Humor – The Incident at Floral Heights Methodist Church
Back around 1960, I had cousins that lived in Wichita Falls, which was a real big town 19 miles north of Henrietta, Texas where I grew up.
Actually, it was 19 miles from Henrietta to Wichita Falls, but when you came back from Wichita Falls to Henrietta it was only 16 miles. The road signs said so, and they ought to know. For many years, I was convinced that if anyone could figure this out, it might prove to be a time warp, or perhaps the answer to perpetual energy. Now, however, I’m not so sure.
Whether 16 miles or 19 miles, sometimes my mother took me to join my cousins and their parents at Floral Heights Methodist Church in Wichita Falls.
This was on a Sunday.
My Snooty Aunt
Their mother was a lovely woman, but seemed to be forever trying to rise above the perfectly good farm on which she and my mom and their brothers had grown up. She was … snooty.
And that’s why the dreadful incident at Floral Heights Methodist Church was so unfortunate for her.
The other part was that she worked, as a secretary, for the minister of this church, a Doctor Hoggard. I do not know why they called him Doctor. As far as I could tell, he had no patients like my uncle, the doctor.
They are unduly nervous. Oh well, maybe that is understandable.
Your vampire lover can turn them easily if he chooses to, and…what? You didn’t know he had the skill? Where did you think Zombies, Goblins, and Ghouls came from? Really, and I thought he was your lover. I guess he was unwilling to tell you every little secret.
So here’s what you can do to help if your vampire is unwilling to reanimate the leftovers. All you need is his spit. A drop or two per leftover will be sufficient.
Bobby’s Communion Exprience
The boys, my cousins, were under strict orders to not talk nor fidget. And this was one of cousin Bobby’s first time to go to communion.
He walked down to the little place where you kneel to receive the sacrament. He kneeled just swell.
The first minister guy came around with the saltine cracker pieces on a very elaborate silver platter thingie, followed by the grape juice minister guy with a tray of tiny cups of grape juice.
Seven: For the next three to five hours, he yells and screams, curses the referees, the commercials, the cheerleaders, throws pillows across the room, drinks beer, eats every snack in the house, calls his buddies at half time if they’re not there, and completely loses touch with reality.
Eight: One week later he’s still talking about the game as if it was yesterday. That’s how you know your husband is addicted to sports
Resource Author Francisco Rodriguez Higueras
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Tags: humor