Oh Lordy, Not Me

  When I was a boy, about nine years old, a circuit preacher came to town, and the town council put up a big circus tent at the fair grounds. Come Sunday night the preacher was gonna take names, kick the devil's butt and we were all going to be born again.
  Sure 'nuff, come Sunday night my grandpa took me by the hand and we went to the revival.
  It was old time religion at its finest. Rip snorting, fire and brimestone. Pound the Bible. Grab the Devil by the shirt tail. Barbecue the sinners.
  Scary stuff. Scare hell right out of you. Scare the crap out of you too.
  It was a hot, sticky, summer night night , and there must have been a zillion people crammed into that tent. Weren't no chairs and we were bunched up arm pit to arm pit, like horse flies on fresh cowpies.
  Like I said, I was only nine years old; but I was old enough to know I was in a Holy Place.
  But you know how nine year old boys are. I looked around and I said to myself, "How come? How come if all these people are God's children their arm pits all stink like hell?"
  Arm pits weren't the only stink in that tent. No, siree. Not by a long shot.
  I only stood about elbow high to a low-rider, wheel-chaired midget and my nose was crammed smack up against the butt of a big, fat, old farmer. And every time that farmer raised his arms and bellowed, "Hallelujah", a whole swarm of the Devil's spirits would spew from his butt.
  You can't believe how bad the Devil stinks.
  And that farmer must have been the king of hell raisers, because there was just no end to those evil spirits.
  Finally, I couldn't take it any more. I jerked my head to the side and screamed, "God Amighty."
  Whoa. Badda, badda, boom. That lit up the fires in hell. All the sinners around me thought I was a midget preacher and their faces lit up like neon signs on Las Vegas Boulevard. And they began a chanting, "From the mouth of babes, From the mouth of babes."
  And the preacher, he gets all excited and jumps off the stage. He grabs me by the nap of my neck and drags me up on the stage.
  He's got a death grip on my shirt collar and he's a shaking me like a water soaked puppy. My eyes are rolling around in my head like to marbles in a tin can.
  My head's a flapping like a wringed-neck chicken's and the preacher, he's a kangaroo jumping all around the stage a holler'n, "Did you hear this boy? I say, did you sinners hear this boy praise the Lord? Did you hear this boy"
  Next thing I know he's a squeezing and a hugging me so hard I'm fart'n out of my ears. Then he starts pounding on my head like its his Bible.
  Jumping jeehozephat, before I can even take a deep breath he's got my head jammed in his stinky, sweaty arm pit. Talk about holy kamoly, his arm pit stunk worse than the farmer,s butt.
  My head's jammed in the preacher's arm pit, my legs are flapping in the breeze like a bullfrog trying to swim in a hairy mud puddle and the preacher he's a hoot'n and a holler'n and fandango dancing all over that stage.
  Quicker than you can say, "Amen" the whole place goes wild. The preacher's a booming, "Hallelujah, hallelujah"; the sinners are a screaming, "Its a miracle. Its a miracle."
  And me? Me, I'm praying. "Help me. Help me. God Amighty, somebody help me."
  .