Close Encounters of the Jehovah Kind

It was morning. I was still in bed when I heard the "knock knock knock" on my front door. I ignored the knocking, hoping my unexpected and uninvited visitor would get the hint and fuck off. But no such luck. "KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK" again on the front door but this time even louder. Shit. Who was knocking on my door at the ungodly hour of 11:45am.

I sluggishly dragged myself out of bed and made my way to the front door. My head was spinning. I was still drunk from the night before. I was dressed in nothing but my auxiliary, back-up underwear (underwear that is only worn when all others are still unwashed). Over the years, the acidic sweat of my coujons had eaten away at part of the fabric of my underwear, so as I was walking I noticed my balls were dangling through the two perfectly placed holes where the fabric responsible for nut support previously had been.

I opened the door. It was no one I knew. A gentlemen dressed in a suit, maybe a little older than me and a woman dressed in her Sunday outfit standing a little behind him. She wasn’t bad looking - a little heavy on the make-up but I kinda dig the slutty look.

- "Hi. I’m Kevin and this is my wife Allison and we’ve come to talk to you about the word of god. Have you ever wondered why some of us die at such an early age, yet others go on to live 70, 80, 90 years?"
- "Ughhh?"
- "I’d like to read you a passage from the bible, then answer any questions you may have on what we’ve read. I can even leave behind a few magazines that explore some of the questions you may have about saving your soul. Lets begin - something something something something Jehovah is the real name of god, something something something, all non Jehovahs will burn in hell, something something ..."

My head was spinning at an alarming rate and it may have been the hang-over but I could’ve swore I saw Allison clocking my ‘nads and moistening her lips with her tongue. I tried to make eye contact with her but just then I was hit with a particularly strong wave of nausea. Kevin noticed that I wasn’t feeling very well and interrupted his reading.

- "Are you alright?" He asked
- "Ugh...yeah. Listen, come in for a second". I turned and made my way to the kitchen.
They stepped in. "Ahhh, is everything alright? No one has ever invited us in before".
- "Yeah. Don’t worry. I was drinking a little last night and I’m just getting up now so I need to eat some bread or something. You guys want anything?" I yelled from the kitchen. "I have some Chef Boyardee from last night or some Count Chocula if you want".
- "Oh, ok. No thanks. I guess you just need a little something to absorb the alcohol, huh?"
- "Exactamundo, Kevin. Plus, I met this 65 year old prostitute from Zimbabwe last night. Damn man, I think she may have sucked me dry of all my bodily fluids. I just need to grab a fucking gatorade or something to replenish the electrolytes. But you know what that’s all about, eh, Kev?" I said while looking at Allison.
- "Uhhh listen, IDigHootchAndCootch, maybe its better that me and Allison leave right now. Sorry about coming at not a good time. Maybe we’ll come a little later".
- "No. No, don’t go. I’m looking forward to our discussion. Aren’t you at least gonna leave behind those magazines you promised about saving my soul?"
- "I’m gonna be straight up with you, IDigHootchAndCootch. I couldn’t give a rat’s ass about you or your soul. For all I care your kind can burn in hell". And with that Kevin turned around to leave. "Lets go Allison", he said and walked out.

Allison, never having said a word, turned to leave also, but before she did she held up her pinky and her thumb to the side of her face and mouthed the words "call me".

Damn straight, baby. Damn straight.