In the Name of the Depraved Spirit

In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Depraved Spirit

There was a screeching noise, some yelling, and 50 mph, 90 degree turn into a packed parking lot. I had arrived. I look at my cell phone. It's 12:23. Perfect timing. I walk to the back of church and slump against the wall with all the enthusiasm of a convict entering a police lineup. The priest is mid-homily. "My father died before I was born!" Oh great… I doze off for a second…

And I am awakened by singing. Faceless masses all humming the same song. No expression. They’re all robots entranced by some nefarious tune, their faces are clear slates as the music throbs and pulses and the room starts spinning, my face drips with sweat. Or is it blood? Holy shit, it’s Luke Whalen! I cradle my head in my arms and hope for the turbulence to pass… The music quiets down. The priest starts babbling once more. I poke my head up and…

Surrounded by insanity! A seemingly innocent baby, barely one, sits in cute silence... And then explodes. Into raptor noise making mode. I watch it begin to slowly unhinge its jaw, spurt fangs, and don the crazed look of a carnivorous animal who has gone days without food. I try to sit still, try to concentrate, but I'm on edge. There's a small prehistoric animal behind me, how can I listen to Jesus?! It's older than Jesus, for Christ's sake! I fidget and twitch, drawing glairs from madam superior. “You never go to church she says, make this worthwhile!”

“But Ma’am, how can I concentrate when at any moment this child could leap across the pew, firmly lodge itself to my soft, fleshy throat and proceed to devour all the most tender meat with my body, saving the rest for its increasingly hostile looking family?”

More screeching, the dinochild is getting violent, flailing its arms around, puffing up its already red, grotesque face.. Next thing I know it's spewing caustic juice from its eyes. Lord, how does this happen in Your house? It yells more raptor obscenities and begins drooling, probably in preparation of its attack. It rears back its pudgy head, hisses fiercely,  and.. is pacified... With a.. pacifier.

All is good. I can concentrate on Church. I slowly turn my gaze towards the alter. I start to pray for God to save me from all that plagues this hellish place I am stuck in. It is time for communion. I walk up to the minister, an old, shriveled looking woman with a butch hair cut and an abundance of hair above her upper lip. She lifts up the host “The Body of Christ” she mumbles, I stumble into a most impressive bow and mumble “Amen” back at her, transfixed on her impressive ‘stache. She gives me a fierce leer and keeps the Eucahrist suspended in the air, refusing to deposit the holy token in my cupped hands. As here gaze bores into me I know that she has issued a challenge. I look back at her, meeting the eyes of the Communion Nazi, unblinking. She makes a sound that is part cough, part sneeze and all malice and when I fail to flinch she grimaces and hands over my circular prize. I pop it into my mouth and proudly strut back to my seat.

Once I am situated I decide it is time to people watch, as that is the real reason anyone goes to church. I see a girl. Not just any kind of girl. The super short skirt, gobs of crusty makeup and low-cut tanktop are the badges of a whore. I let my gaze linger for a second and I realize something. Jumping Judaism! That girl can't be more than twelve! I quickly advert my eyes, barely managing to keep down my Eucharist. What kind of child dresses like that?..  She must be some sort of prostitute. And a cheap one at that!

Babbling now surrounded me. Squealed, nonsensical "words" filled my ears. I looked to the pew in front of me and found a blond haired, blue eyed 6-year-old spewing nonsense and moving around as if he were underwater, all the while giggling for no apparent reason. "I-have-go-soup-airplane-[giggle]TOMATO!" My thoughts were racing. Is this the innocent nonsense of any normal toddler? No, he is far too old. Is this child a special case? No, he has none of the normal physical characteristics of such a person... And then it donned on me. The cruel and blasphemic truth of things. The boy had trippy green bandage on his left arm... One that covered his vein on the crook of his elbow..

Under normal circumstances a wound in such a place denotes the child has been properly vaccinated. But this was no standard injection. No, this child was another psychotic heroin addict! Here he is, foaming at the mouth! Born a crack baby and evolved into the harder shit. Just another raving, drug craving lunatic to fill our streets, a druggy in a little boy’s clothing. Look into his eyes. See that? Red and worn. The face? Flushed.  Watch him bob and weave, dancing when there is no music and giggling when there is no joke.  A tragic soul helpless and depraved from birth, descending into the pits of sheer madness. Watch him chew on his blanket, as if it is the only stable thing in his hazy world. Watch him fall down, his 3-dollar-hit-of-heaven causing him to descend into a drug induced coma… You know, there is nothing in all the world more peaceful than a slumbering crack baby.

… So, how was your Father’s Day?