Today, we brought "snacks." I guess that's what it's called. OK, actually, they're "refreshments." See picture. Following, pictures will be posted after food is named. (I.e., "These are muffins," then the picture.)We brought Pumpkin Chocolate Chip Muffins, which I baked last night (enough to feed a shipload of pirates! Or at least half a shipload! Depending on the size of the ship, of course, and which meal they were being served for)...
And pinwheel sandwiches (that's what I call them, at least; I don't have a better name thought up)...
(Note that you spread cream cheese on the tortilla, then only put meat and cheese on half of it, and they're very difficult to roll if you skimp on the meat, and you're going to lose 1-1.5 inches on either side- that's the preparers reward!)
...sugar cookies (my mom attempted to upstage Manny, the Hitman's wife, who brought sugar cookies baked with love and frosted with joy and peace; my mom has most likely started a war with her which may fare badly for both parties. Did I mention that I recently discovered that Manny is not evil, but instead is just shy?)...
And Celery Marrow Bites. I guess it's celery cut in half to look like a split bone with marrow in the middle. She's weird. Why on earth she would want to copy an animal product (split marrow leg bones) with vegetables and peanuts, I will never know. Only God knows what the raisins and craisins are. I guess maybe marrow has lumps in it. Picture below.
The muffins fared well, but they'd fare better around Halloween. The celery marrow bites all disappeared. Oh, my mom just informed me, that the celery marrow bites are in fact called "Ants on a Log"...well, I've been wrong before. This is a second time. OH, NO I DIDN'T!
The pinwheel sandwiches did very well as the main push. People filled up on them, then went to feast on the muffins, and as an afterthought, the cookies and the ants on a log. Why my mom would want to call them ANTS on a log is beyond me. Why not just call them "large pregnant cockroach bites?" Seriously, mom, call them something appetizing- like celery peanut raisin bites. Or celery butter raisin smackers, or something good, not sugar coated locust crunchies or octopus ink encrusted lobster brain bites.
Someone tried to upstage us. A man named "John," if I remember correctly. OK, I know who that is. There's 12 people named David, 17 people named Don (one of them has a blog), and 15 people named Suzie, yet only one person named John. I am going to overnight him a fist in the mail (it's like blowing somebody a kiss, but it hurts like hell), and I'll mark it "For John's Face Only." He won't know what hit him, as fists, even when overnighted, tend to evaporate quickly when opened, and aren't always visible! Hahaha! Take that!
[John, if you're reading, thanks for bringing those donuts! We'll have to start supplementing our refreshment days with donuts, as the hoards seem to like those a lot. Foolproof contention of the masses. I think "contention" is akin to "contentment."]
After Sunday School and the main sermon- i.e., at the end of the church day- the Hitman asked me if I have any questions. He knows I'm attempting to work my way through Romans (I asked him for some help last week), and I got obliterated by Romans 1:17- to Romans 2. The whole chunk there jabbed me like a spearthrower (from the Latin, one who throws spears) in heat. Yeah, I guess spearthrowers go into heat. How else do spearthrowers reproduce?
Speaking of reproduction, I asked him to introduce me to (tell me who they belong to) the short stops running all around there, and in a roundabout way, asked him where babies come from. I had earlier told him that we neutered a baby male goat with a rubber band (whew, that's a mental image), so I should have some grasp of it. My mom says it's just like a goat reproduces, but I understand it completely different. I guess it could go down like that, but typically human females give birth in hospitals or at least indoors, not on a bed of their own feces with some jerk with a camera hovering over them and telling them to "Just push harder, stupid! You can do it! Push! Heave, ho!" But it may be that that's just my limited understanding. Was that sacribirtial?
He said, "Look, Kev, I know you're going to pull that verse on me and tell me I have to be your slave because I am a dishopon, but why don't you just let me bring you some DVDs I have which go through Romans?"
I am pretty sure I didn't pee my pants. "Wow, shiny DVDs?" I asked. "Things that show thousands of pictures in only a few minutes of time, strung together with AWDEEO?" "Yes, Kev, you don't need to say 'audio' like that, what's wrong with y-" "Wow! That'd be fantastically, monumentally webstratificatic!" (web-stratifeh-catic) He's funny; you can make up stuff and he assumes it's computer terminology. Heh heh heh, sucker. He asked if I could burn DVDs, I said, "My computer is the bomber, and 'perfectly furnished unto all good works!'"
There was a pause.
No, a longer pause.
