Having been inspired to great artistic heights by Mormons and Scientologists, I was going to pick on Jehovah’s Witnesses next. In my old house they used to visit me and resist my attempts to convert them to something else on a regular basis. I have been in my new house a year and they have not visited at all. I suspect this is because there is a big hill you have to climb up to get to me (yes, cos I spend my time meditating on top of a mountain), and the local Witnesses round here might be a bit lazy. So my poem was going to have lines like
why don’t your witnesses like to climb over
the hill and visit any more
I never seem them
they don’t call
they don’t tuck the WatchTower
under my door
And then there was going to be something about how I hope that he is a vengeful god, because his Witnesses were ignoring me.
Then I came home the other day and the alleged Mrs Chip, if there should be such a person (I don’t think there is for this persona), had placed The Watch Tower and Awake on my desk. Bugger! They had been! That spoiled everything. Curses! Foiled again! I am struck into appropriate politeness, and it is for the best.
I like the monster Jehovah’s Witness in Ghost Story by Peter Straub. The bit about Dr Rabbitfoot. He was scary.
I hope none of this sounds rude, I have to write about something. (Or do I?)