I know you're thinking this thread must be a sick joke, but my a$$ is in a sling so to speak, and I'm afraid that only massive intercessory prayer can get me out of this one. I was out drinking last night with some of my pre-salvation friends, hoping to deliver the Gospel to them in the only idiom that they really understand, the drunken stupor. The evening didn't quite play out the way I had planned, though.
I'm not sure what the sequence of events was, but, somehow, I wound up with a tattoo of Pastor Deacon Fred on my rear end. Now, I probably would have kept this unhappy discovery to myself and gone in for a laser tattoo removal, but it seems that I was dropped off by my earstwhile friends, buck naked, in a shopping cart on Deacon Hardwick's front yard, only to be discovered by Mrs. Hardwick as she went about her early morning chores. I'm sure you can imagine her surprise when she discovered Pastor Deacon Fred smiling up at her from inside a Piggly Wiggly cart on her lawn at 4:00 am.
The good Deacon (as I can now attest from personal experience) does not take this sort of thing lightly. Long story short, my posterior is now both tanned and adorned with an image that, given the contrast between its lofty subject and its unfortunate anatomical position, can only be considered a sacrilige of the highest order.
It appears to me that there are only two honorable (or practical) courses of action. The first, joining the Landover mission to the Aleuts in Alaska, where I'm not likely to run into Deacon Hardwick (or, heaven forbid, Pastor Deacon Fred) on a regular basis, is a workable solution, but I'm not sure that I want to be simultaneously indecorously decorated and frostbitten. The second is to receive a healing from the Lord to remove the offending artwork. Unfortunately, I think that, right now, I don't stand much higher in the Lord's esteem than I do in Deacon Hardwick's, so I can use all of the help I can get.
If you have it in your heart, I implore you, please pray for a cleansing of my derriere, and the faster, the better. And Lord, if you are listening, get me out of this mess and I will never, ever, drink again.
I'm not sure what the sequence of events was, but, somehow, I wound up with a tattoo of Pastor Deacon Fred on my rear end. Now, I probably would have kept this unhappy discovery to myself and gone in for a laser tattoo removal, but it seems that I was dropped off by my earstwhile friends, buck naked, in a shopping cart on Deacon Hardwick's front yard, only to be discovered by Mrs. Hardwick as she went about her early morning chores. I'm sure you can imagine her surprise when she discovered Pastor Deacon Fred smiling up at her from inside a Piggly Wiggly cart on her lawn at 4:00 am.
The good Deacon (as I can now attest from personal experience) does not take this sort of thing lightly. Long story short, my posterior is now both tanned and adorned with an image that, given the contrast between its lofty subject and its unfortunate anatomical position, can only be considered a sacrilige of the highest order.
It appears to me that there are only two honorable (or practical) courses of action. The first, joining the Landover mission to the Aleuts in Alaska, where I'm not likely to run into Deacon Hardwick (or, heaven forbid, Pastor Deacon Fred) on a regular basis, is a workable solution, but I'm not sure that I want to be simultaneously indecorously decorated and frostbitten. The second is to receive a healing from the Lord to remove the offending artwork. Unfortunately, I think that, right now, I don't stand much higher in the Lord's esteem than I do in Deacon Hardwick's, so I can use all of the help I can get.
If you have it in your heart, I implore you, please pray for a cleansing of my derriere, and the faster, the better. And Lord, if you are listening, get me out of this mess and I will never, ever, drink again.
Comment