Project Exorcism
Part One: Awaken the Demons
While at work, sitting minding my own business, I get a flag pop-up telling me I have email. Oh goody! I love to read mail. WooHoo! Upon opening it I find, to my immense displeasure, a letter and an attached link telling me that it was not God’s intention that people tattoo nor pierce themselves. Well, thinking of the tattoos and piercings I have, I started to get a bit miffed but clicked on the site anyway to see what was up. Immediately pictures of people flew across my computer screen showing the most rocking piercings! Now what’s wrong with that? you might ask… well further down the page you see a picture of Jesus laying on the Cross and the slogan that he was pierced for a reason "why were you"? Now pissed, I clicked my AOL instant messenger to discuss this with Ryan ::waves to Ryan:: hihi honey! and consequently told him how upsetting it was to me. Now a run-down on my bodily adornments.
- Tattoos:
- Back of neck - flames with a cross in them, surrounded by smoke, all black and gray shadowing/words "Sweet O’Blivion" under it; Mid-Back - 5 x 5 inch Celt cross, all black and gray shadowing; Lower back, upper ass crack area - 3 x 5 black widow spider, black with red hour glass
- Piercings:
- Eyebrow; Nose; Tongue; Ears: 14; Nipples; and Belly
On with the story…
Going back to the letter, I read how I personally did not have any self-confidence and needed Jesus because of how I was "hurting myself" etc… etc… blah, blah, blah, and bullshit… by the end of the letter I was fairly shaking and upset and Ryan was concerned, asking if I was okay. I told him it was now a war as the email happened to come from a person that was instrumental in getting me kicked out of my church. He jokingly, I believe, said I should get some pigs blood and basically go mess them up with it, acting however one does when totally demented.
As soon as he said it my mind clicked. I turned in my chair and rolled over to the bookcase in my office and grabbed the phone book. Frantically I flipped to butchers and finally found a page-full. Grinning a bit evilly, but happy now that I had a course of action, I dialed the first number. Listening to the "NO!" I got from the other end I was puzzled. Who would have thought getting a little animal blood would be so hard? Looking around I saw another likely one and gave it a ring. This time prepared, I told the store owner I needed calves blood (opted for cattle instead of pig… disease you know, from uncooked pork can be deadly) for my dog who had a liver disease, and was anemic. To my delight he agreed to give me as much as I wanted that he had when slaughtering. (at this time I have to take a break to laugh maniacally… MUAHAHAHAHAHA wooo okay better)
Part Two: The Set-Up
At this point, I checked my mail at home through the net and found another email not to me but a conversation "logged" between this idiot and one of his henchmen talking about me. This further fueled me into a frenzy of wanting revenge for making me feel bad for one thing, for a decision I had made (the tattoos and piercings) but also upset me that someone in the church had that much "power" to be able to have people thrown out on the suspicion they might be involved in some type of activity that might sully the churches reputation. (I was told when I was thrown out I was a bad influence as I prefer to wear the colour black and my fingernails are painted black most of the time if not blood red etc…)
Picking up the phone, I got a pleasant voice on and called the perpetrator himself. Pleadingly, I asked if it were possible if he and his friend could pray for me the following night at the church. I admitted I needed "help" and thought they would be the best ones to help me get this sin out of my life. In a Fatherly voice, he told me he would see me at eight with a few others to help me. Grinning evilly, though my voice remained quite sad and sweet, and of course, pleading, I told him I’d be there at around 8:00 PM. Hanging up, I got back on AOL IM and told Ryan what was up. He thought it quite wonderful and I told him I’d be getting my flat-mate involved as well, as she was also kicked out along with me at the time. She, being an American in a foreign country, was a bit cautious, thinking she’d be deported after hearing what I had planned, but agree wholeheartedly that it should be done. (Now I pause again to shout out, just because it is in my head, SANCTIMONIOUS, SELF-RIGHTEOUS SONUFABITCHES ::blinks and stretches:: very nice, now on with the show kids)
Part Three: The Day of Reckoning
Sitting at my desk all day was hard as I knew what it was I had planned and I looked around at all the "normal" folks working along with me. I noticed most screen savers had some slogan about Jesus, family, the church or God in general, even going so far as one co-worker having one that says "God Bless My Pets" (?????) on hers. o.O Anyway, I glanced at mine and saw the bright red words, Celt font and black background with the words "My co-workers do not know that I am a closet serial killer!" on it.
I looked inwardly for about two seconds then did a mental shrug and got on with the day ’till the hour descended upon me to get my shit in gear and go get saved from my inner demons. Picking up my backpack I wandered on down to the bathroom in my office building and slid inside wondering how many workers were still ’round. I slipped out of the everyday office gear of… umm, starburst bleached blue jean pipes and green t-shirt… sandals and toe rings? (okay, I try to dress nicely at work, but just did not feel like ironing today!!) and slipped into a little something I like to call goth/slut wear.
