If you read the story about the rock at our ranch, I’m afraid I left one part out — the time that a local preacher came over kill stuff. Well, that guy looked at the rock that once said “Jesus Buttfucking Big Red” and got a bit perturbed, because he could still see the outlines of the lettering under the whitewash we laid over it. (Frankly, I think what really bothered him was how much the rock looked like a Jewish carpenter laying his wood into a fine looking canine, but that’s just my opinion.) Then he talked to some troublemakers who told him about other rocks where Jesus, and in some cases Baby Jesus, were identified as sodomizing a menagerie, and he got even more upset.
We tried to explain to him that we all loved Jesus, and if there were any motherfuckers who claimed that we didn’t, then they were a bunch of goddamn liars. In fact, those people were the ones he should be mad at, since they broke one of the most important commandments — no, not the one about guns, the one about lying — when they played the blasphemy card. Granted, we have some history around here with God’s only son and sexual congress with different wildlife, but a few things that happened twenty or more years ago are no reason to be irresponsible and call us names.
Sad thing is, that preacher just didn’t get it. He went on accusing us of being “insensitive,” if you can believe that. After a couple of weeks without anybody attending services, and no collections in his plate, he changed his tune. He said that he didn’t care about the rock, “end of story”. We still got rid of him, but at least he didn’t cause any more trouble.