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Post by Big Brother on Aug 14, 2004 5:28:39 GMT -5
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Post by Lolua on Aug 21, 2004 18:29:01 GMT -5
Hmm, perhaps I have discovered the source of their grudge against the Wiccans... Misplaced Deity Sought By Christians: www.eclecticwitch.com/pages/misplaced.htmlWhat a smart-ass. While I admire her wit, I'm probably not going to reply, "Yeah, I'm still counting to fifty but I'm sure he's hiding in the tabernacle again" next time I'm asked The Big Question. Thanks to Mlle for bringing the article to my attention. |
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Post by Big Brother on Aug 22, 2004 8:42:28 GMT -5
Wiccans are not the only ones to find a fun way to deal with bible-thumpers...
(the following is from my collection of funny stuff found on USENET several years ago...I did not write this, nor do I know any of the people involved. I do know a few SCA-types, and this is indeed typical SCAdian behavior.)
In Kalamazoo, Michigan, stands a household of SCA folk called Ironhold, decorated with many medievalist items, whose denizens have been known to wear VERY old-fashioned garb, even mundanely. Nice people, with utterly wicked senses of humor.
House Ironhold also apparently stands on a heavily used route for door-to-door evangelists, particularly Jehovah's Witnesses.
As you might expect, the residents have developed ROUTINES.
I tell the tales that I've heard told. (I vouch for nothing here.)
If the lady of the house answers the door, she is likely in her long dark gown and robes... holding her cat, and stroking it all the while the door is open. They (the lady and the cat) stare at the missionary, silently, patiently, during the missionary's spiel. At last the lady turns her head slightly to call upstairs: "Dear -- I think the virgin sacrifice has arrived!" This is the cue for a long dagger to come spinning down the stairwell and stick point-first in the floor....
If the lord of the house answers the door, it is by swinging the door suddenly open just enough to stick his face out into the missionary's and say, "YES?!" Should the missionary linger, he/she is invited inside to sit in a chair next to a bookshelf crowded with books. Eventually the missionary is bound to notice the common theme of the books, which is bloody awful... I mean, bloody AND awful... and selected for that very purpose, to give the impression of unwholesome predilections. The missionary stands to go, pushing (as most people must) on the arms of the chair... which is so designed that the chair collapses behind the standing person when the arms are pushed and the weight on the seat is removed. The missionary tends not to linger upon farewells.
One friend of mine had never been there before, but travelled by bus to Kalamazoo for an SCA event, where (by phone) arrangements had been made for him to stay overnight at Ironhold. Two things only you need know about my friend Dan: (1) he was in the process of "knitting" a chainmail shirt by winding 16-gauge wire on a rod, cutting the helix into rings, and linking the rings into mesh (transporting the works in Pringles cans and "knitting" on the bus); (2) he was twenty-ish, blond, clean-cut, and looked like a stereotypical young missionary.
Dan _had_ heard the stories. He arrived at Ironhold's front door, rang the doorbell, and when Lord Einar answered with a "YES?!", Dan went into his best huckster's spiel: "GOOD morning, sir, I'm working my way through college selling [waves a square-foot swatch] CHAINMAIL!" The lord of the house fell over backwards laughing.
Well. Maybe you had to be there.
Another story, set somewhere else WITH someone else, features a burly SCA fighter on his way from one place to another, when he is accosted by two Hare Krishnas in their saffron robes and their shaven heads and their beads all jingle-jangle, who offer him a ticket to a **free** vegetarian dinner, with a talk on Hare Krishna.
How to refuse? "Well, gee, I don't know...."
"Oh, but sir, it will be a delicious free vegetarian dinner, and a FASCINATING talk on Hare Krishna!"
When all else fails, play dumb. "Will there be po-tay-to salad?"
Blink. They look at each other. They look at him. "Well... no... but it will be a del-"
He grabs each one by the robe at the neck, lifts, and shakes them while he bellows in rage: "I want po-tay- to salad! I WANT PO-TAY-TO SALAD!"
He then drops them, and -- WHISH! -- they scurry off.
The story is told and re-told through the SCA's grapevine. Some weeks later, another burly SCA fighter in another city is accosted by two Hare Krishnas in their saffron robes and their shaven heads and their beads all jingle-jangle, who offer him a ticket to a free vegetarian dinner with a talk on Hare Krishna. He pouts and frowns in puzzlement.
"Well, gee, I don't know. Will there be po-tay-to salad?"
WHISH!
(It appears that Hare Krishnas have a grapevine too.)
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