Three Inane Days

The impassive Midwestern landscape told the story. Samantha and I drove home for another of her family's weddings. One cousin after the next falls into an emotional state that can only be described as temporary insanity, and then scurries to the alter to promise to remain in that state for the remainder of their lives. Rare entertainment value the first few times you witness it, but, after you follow suit, it loses its luster. Mildly entertaining, but, mostly, mundane. It was a Methodist wedding, at least. The whole thing lasted about 20 minutes. The centerpiece of three inane days.

I've never found religion particularly interesting, and I think people that make a carnival out of what they do, or do not, believe are vividly vulgar and disgusting. Seriously, what the fuck do you care what I believe or don't believe? Go fuck yourself with your ostentatious displays of feverish faith, or your declarations of intellectual superiority because you don't believe in a paternal superior being floating around in the sky. I'm sick of both groups of people. Judge for yourself, make your own decisions and, then, keep it to yourself. They call it a personal belief system for a reason, you know?

I only bring this up because I was alternately accosted by the two respective groups of people this weekend.

We're sitting there, in the church waiting for the pastor, or whatever Methodists call them, to wrap up his sermon. Just sort of absently gazing around, I catch the gaze of another gentleman. He rolls his eyes. Makes the gesture with his hand that says yakkity-yak. You know the one I'm talking about. I nod shallowly and avert my gaze. Pull my cell phone out of my pocket, send a couple of text messages, and return it to my pocket. Whatever.

Outside the gentleman approaches me and says,

"I can tell you don't believe any of that God shit either." I find Samantha and wave. She waves back. I smile politely uninterested at my new found irritant, but don't say anything.

He knocks my arm, "You know what I mean? Like there's a God." It suddenly occurs to me that this guy probably has a beer or two in his car, and my brother-in-law and I were looking to have a couple before we headed to the reception, which was three hours away.

"Got some brews," I ask finding my brother-in-law about 20 feet away. I beckon. He comes. He knows the look. I scored.

"I got brews and all kinds of shit in the Rover." He says. Another pretentious fuck who thinks the world gives a shit that he's paying too much for transportation. Matt walks up with a wayward glance in my direction, extends his hand and says,

"Matt."

"Bobby."

"Simon."

Bobby asks, "Is your name really Simon?" I smile. I get that a lot.

"Simon says, take me to your imbibe." We laugh.

We're sitting on the back of his rather posh Rover, drinking beer very much in the open, when I get a wild hair up my ass.

"So, Bobby, you're not a believer?" Matt's head snaps in the direction of Bobby. Matt's a true blue Catholic. Except for the drinking, premarital sex, or any other part that doesn't suit him.

"I'm a devout atheist," says Bobby. "You?"

I shrug and start rifling through his CD collection.

"Do you seriously not believe in God,"Matt asks.

"Do you seriously believe in that shit," Bobby asks. I was in the express lane to a world-class headache.

"Got any Dennis Brown, or Black Uhuru?" I ask. I tilt the beer and take a deep drink. Fucking religious conversations have no practical meaning or use.