Yes Father Please Do

Congruently disseminating and amid the crude dissonance, I rubbed upon the weathered beads while my back bone complained of the wooden pew. I demurred in my doting youth against the clergy and here I find myself staring at old, hard bubble gum on the floor inside the house of god, in the shape of Golgotha. The years have taken their toll upon my countenance. From a little village in France, to the hell they call Hollywood. I, Smegor Gamsa, who once crawled upon the hard, cold soil like a roach, here now in the land of the stars. My mothers’s monstrous moaning in her deathbed still resounds in my mind. Father would have laughed himself to death had he seen me this way. Bastard. Forgive me…listen to me, talking to myself. I have long ago stopped believing in all this nonsense. And yet here I remain, an important person in the eyes of these idolatrous peasants. The starving, the hungry, the weeping and the wanting…what a disgusting drudge of drones. I smile as I swallow my own vomit at their pleading eyes. ‘Father, say a prayer for me, will you?’ Fools these slaves be. I suppose I should have a little more compassion–all things considered.

“Father Gamsa, will you please come inside?”

“Yes, my son, allow me a few minutes to enjoy our Lord’s beautiful handiwork. Just look at those clouds, will you? How can a man deny the existence of our savior?”

“Yes, Father. I am in awe of his paintbrush and all–“

“Yes, yes, and all of that. Give me a hand. These steps always kill me.”

“Yes, Father.”

“I need you to take me to the stars again.”

“Yes, Father.”

 

Young girls in roller skates stride on by yelling and giggling a guttural melody as the sidewalk tiles keep a backbeat on their song. Blonde and brunette hair flowing under a California sun. Children holding on to their parent’s hands firmly as they cross the street. Beat up automobiles tailgaiting neon-green lamborghini, here the vermin crawl side by side with villainous trust fund trollops. I walk on the stars from time to time. Names of mighty men now forgotten. There used to be a great Thai restaurant called Mama Siam across the street from the Greyhound station over there. A crying shame the way the world is changing.

“Father?”

“Yes, Memed?!”

“You’ve been quiet for an hour now.”

“I like to think, young man.”

“What is it you think about, Father?”

“Your mother sucking my cock.”

“What that, Father?”

“I’d like to walk a few more blocks.”

“Oh, okay. Well, we should be turning back, it’ll get dark soon.”

“You know, you really know how to ruin a wet dream.”

“A wet what, Father?”

“Scene! You really know how to ruin a great scene.”

“Yes, Father. I apologize.”

“Yeah, yeah. Get the damn car and come pick me up, I’ll be here on this bench resting my feet.”

“Thats like a mile back, Father.”

“What’s your point?”

“Of course, Father. I will return as soon as I can.”

“Well, hurry up about it.”

 

“Hey, priest dude.”

“Yes, child?”

“You’re fucking stupid,” said a young boy with tattoos on a skateboard. Surrounded by his companions they belted in laughter and patted each other on the back.

“I will pray for you child.”

“Pray for my mother, that she gets D.P.’ed in hell.”

“D.P.?”

“Double Penetration, dude. Gee, you priests need to get hip, man. Shit, I mean, what era do you guys live in?”

“Yes, yes…god bless you.”

They mounted their skateboards and sped away in all their glorious youth. One of them had a big pentagram on the back of his denim vest drawn in black marker. I ran into the guys from The Church Of Satan once. Back in ’79–or was it ’88? I was not wearing the ridiculous garb I have on now when we crossed paths. It was in a bar called The Frolic Room. Handsome fellow named Floyd Mice bought me a beer and answered all my questions when I spotted the rune banner on his left arm. The more he drank the friendlier he got. All pretty smart fellows. Even the blonde girl who seemed a bit unsure of herself, the way she clung to her mutant-looking boyfriend.

“I need to piss, buddy. Care to join me?”

“Join you?”

“Yes, man, are you deaf? It’s gonna snow in there.”

“Snow?”

“Oh, christ, buddy–I got some good fucking cocaine.”

“Oh, right. I mean, well yeah. Of course yo do.”

“Follow me, dude.”
I remember it like yesterday. That young man had the sweetest mouth the way he placed my member in it and savored it like a hungry refugee in Zimbabwe. His black leather boots gripping the dirty concrete floor as he put some work in. I remember wondering how he got them so shiny as he kept purposely choking and gagging.
God, was I ever that young? They had an amazing philosophy. Hell, I almost went with them. All that black clothing though…I don’t think–

“Father, I have been honking over ten times for you now.”

“Oh, shut the hell up, young man. I’m coming.”

“Yes, Father, please do.”

∞