Church
A diary entry from Timothy B. Tanglefrappe, age 10
One sweaty Sunday my parents and I went to church. It was called St. Stephan’s of the Hot Divinity Heart Blessing Burger. It had a drive through. My dad was really impatient and he said that he couldn’t waste time praying all morning because he had beer to drink. So we’d drive through the church and get our prayers biggie-sized. My brother Todd would always pray for a new set of dickle-balls and working turkey-jerky because his were always broken.
My mom would pray for a set of hooters and her job back and a new husband. My dad would pray for her to shut the hell up so he could make his order at the drive up window. My brother Todd tried to make an order with his swanson but my dad rolled it up in the window and it swelled up like a tomato and when it popped some seeds came out and Todd had to pray again.
I don’t think God could hear him because it was really broken.
Other people in the neighborhood went to church too, but they don’t eat burgers. They eat these little wafers that taste like ice cream cones with no sugar and they kneel down a lot. The Italian brothers from across the street go to church all the time, and they’re always coming home and singing about it. Their god is at Suffolk Downs dog track, they say, and they’re always praying to the dog god to win races.
“God bless that-a little sausage dog so I don’t-a have to re-a-mortgage my house!” says one of the brothers.
“God speed you-a fak-um-beety-toots!!” says the other brother, shaking a rolling pin towards heaven and crossing his chest.
Margaret Shatskin goes to church too, but she calls it temple. That means she has to look at my pee-pee all the time to see if I’m circumcised. Circumcised means that my dick is ready for heaven. She says that only circumcised dick-sticks are allowed into her cho-cha because that’s God’s way. She looks at it all the time. I tell her that it’s not going to change, and that Todd’s was self-circumcised when he tripped and fell in the kitchen and landed naked on the electric can opener. It tore his dick to ribbons and it smelled like cat food and looked like a pile of spaghetti.
Margaret took me too one of her temple thingies on a Friday night one time. She had me drink some mankedinkus wine and told me that instead of confession that people like her need to be spanked for each of their sins. She said she had committed 47 sins including touching my circumcision scar to get into heaven.
Mrs. Shatskin came in and caught us and I said it was all in the name of God and she told me to save my hand for later to punish her sins and I peed my pants.
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