Extremely short, ass-bearing shorts, black of course, a leather halter also black, very thin, belly-showing, nipple rings pressed up against it, the back crisscross strings tattoos in full view, and combat boots. Smiling at this outfit, I put my hair up in two pony tails on the sides so it would not cover my tattoos as my hair is ass length and got out my palest ivory face powder and went to work. Black eyeliner round the eyes, very dark and blood red lipstick and I was back to everyday non work normal. Bondage collar (borrowed from my flatmate Angel, as I couldnt find any of mine! and hers has a deadly big silver ring in the center of the throat) and wrist cuffs, black leather with silver rings completed the outfit. Humming softly, I left the bathroom, frightened some office folk and placed a call for a ride over to the church. Passing the last of the frightened workers on my way out, I took out the cherry blow pop I was saving for the church and handed it over. Figured I owed it to her for scaring the skin off her. And off I went.
Part Four: The Execution of a fuckin’ good plan
Looking up at the old stone church I did have thoughts of telling the driver of the taxi to leave, but as I saw the main player standing out on the stone steps I hardened my resolve and tossed the money over the seat to the drivers delight not waiting for the ten punt change. Opening the door, I slid a long bare leg out and watched "his" face, the fucker in charge, and grinned seeing his eyebrow go up to his hairline. Smiling, I got out and bounced on up to him. (at this point reader when I say bounce I mean bounce, no bra you know, being a backless halter and ass hangin out)
I stand now in front of the fucker as I’ll call him from here on out and smile at him holding my backpack. Told him I was ready to "change". He led me in the foyer looking at me oddly, probably wondering at my choice of dress so I skipped along in front of him still bouncing running my fingertips along idols and basically twitching my ass all over the place. He told me we’d be meeting in the sanctuary with two others. I’ll call one "The Weasel" this being his right hand, and "The Organ Player" a dried up ole bitch who hated me anyway as when I was in church I sorta I got a bit more attention than she did in her cotton print dress playing the organ, me in my jeans in church dancing round to the old hymns. We settled down at the front of the sanctuary and I looked up seeing all the ornaments and idols then the Jesus… and I looked away hoping he’d forgive me for putting these people in their places.
They started off wanting me to confess my sins so I rambled off a list of terrible, rotten things which the organ player gasped at and it sorta echoed, the ceilings being sorta high (short list, not all, and away we go: fooking, smoking weed, taking pills, spanking people [hey they wanted me to], cursing at anything that moves, masturbation at least once a day in my office or at home depending when the mood strikes me, calling people and using "war dialer" so as not to pay long distance bill, cybering and several other things as well as telling how much I had daydreamed of fucking [stops at this point thinking is it too far?] but then one can never go too far can one? the chior)
Well, the praying started, and I opened an eye, seeing everyone was sitting with eyes closed so I slid my hand in my backpack grabbing the two small plastic baggies I had put the calves blood in and had kept in the fridge (couldnt bear the thought of hot calves blood) and slid one in my mouth the other in my hand. I started off small… making a few annoying noises and putting my head down while "trembling". The Weasel put his hand on my shoulder and started praying louder as if to invoke me to silence I think. His hand on me making me shudder I pitched my noises a bit louder and started to make tiny convulsing movements. At this point I think the trio got a bit frightened as two of them stood up and the third stopped praying. I opened my eyes and flung my head back then looked frantically at them while grabbing my chest and stumbling up only to topple into the main player, the fucker.
I grabbed at his chest and bit the small packet in my mouth and virtually vomited calves blood on his face. (the small plastic baggies were courtesy of a drug dealer I know who traffics heroin… nice lad, thought the whole thing very funny when I explained out what I wanted to do) coughing and sputtering, I screamed I was dying, that demons were coming out making a huge racket and flailing and fell to the floor rolling about at their feet. The organ player screamed very loudly (give her a ten for pitch) so I scrambled up and hung onto her shoulders pleading, blood running down my lips, chest and all, and thus popped the other packet down her cotton print leaning over and biting it while fake coughing.
At this point the three were in a frenzy and The Weasel prayed really loudly for Satan to come out of this child (me). I fell to the floor and feigned unconsciousness. All went still as I lay on my belly trying not to snicker in glee. I was poked a bit and there were whispered comments that I may be dead and to call an ambulance and hospital. Suddenly having had enough fun I rolled over and started laughing like a mad thing, looking at them. To say they jumped back like I was a snake would be an understatement. I suppose when I yelled out: "don’t be sending me anymore fookin’ emails yu bloody shites" they caught on I was faking. The end to this whole fracas comes with me flicking one of my nipple rings through my halter then being yelled at that I am going to hell and me grabbing my backpack and running like hell outta there laughing.
Dear reader… I must say it was fun. The moral of the story is what though?
DON’T FUCK WITH ME YOU HYPOCRITES!
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