I made a mistake by thinking that this perverse generation could change. And so, I went into a seedy tavern during my journey; stood on a bench; lifted my arms like an archetypal Moses and preached. I said, ‘Degenerates, scumbags, and layabouts. All you do is spend time wanking when Jehovah’s wrath is upon you. Hallelujah! The time is near for a revival before the good Lord flushes this generation of masturbation down a toilet of fire and brimstone. Praise him! Hallelujah! Pay heed to what I say and stop spreading your seed on filthy bedspreads in cheap bordellos. Stop ejaculating that white jello and hear the Word. Yes, the Word! Hallelujah!’ And the cheap, drunken vagabonds glared at me with eyes like daggers. Then one man, oily and muscled, approached me, and said, ‘I hear you brother. I have rented room seven on the seventh floor of this motel, and I wish to know more seven times over.’ And I wondered, could it be? ‘Jehovah Jireh! The Lord has spoken to you. Seven is the completion, and so, I will accompany you to your room and prophesy!’ I said. I went to his room, and before I could fully make my way in, he kicked me in the chin. ‘I am Ishmael! Son of Abraham and a man who needs a release because of CBT!’ He screamed. He then proceeded to rip my pants and violently take me from behind. ‘Stop man! You defile the prophet and provoke the Lord! What you’re doing is a sacrilegious crime against God! Aaargh! Help me, Father!’ I shrieked, but he did not stop. And as the blood met the ground, I knew the Psalmist’s sorrow, and I knew Abraham must not see tomorrow because he’s a bad reed with branches filled with repugnant seed. He fathered a bastard who buggers men, and his other son is in his 3D den. The Lord put me through this intense pain for a reason. Now, I barely walk, but I’ll make it to the mountain despite the season. Amen! Amen! Amen!
© Nitin Lalit Murali (2018)