The Belle Curve

I decided to visit Catholic Mass.  My mother was pissed off.  She said, “We don’t want to go to church with you. You're Manic.” I replied, “It’s a public place.” I drove my familiar there. Scarlett. She’s a turbo VW and she has no business in these parts but I coax her.  I was cursing myself to hell the whole way there.  “They can’t keep me out!!!!!!”

So I went.  I was a little nervous.  I showed up in a dress cause people treat you better.  At least around here.  Go figure. 

I wandered.  I hoped I wouldn't run into my mother and I didn’t.  I spotted some lady who was cool with me so I plopped it down.  She was all good and sweet and compassionate to my plight.  My mission, in other words.  

So there I sat, Dazed and Confused. I looked on at the dead savior and wondered just what in the blue fuck I was doing there. Then I decided I had to play along. I got myself into it, after all.  I was thinking, “Fuck you!” but I acted right.  They pay the cops around here large to keep you strapped. I mean it. I’m in the ROV.  That’s the Rest of Virginia for those who’ve yet to be initiated.  It’s kind of like a club.  I’m a members only type of gal. 

So here I am with these mummies.  Just like my buddy Scar Face.  I chilled ax.  It was cool but I couldn’t help but to hate that priest.  I was like in my mind, “What kind of man needs to put his cock up like that?” I hated his ass but I still let my ears hear what came out of the dudes mouth.  It wasn’t entirely false witness but still.  He said that we are the messengers of the message.  I liked it well.  I kept looking at the program thing in the slot.  My eye kept keen on the word Mass.  It said, “There’s more to this picture, lady.” I was like, “Fuck you.” 

‘Lady?’ Don’t insult me.  I’m a woman and sometimes I am a very naughty little girl but ‘lady,’ she’s a tramp and I don’t do trains.  At least not lately but they are not off the table.  Seriously, who needs to drive themselves when they have already laid the tracks?

So there I was, The Lady of the Hour.  Fuck, at least I though I was.  Then it was time to do the deal.  I was like, what?  So the chick clued me in and I went for it.  Just for meanest, I did it.  I have no apologies.  My bad.  Okay.  

In went right up to the man.  He was actually handing them out but I made him put in in my mouth and I said, “I wanted the blood.”  He didn’t miss a beat, meaning he beat me at my own game.  He said, “Amen.”  I forget what that means.  Oh, well.  

I rolled out.  I mean I spit it out.  Right into the trash on the way out the damn door.  Then they had blocked me in so I was stuck there like an asshole in their parking lot after I had just blasphemed the fuck out of them.  

I’m not a spitter.  Trust me.  That thing was gonna stick to roof of my mouth and they had no blood for me.  WTF?  I guess it was an off day.  

Meanwhile, since I was stuck I decided to mess with the alter boy dudes.  Red headed twins they were. I told them what I had done and I repeated to them something their benefactor had said in the service about god taking you as you are.  They looked at me like they wanted to spit on me in unison. Their mom was there in her brat wagon to fetch them so they merely walked away from me.  

I judged them harshly.  I judged the priest for his insanity.  I judged the mother for her decision.  I judged the whole catholic industry for putting that figure on that cross for children to bear the sight of.  

I hated them because I have known the stories of individuals who were exposed to that system.  I know the Vatican gives not two shits about the parishioners in large part favoring the cash they throw into the coffers. One story in particular is a horror which will never wash clean even though I have no gory details.  I know he is out there somewhere.  I loved him.  He is carrying that burden as we speak.  

I trust very few people.  For the most part they make no sense to me.