Lost Lambs of God.

While sitting under my bridge the other day, I heard the sound of someone approaching. Cautiously I peered out and beheld two nervous youths fidgeting out side my chiuawa skin door flap. I glowered at them threateningly, unhappy at being exposed to direct sunlight with a hangover. Before I could unclip the chain on the large half crazed attack raccoon which I keep for just such purposes however one of the youths shoved a pamphlet into my hand and the pair of them retreated hurriedly. The anguished howls of my raccoon adding much swiftness to their flight. Scratching my head, I pulled back into the comfortable gloom to see what they had given me. It was a religious something or other, blah blah Christ loves the lambs of the Arc who doth make bread out of fish blah de blah. I was about to thrust the pamphlet under my raccoon’s nose in the hopes of giving him the boys sent so he could track them down and gnaw them to shreds, when something caught my eye. A dinner for the lost lambs of god at the Holy Church of the Christ on a Crutch or something…. A free dinner! That I wouldn’t pass up.

I arrived that evening to find the other lost lambs milling around in the church parking lot with hungry looks in their eyes. The Mimes of M. Street were there, as was my old partner at the bank, Jeb. As well as numerous other down an outers. At 7:00 just as straws were being drawn to find out who would be sacrificed as an appetizer, the door opened and a grandly dressed priest bade us enter. I don’t know what the priest was expecting, standing in the door like that, squarely in front of a hungry hobo pack and the promise of food, but to my thinking, the foot prints on his face were well deserved out of shear stupidity. The mob surged into the church, but found only empty tables. As one we turned to stare at the now disheveled priest, and he hurried to calm the masses. “Gently my good lambs, gently” he soothed. “Before the hungry Israelites feasted upon the bread that Jesus did bestow, they first listened to him speak upon the mount.” “Yeah” said a voice in the back, “and look what he got for speaking so damn long to a hungry crowd.” Grudgingly though we took our seats and faced front. The voice of the priest dragged on like a bland muddy river in the large emptiness of the church, the priest gamely raising his voice above the noise of a hundred growling stomachs. A hundred heads nodded forward in boredom, the mood growing uglier by the minuet. (STEAK!!!!! ) screamed the priest!! One hundred heads jerked up! “Steak” the priest continued “was called fish and stale bread in the day of our lord Jesus, so be you thankful for all his little blessings. You know not how good you have it.” Well that was just plain old stupid of the priest. Up until then he might have gone unharmed, but that last remark cooked his Godly goose, yess sir. The place erupted in a riot. Better than one hundred hobos proceeded to tear about, looking for the promised feast, the priest was violently defrocked, his pleas going unnoticed by his lord, the candles by the alter were devoured by the mob. A cadge containing white doves was literally shredded and consumed wire mesh and all. Finally a large bushy hobo tore down a door and we beheld a rather sorry array of second hand food, from wilted vegetables to watery soup. Guarded by a pair of aging nuns. At this point however the rabid pack was beyond caring, the nuns upon seeing our most unholy faces fled sobbing into the night, and soon the sorry repast was inhaled down to the last mushy beet.

It is my sincerest hope. That the lessons taught at this Sunday dinner are heeded by the Church in the future to prevent similar scenes of chaos. For I hold no animosity towards those in the lords service, and no priest should be stripped naked, hung upside-down from his crucifix, and have a pack of hungry Mimes pantomime the shower scene from American History X upon his naked buttocks, while one hundred smelly hobos poke fun at his small manhood. It just isn’t genteel behavior. Live and learn Lamb of God………..