted replied.
Becky was sitting restlessly in the middle of the canoe. “I’m sure Alyssa and John are fine. I’m ready to go home. Let the park rangers find them,” she said.
“No!” Ted exclaimed. “I swore an oath to God that I would protect Alyssa’s virginity and I intend to keep that oath!”
“But Alyssa’s not a virgin,” Geoff said.
“How do you know?”
“Because I read her journal and sniff her panty-uhh, I mean-I’m her brother. She tells me these things.”
“Nevertheless,” Ted continued, “if she’s gonna have sex with John outside of marriage, her pastor has to be there to watch it. The Bible says so.”
Becky and Geoff nodded in agreement and continued to watch the river’s edge for signs of John and Alyssa.
“There!” Geoff yelled out.
Several yards ahead was a short topless woman carrying a large naked man around her shoulders. “Praise Jesus and all of his Glory!” Ted cried out.
For the record, you’re going to hell for reading this.
“Great tits,” Geoff said while glancing through his binoculars.
“Excuse me?” Becky asked.
“There’s a titmouse nest in that tree.”
Being spurned by their original canoeing partners, Becky and Geoff were fuming while floating down river. Geoff was trying to forget that his sister was with a strange man. Becky, meanwhile, wanted to make that same man jealous.
She opened her cooler and dug out a few wine shooters.
“Have you ever drank alcohol, Geoff?” she asked.
“Never. The Bible forbids it.”
“But Jesus was a wino,” she replied.
Becky then stripped off her t-shirt, exposing her bikini top. Noticing this, Geoff shifted in his seat to hide his boner. “I think I’ll try one of those,” he told Becky.
“How old are you Geoff?” she asked.
“Have you ever been married?”
“Once. I met her online. I sent her $10,000 and a picture of my butthole. I never heard from her again..”
“Aww. I’m so sorry to hear that,” Becky said. She stood up and removed her shorts, leaving only her bikini bottom. Geoff tried to disguise his glances as he sipped his wine.
“It’s a little warm out here Geoff,” Becky said. “Why are you wearing khaki pants and a pea green polo?”
“The Lord says that we should be modest at all times. I don’t even look at my penis in the shower.”
“God wouldn’t blame you for taking your shirt off.”
Geoff thought for a moment. Finally, he stood up and removed his polo, exposing his white, pasty body and hairy man boobs for God and everyone to see.
“Now that’s much better, isn’t it?” Becky said. “You can take off your pants too.”
Geoff took a deep breath, stood up again, and dropped his khakis. He sat back down in the canoe, wearing only his mildly urine stained tighty-whities.
Staring at his disgusting body, Becky continued to pound the wine. “Maybe we should stop off at this cove,” Becky said. The two paddled towards the river’s edge.
Geoff pulled the canoe out of the water while Becky laid down a towel in the grass. “Why don’t you come sit by me?” she asked. Geoff poked his glasses up to his face and waddled towards her.
Becky was relaxed while Geoff awkwardly sat up with his arms around his knees. “You have nothing to be worried about, Geoff. I don’t bite,” she said.
“Shucks,” he replied, “this is the closest I’ve ever been to a woman, other than my sister.”
Becky cozied up to Geoff and he began to relax a bit. Then she placed her hand on his thigh, uncomfortably close to his dong. “How do you feel about John being with your sister right now?” she asked him.
“Well,” he started to say while adjusting his glasses, “I don’t like it. Mom and Dad wanted me to look out for her while they’re gone.”
Becky took his hand and placed it on her boob. “And how do you feel about your sister?” she asked.
It took a moment for Geoff to gather his thoughts. “Uhh, well,” he said, “she never let me feel her boobs.”
“What do you think about my boobs?”
Becky removed her bikini top and Geoff quickly withdrew his glance. “You can look,” she said. Geoff slowly drifted his eyes towards her chest.
“Have you ever been touched down there before?” Becky asked.
“I touched myself once. It didn’t go well.”
“Well let me try”. Becky then removed Geoff’s disgusting, hole-y underwear which exposed his uncut, partially erect penis. The smell was ungodly.
Becky tried to hold back from vomiting as she placed his pathetic excuse for a penis into her mouth. Geoff thought that this was unnatural, but something was happening…something that he never experienced before. Becky stroked him once, maybe twice. Before he could say anything, 40 years of backed-up semen was UNLEASHED all over her boobs.
“Jesus Christ, Geoff!” Becky screamed.
“Wh-wh-what just happened?! Did we make a baby?”
“You did the right thing, Geoff,” Brother Ted said from behind the bushes. Startled, Becky instantly covered herself. “Were you watching us the entire time?!” she exclaimed.
“Sure was!” Ted said as he climbed out from the bushes. “And while I don’t approve of premarital sex, I think you two handled this perfectly.”
Geoff stood up and dusted the dirt off from his flabby butt cheeks. “How so, sir?” he asked.
“You see,” Ted continued, “Onan unleashed his seed all over the ground, which angered God. But you, Geoff, busted ALL over Becky’s boobs. This pleases God. And never mind my erection, it’s a side effect of my ED medication.”
“So premarital sex is okay?” Becky asked.
