There Are More Germs on the Inside (The Pink Tardis)

I saw what you did,
I know what you’ve done,
You walked in,
Now you’re back in the sun,
The door swung open,
You stepped free,
I noticed one thing,
You’re hands aren’t clean.
Please, greetings, do not send,
For I know where you hands have been.

–Richard Bryant

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I’m Not A Big Fan of These Clichés

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Christians use some pretty lame clichés. We use them over and over again. That’s why they’re clichés . In certain church circles, it’s hard for people to put together a coherent sentence that’s not a series of clichés strung together. There are churches (and church meetings) where speaking “cliché” language is the defining mark of one’s Christianity. If you don’t speak this way, something might be wrong with you. What if we took these clichés and placed them into a slightly different context? Perhaps we’d realize how ridiculous some of them sound?

Krispy Kreme has a “heart for” doughnuts.

They are really doing some “good work” over there at the Waffle House.

We put the lawn mowers behind a “hedge of protection” just to the right of weed eaters.

Since my car died three weeks ago, “my walk with God”, has involved taking two buses and a cab to work.

The Holy Spirit has “laid upon my soul” a calling to evangelize the virtues of bacon to vegetarians.

After the bounty hunter arrested my contractor, his last words to me were, “if you need to close the bathroom door, open the window first.”

Things I Enjoy Doing

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1. Discussing the daily (often minute) changes in climate and weather with my neighbors.  I do enjoy talking about the abundance or lack of rain.

2. Telling the people who ride golf carts down my street to slow down.

3. Walking into the hardware store and pretending I know what I’m looking for.

4. Imagining inventive ways my dogs might try to kill me.

5. Mailing myself oversize postcards so I receive a postage due notice and personal correspondence through the US Mail. (This enables #1 to occur.)

If They Don’t Have Hot Sauce in Heaven Then I’m Probably in Hell

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I love to eat. When I die, I want eternal life to include home grown tomatoes, cucumbers, Neese’s Sausage and hot sauce. If it doesn’t, I’ll know I’ve gone to Hell.  (Is it wrong to want biscuits and gravy in eternity?) Food is important to me. If I’m going to eat, whether at home in a restaurant, I want to enjoy the experience. Who doesn’t? I choose my covered dish dinners by the churches and the culinary reputations of their United Methodist Women’s group. Why bother to go if you know they use inferior green beans and generic French onion soup mix?

So how do I describe my culinary experiences? Over many years and countless church suppers, I’ve developed a complex system of responses to rate meals and  religious dining encounters. Granted, I’m not a professional food critic. I’m a sanctified redneck with refined tastes. Here’s my scale of rating covered dish meals:

1.  Not too bad. (translation: I’ve died and gone to heaven)

2. That was pretty good. (translation: Baby, you’ve outdone yourself)

3. I liked it. (translation: It was almost as good as my grandmothers.)

4. I might have a bit more. (translation: With salt and Texas Pete, I could survive on this through the apocalypse)

5. That was alright. (translation: That’s for making the effort to try and follow a recipe. I applaud your ability to read English.)

6. Mmmm. (translation: I don’t think I’ll do that again.)

7. I’m not sure I can put a finger on what was in that stew. (translation: let’s have less Brunswick and more stew.)

8. You know it. (translation: please don’t make me eat anymore.)

9. I’m full. (translation: can we stop by the gas station and get a snack.)

10. I loved it. (translation: that was the worse meal I’ve ever eaten.)

*If I’m told to “save room for cake”, I expect the main course to fall between, “you know it!” and the yet to be categorized “you don’t say!”.  

Food for Thought-Things I Never Discuss

1.  Where I buy my bow-ties.

2.  How my ink maker finds the right combination of blue and yellow to make the green ink I use in the  fountain pen I’m carrying.

3.  Where I learned to play the harmonica.

4.  Where to buy Snapple on the road to Dublin between Strabane and Dublin.

5.  My whereabouts on the night of June 3rd, 1987.