Addicted to the Divine

I've written before about feeble-minded Connie of the high hair and his love of animals and mission testimonials.  Stories of Jesus preventing the bus from leaving 10 seconds early, thus preventing a meeting with the jacked-up-crystal meth dealer parole officer and another six months in prison are a staple, along with the usual saved-from-bad-strychnine-laced-drugs-that-evil Mr. Rockstone-sold-you-or-getting-exactly-the-right-spot-in-line-at-the-courthouse-to-avoid-county-lockup-for-traffic-violations-that-your-ex-bitch-old-lady-racked-up . . . all these testimonies are right up the Savior's alley.  His timing is dead-on.

But we all know by now what to expect when Connie bounds forward at testimony call:  a fickle combination of jeers, leers (In spite of the hair, he's a comely lad), cheers, and uneasy herd-shuffling and cattle-sick eye-rolling from the Disciples.   Tonight the pastor from 1st Baptist (oh, who cares what these churches call themselves; they might as well give themselves caste marks or tattoos consisting of a number and color, and a rub-on tattoo from the Dollar Store for Jebus' sake!) touches Connie lightly on the shoulder and whispers something inaudible as Connie edges toward the mike.  

"Remember," says Pastor Mike (they're all named Pastor Mike, Frank, Daniel, or if a member of Christian motorcycle gang, Pastor Race), addressing us all.  Jesus is what we want to be addicted to.  That white light and the thread of blood--Amen!"

"Amen!" chorus about 47.24% of the guests. 

"Oh, Amen!  Booze, alcohol, beer, wine, even your aunt's egg nog, Listerine--I've done it all.   Then there's the rock.  I smoked it for 30 years!  But I'm free, now, brothers, free!  Amen?"

"Amen!"

Pastor Mike gestures toward Connie for him to begin. "What's Jesus got you addicted to these days, son?"

 "Well, I'm sure Jesus . . . I've been told to say something about Jesus . . . he's out there somewhere . . . I guess he doesn't wear a cape it's a robe with magic powers . . ."

One of Connie's pals in the audience chides, "I told you to stop with the magic stuff.  It ain't no magic!  Black or White.  It's Jesus!  YOU ADDICTED TO THE LORD ALMIGHTY!"

Connie's testimony becomes even more incoherent, veering between rain forests, "and his love of animals even though they have smaller brains and don't seem as smart as the rest of us.  Take the octopus, for instance". . .   You can sense preparations to take him gently off stage.

But suddenly he's fixed us with a clear-eyed passionate statement:  "The good people down at the center have been helping me with my reading skills . . .and . . . "I'M HOOKED ON PHONICS!  I'M HOOKED ON PHONICS!  I'M HOOKED ON PHONICS!'  He performs a kind of loose-limbed jig.  "I'M HOOKED ON PHONICS! . . .