Karma

Growing up every time someone pissed off my Grandmother she used to say “You better be glad I’m saved.”


I always thought it was funny to imagine my Grandmother going around bitch slapping people because Jesus wasn’t in her life. Instead she went to church four or five times a week. She gossiped behind people’s back. She took her physical fustrations out on moping floors and beating the dusts out of rugs. Jesus was always there by her side like a parole officer I guess waiting for her to fuck up and lose holiness so that he could send her to hell. I wondered before she was saved what type of woman was Grandma. Was she in a street gang?

I recently decided to get me some spiritually like ordering knives off the QVC channel because in the moment it felt like I needed it. I guess I wanted to be a better person. I was tired of celebrities getting all the credit. I wasn’t going to adopt an African baby but I could at least smile at people.

One day after a night of binge drinking I decided to go to church. Well I was just getting home and I passed several churches on a daily basis I decided to stick my head in and see what was happening. First, I learned they do not allow liquor. I found that contradictory because what I remember as a child Jesus blood was liquor. I didn’t fight usher on the issue and just discarded my bottle of snapps. I decided to sit in the back of the church because I didn’t want to bring any attention to myself. As I stumbled to find the perfect seat I tripped on my feet and knocked the pew over. Everyone in the church turned around and sneered. The ushers rushed over and helped me. They asked me if I needed some water or coffee, I really wanted a burger. I promised them I was okay.

As I sat listening to the sermon I realized church was really fucking boring. I couldn’t sit still. I kept nodding off. I couldn’t imagine why anyone would torture themselves every Sunday. I decided to leave. I stole a bible and left.