a witness (left) attempts to dispatch himself rather than live with the horror of perpetual grinning. Note that his comrades appear markedly oblivious to his suffering.
Je•ho•vah's Wit•ness
noun
"a member of a Christian sect (the Watch Tower Bible and Tract Society) founded in the U.S. by Charles Taze Russell (1852–1916), denying many traditional Christian doctrines (including the divinity of Christ) but preaching the Second Coming of Christ, and refusing military service and blood transfusion on religious grounds."
Often turning up on the doorstep unannounced, and seemingly impervious to polite rebuttal, these 'witnesses' seemingly operate best in pairs, or tiny aggressive scouting parties. Notoriously difficult to shift having gained an initial foothold, their second coming often precipitates a singular war of attrition on the domestic occupant. The outcome is often bleak. Introducing pornography by way of decoration may yield a positive result, but is by no means guaranteed.
Often misidentified as 'mormons' - or devotees of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints - with whom they share a resemblance to the scratchings of Robert Crumb, biblical illustrator, and despite the austerity of their practice, many 'witnesses' are often unaccountably smiling:
a symptom, perhaps, of "sardonicus rictus', a terminal deformity commonly referred to as "Willy Loman Syndrome".
2 comments:
I once lived down a lonely country lane... nothing much in front of me and only an old graveyard beyond.
The house had a fence that had to be entered to get to the door, inside the fence was a loving gentle Golden Retriever with some puppies.
One day I saw an old woman standing up on the road looking lost... I hurried out to help as I couldn't believe what gawd awful circumstances would find her stranded in the middle of no where.
As I passed the tree line, I saw she was not alone...I saw the Watchtower in her hands.... I remember something about them not wanting to tangle with a bitch dog with pups.... but I was busy getting my behind back inside that gate and into the house.
I have never once been bothered here at Rancho, I'm only two blocks from the town square... many times I have sat here and witnessed a couple of Mormons stopped in front of Rancho on their bikes...looking and talking... before they hurry off.
I'm sure they expect to be met at my door by an old hermit woman sporting a Confederate pistol...and they would be correct.
A Confederate pistol. Well, alright!
I remember you mentioning that very same pistol over at Jon's place a good while back. A family heirloom ?
The closest thing I might muster is a replica .357 Python I built as a teenager. Plastic resin and fully functioning metal parts.
Of course, that would only succeed in making me appear to be some kind of crazy dope dealer. Even replica firearms here are strictly taboo; licensed shotguns excepting.
There are dealers aplenty round here. Most of them get by with just a machete or claw-hammer. A carpet knife.
It amazes me the lengths those crackpots will go to just to get one foot in the door. The Willy Loman analogy holds firm. They must be on some kind of commission.
Save one soul, get one free.
Like all religions, its a numbers racket I feel. A brownie point system at the very least.
I like the picture you paint of your old place down the lane. I like graveyards. The way the grass grows thick and fast. There is something very comforting about those restrictions governing occupancy.
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