That's about how long.
"...so, it can burn DVDs?" "Uh, yeah." "OK, then you can just take the originals and burn yourself a copy." "Sounds great! Thanks, Hitman! Very much! Btw, you should know, I do have this nasty habit of snapping discs in half anytime I take them out of a drive of sorts when I'm excited, but aside from that, I can copy them and give back the originals." "Uh, Kev, don't break the discs in half." "Yeah, I probably won't, I only do that if I'm really stoked." "Yeah, OK, make sure you're not really stoked before you take them out, alright?" "OK. Otherwise, you'll kill me, right?" "No, Kev, you'll just get a pie thrown in your face."
But what kind? A gunpowder pie with a lit fuse?
In other news, Kile II is starting a blog! I don't know what he'll blog about, but it scares the festering bear blood out of me. (It's a long story, one that I made up; when you're in the forest, and you need a blood transplant...)
After Sunday School (I bold those so you know when these conversations occur, because they're not all in order, as this is one long post), we had a good long conversation about it. I don't have his email and I'm not sure when he'll start blogging, but I think we gave him enough guidance. We're very eager to
In other other news, at least one church member is just sure that I'm gay, and...actually, that quite sucks! THAT'S IT, I'M GOING DRESSED AS A COWBOY NEXT WEEK, JUST TO SHOW THEM! That'll never backfire due to Hollywood! Those fools can't ruin my plan this time!
Hey! My brother just acknowledged that I am a man. He has this mindset that if I am a man, then he is a boy, and if he is a boy, then I am a man. I don't really consider myself a man yet. When I'm able to rear a family, then I'll consider myself a man. Pastor taught on how mothers and fathers are supposed to train children today. Man, I got like, everything wrong. Apparently, TV does not raise children or teach them morals. Who knew?
In the middle of the Sunday Sermon, I had to get up during the service to get my mom some Kleenex. I had to walk right by Pastor. Apparently, he felt his territory was threatened, because he leaned over sideways and shook real violently and spread his arms; his jacket made him look like a bat of sorts. I can only assume that he was trying to puff himself up to appear more of a threat. I got the Kleenex- he watched, stone cold- then he went through the same routine after I passed him on the way back. Apparently, he was trying to keep me from the pulpit or something on it, as he circled it in an arc keeping himself between it and me. He then put his balled fists on the side of his ribcage and proudly walked/pranced around in a circle pawing the ground.
That's probably the weirdest thing I've ever seen him do. [Btw, did I mention, this post gets a "I probably made that up" tag.]
I also saw something incredibly cute today, before Sunday School. Little kids- small things, like 2-3 years old- amaze me. They're so stupid, but they're cute, so they make up for it (keep in mind, I've never changed a diaper in my life.) I am unsure of who the child belonged to, but a 2-3 year old was carrying something- distracted by it- and smashed, forehead first, into the wall. "She just ran into the wall!" I exclaimed. I don't know if that causes brain damage or what. "Yeah, they're little, they do that," Pastor said. "Wow...they're like those robotic carpet cleaners," I marveled.
Next Q&A, they'll be hosting a soup dinner/crockpot potluck. Wiggy. Pastor says that I can't cook for it, and I don't get any soup. Hah hah, he's so silly! I'll bring some gumbo with white and brown rice. They'll be so happy. I better bring our biggest pot full of it. "Wow, Kev- we brought potato soup, chicken soup, and you brought spicy gumbo soup" and I'll be like, "Yeah, all praise be to God, for I have double-jointed thumbs which I can bend more effectually than other fellows of the lewd baser sort!" (I'm hearing this terminology, and it takes me a while to learn to use it correctly.)
Pa and my brother stayed home today. They either hate bringing
Curse his bones. OK, fine, bless his bones. Man, is this just a long post...or is it my imagination?
3 comments:
Hahahahahahahaaaa, you are too funny. BTW, Pastor didn't fluff up like a bat, that was just your imagination. Thanks for obeying your parent and getting that Kleenex for me yesterday morning. Love ya, Mom P.S. I have pictures of the cute little sugar cookies on my camera's card.
You know, I don't remember the pastor doing exactly like you discribed. I rflr... rfl... whatever the acronym is, it was very funny. I would like to see a pastor do those things sometime, but not our pastor.
Lol, yes, I would agree- I'm glad he didn't really do it. We would have to take him out back and beat him.
Did you hear everyone muttering while I took the "walk of shame?"
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