“Woah woah woah, I didn’t say that!” Ted said. “For the record, God says that a man should always bust in a woman for the purposes of procreation, and you SHOULD be married for procreation. Let’s just get that out of the way. But there’s a loophole: if two…or more…people are having sexual intercourse, if the man can’t bust INSIDE the woman, he must bust ON her. Additionally, if outside of marriage, all sexual activity must be monitored by one’s pastor. Or, in this case, me. This is 100% biblical.”
Geoff exhaled. “I am so relieved,” he said.
“I can tell! That was a lot of sperm!” Ted said. “But we got bigger problems: Alyssa and John are missing. We must find them before John deflowers your sister without my supervision.”
“No!” Geoff said adamantly. “They must not have any sex whatsoever.”
“Or whatever dude,” Ted said. “I’m just here to move the plot along.”
Look, I’m trying to get to the good stuff (all the nasty sex). But I’m trying to get there organically, alright? Give me a break.
At the campfire, Geoff was playing Nearer, My God, To Thee on his acoustic guitar.
“Maybe you should put that away,” Alyssa told him.
Nine church goers were attending the camping trip in total. Brother Ted walked back to the camp after reliving himself in the river. “Woo! That water’s cold!” he declared.
He sat down at the edge of the fire and took out his Bible. “Being in nature reminds me of the awesome power of God,” Ted said. “But 1 John tells us to hate the world and everything in it. All of it will be destroyed in the Second Coming. None of this matters.” He then grabbed a trash bag and dumped its contents on the ground.
Alyssa tried to get close to John, but it appeared that she had competition. Sister Becky was close to Alyssa’s age. She was the touchy-feely type, laughed at every joke…even when a joke wasn’t being told. Most men responded to her flirty nature, but John was different. Alyssa tried to eavesdrop on their conversation.
“When I returned from Iraq, I successfully underwent conversion therapy,” John told Becky, “I haven’t had those kinds of feelings in nearly 2 years.”
“You’re such a brave man,” Becky responded as she gently touched his arm. Alyssa typically wasn’t the jealous type, but Becky was really trying her.
Everyone began roasting marshmallows and hotdogs but John took out a pork shoulder. He could have easily pulled back the plastic film covering it but used his Bowie knife instead.
“Shouldn’t you cook that before you eat it?” Brother Ted asked. “Nonsense,” John replied as he tore into the meat with his teeth, “God gave our bodies everything we need to digest raw pork.”
Alyssa woke up in the middle of the night to relieve herself. She walked a few yards from the camp and squatted behind a tree. While peeing, she heard painful grunts coming a few feet away.
“Who’s there?” she whispered into the dark. But All she heard was more grunting.
When she finished, Alyssa stood up and began wondering towards the direction of the sound. Behind another tree was John, pants around his ankles, squatting in agonizing pain.
“Are you okay?!” she asked him.
“I feel like my guts exploded!” John replied. He was blasting out one fart after another.
“I’ll go get help!”
“No!” John exclaimed, “I can’t let them see me like this! You gotta help me!”
“What can I do?”
“Just stay here with me.”
Alyssa knelt down beside John and held his hand. He started expelling an ungodly amount of diarrhea out of his anus. The stench was almost unbearable. When he finished, he looked up to her with his bloodshot, watery eyes.
“Thank you,” John said. Alyssa gave him a smile.
Afterwards, he stood up and washed his fecal-covered buttcrack in the river. When he finished, he walked back to Alyssa. As he took her by the hand, he said to her, “You can’t tell anyone about this.”
She nodded in return.
The two went back to their tents. As Alyssa climbed into her sleeping bag, she thought about John and thanked God for giving her such an intimate moment with him.
The next morning, groups were pairing up for the canoe trip. Becky approached John to row down river with her. He paused and scratched his forehead. “Uhh, actually I was planning to go with Alyssa,” he told her.
Becky stood up straight. “Alyssa? Really? But I assure you that I’m a much better rower than her,” she said.
“Good! That’s why you should go with Geoff.”
As Geoff was putting on his life jacket, John grabbed him and paired him with Becky. “Good luck!” he told him, and paddled off with his sister.
“Geoff’s not gonna like that,” Alyssa said, “he’s the jealous type.”
“Sorry, but I figured that I owe you an explanation for last night,” John replied.
“None’s necessary, John. You see, I get the bubble guts too.”
“I don’t think you understand,” he said. “I have IBS…Irritable Bowel Syndrome. So you understand why I hope we can keep this a secret.”
“But why John? Why?”
“Because…,” he gave a long pause, “I was laughed at as a child. Everyone called me Mr.Poopypants. I couldn’t walk 10 feet without poop running down the back of my legs. I had to tape up the bottom of my jeans to prevent turds from slipping out and everyday my pants would fill up with poopoo.”
Tears began to well up in John’s eyes. “Everyone thinks that I’m some kind of hero,” he continued, “but in my own mind, I’m always gonna be Mr. Poopypants.”
With his back against her, Alyssa wrapped her arms around John’s body and placed her head just below his neck. “You’re not Mr. Poopypants to me, John. Your secret is safe. But maybe you should stop eating raw pork.”
John placed his left hand top of Alyssa’s that was resting on his chest. “I’m glad I’ve finally met someone like you,” he said.