Jehovah’s Witnesses

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

Hey Jehovah

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?)

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The day I failed my personality test

You wanna test

my personality,

You say you’ll make a

man of me,

Wanna check the level of

Dianetic technology

required to set

me free

from the engrams that

bedevil me.

I’m very sorry,

Mr Scientology

in the words of Boy George

I’d much prefer a cup of tea.

***

Ahhh, Irish breakfast.  The writer once had a personality test.  It turned out he didn’t have one.  The scientologists had to throw him back, and off he swam, along the stream of rushing humanity along Castlereagh Street, still unable to fathom what made him different, as in his mind he added up the numbers on the registration plates of the cars he passed.  On cold nights he aches, and he thinks he may still have the hook embedded in his cheek.