Catholicisme; Le Rêve Américain

I fucking hate church. I said it. Loathe it. Despise it. Everyday when I enter the square piece of shit parking lot that was "repaved" by the ‘Good’ Christians who believe they are helping a worthy cause I feel worse did I did already from waking up that early. Do they really know where their money is going? The priest probably bathes it in for all I know, but I do know they don't use it to fix up this worthless pile of bricks they call a church. But you must donate to the church or some bullshit like that. It's in the Bible or something. I could be wrong, I'm always wrong about shit like that. Trust me; I'm a Catholic.

My dad took forever to get ready this morning to go to church because he is a raging alcoholic, but when you tell him that, he says, "So Sue me. Oh, Sue. I should call her back from the other night..." My mom scoffs and smokes a cigarette in the carpeted master bedroom while she looks for something nice to wear to church. Nice means a short red dress with cleavage bigger than the state of Texas, black pumps and perfume that makes you think, "Yea, I like it in the ass." Oh, and she knows about my Dad. We have a new gardener and pool boy every week. I digress.

Where was I? Oh, yea. My dad made us late for church so we had to sit in the back. I hate sitting in the back. Church is shitty enough, but when you can't see a goddamn thing in the back and are sitting with the "rejects" it’s even worse. The “rejects”, you know, the people who get there late or haven't been to church in a while. ‘Seasonal Catholics’. Bleh. They usually occupy the last few aisles and the left middle section of the aisles with their jeans on and cell phone buzzing. Don't confuse them with child-bearing Mother Catholics. They already have stress from their 10 month year old and will kick your fucking ass if you show any sign of irritation from their baby. At least I think they would. I've always wanted to see a Seasonal Catholic versus Mother Catholic fight. It would be dope. Street rules only.

Fuck me. Not again. A boner. For some old reason, I get a choner—church boner—every fucking time after the second reading of Bible before the Hallelujah. I don't know why. It happens every fucking time. I can't even hide that shit because I'm wearing my gray church pants today. These are the only times in my life that I wish I—errr—it, was smaller. What guy would actually wish their schlong was smaller? What girl would like it small? Only if she's fucking tight. Mmm.

Ahh. Hot Seasonal about 10 o'clock. Nice ass. Shit. Come to papa. Is she... That cunt. She's laughing at me. Fuck my boner. Fuck it. The old church fumes seems to turn me on. Oh well.

Yes. Time for my break. I always go to the bathroom during or after the Homily. Sometimes to rub one out or to not listen to the bullshit priest that is talking right now. He is too monotone for my taste. Where's Father Jimmy? He is the shit. Dopest priest ever. Told me about all the shit he smoked in Vietnam. Sweet! I'm outtie. Bathroom break.

"Hey! Wait up!" Who the fuck would want to talk right now? I need to go the bathroom. Oh shit! It's hot Seasonal girl. Calm down, chroner. Fuck... and her friend. Shit. Probably could only get a number today.

"Oh hey, sweet ass," I said.

"Hi," she said giggling to her dumbass friend. Why can't she leave?

"Boring mass, right?" she said. Well, of course you dumb slut. I would so still do her.

"Yea. I need to go to the bathroom. Talk to you after mass or something?"

"Well, okay... I'm Rachel and you are?" Stop fucking giggling.

"Cole," I said while I walked down the stairs towards the bathroom.

"Hold up, Cole. Brit, I'm going to talk to him for a bit. Talk to you later?"

Brit nodded and walked back into mass. Seasonals might be useful after all. They've got to learn how to pray some how.



Much more to come.
Part of a short story I am writing.
Tell me what you think if you want.
Criticism is always welcome.