Was Jesus a drunk?

Just when I thought I have seen or heard just about anything, I was proven wrong when I attended a festival thrown by my church. A Catholic church. A Catholic church across the street from my neighborhood. Ran by carnies that obviously aren't from this side of the tracks.

Let's talk about the appearance of a traveling festival carnie, shall we? Jorts seem to be the pants of choice. And I don't mean those ridiculous jean shorts that men wear with socks and sneakers and Nascar t-shirts or tucked in golf shirts and belts....I'm talking about the jean "capris" that boys wear that are usually hanging down so half of their boxer-clad ass is showing. Usually, there's some grafitti-looking logo on the back pocket of a dragon or a tiger or something and then that pocket has a chain that is attached to their wallet or maybe a nipple, or God forbid, their pecker. Usually black sneakers and tatted up legs complete the ensemble....someone I'm hoping action-packed NEVER brings home to meet me. The chicks look like they've been rode hard and put away wet. Usually, with a tattoo inching up their neck from inside the collar of their uniform shirts. I spoke to 3 chic-carnies...and they were all smoking Newports. Newports and jorts...wow, they rhyme.

So, action-packed decided she wanted to ride on the carousel....We handed the carnie 2 tickets, and she jumped on a horse. The carnie flipped a switch, and off action-packed went. At this time, the carnie noticed my sexy stocking I wear to keep swelling down. I told her my story, and she pulls up the pant leg on her tapered mom-jeans to show me her scar on the top of her foot...(I should add she was wearing flip flops and that her feet were the color of dirt)...."You still taken the pain pills?" Uh, you talking to me? "I'm still taking the vicidin, even after 2 years....I just keep getting them because my boyfriend likes to crush them up and snort it. I have to hide my purse from him cuz he'll take all of my shit and not leave anything for me. I stills got pain. You stills got pain?" (at this point I am wondering why in the fuck people like her think I want to talk to them) "My boyfriend is a fucking spic. Those fucking spics are thieves. He takes my drugs. He has an addiction problem. I's don't know why I don't kick him to the curb. Shiiittt, he rocks Momma's bed all night...those spics fuck like rabbits. Good and fast." Huh? Huh?

So, action-packed is off the horse and running across the grass to the choo-choo train. All righty, all aboard. I swear she isn't 5 feet away from me and this female carnie sees the sign I must have written across my forehead that reads: "Tell me your shit...I wanna know" She starts by talking about how quiet festival is for a Saturday night...and I made the mistake of asking if Friday night was more crowded. "This fucking 'n' (now, I am going to jump in here to tell you that she used the 'n' word in whole...and as much of a non-filtered vulgar person you all think I am, I refuse to use that word, and even typing 'n' bothers me, but....) took my purse and ran off with it. And I was yellin at that fuckin 'n' to drop my fuckin purse, I had my cigs and mys money in that damn purse. Fuckin' 'n'...they're all thieves..." (I was going to tell her that spics fuck like rabbits, but decided to bite my lip) "My bosses kid ran after him and got my purse....all my cigs were in there...." At this point, I decided to go to the beer tent....

So all of us school parents and alums and friends of the beloved principal that retired, are all in the tent sporting green and waiting for her "toast/roast" to begin. The priest (um, I so shouldn't type this...but, uh, nobody likes the priest) is standing on the stage saying a prayer and half of the people in the tent are ignoring him....Which I find funny. Hey we all know I'm going to hell...so he throws his hands up in disgust and walks off the stage...which, Thank God another parent noticed and asks if I saw that or I would have thought I was dreaming...then, the toasting begins for KB, and people would not shut up in the back of the tent...SOOOO...unfiltered-mouth turns around and yells "Shush!"...which helped, of course, and then I clearly noticed it was the priest talking. (I'm going to hell, remember?) And at this point, I notice he's downing plastic cups of red wine....great. Was Jesus a drunk? I don't think so?

I drag my kid out of there, and as we are driving home down our street...we notice a gaggle of people walking through my neighborhood. I am like half-tempted to roll window down and tell them to stay home...but it IS a fundraiser afterall, so I just wave and smile. I hope none of them stole a carnie's purse or bought the priest a drink...oh, who am I kidding? I hope they did...and then went home and fucked like rabbits high on vicidin.