Church

Note: This first section is largely just a copy of something off my Facebook. Eat a dick. It's my blog. I can run it how I like. Do you have a blog? No? Well, get one, and run it in any inefficient, ultra-bureaucratic way you please. Really, though. I need some help, and bringing down the status quo isn't gonna hurt.

I work at a church. They rent out the high school I used to go to, and while I was there, they gave me a job. This room (pictured) is where we store everything you need to make a church. Basically I lift shit and put it where it needs to be to make a high school's cafeteria and theatre into a church, and at the end of the day I reverse the process. It's basically boring. There are kids there, though, and they can say funny things.

This one time, the Sunday School teacher says, "If you were on a deserted island and you could only bring one book with you, which book would you bring," and the kid says, "Fresh food and water." That is great. First of all, you can only bring one thing, and that's two. And second, that's not even a book. That kid is so worried about his survival he's not even considering the ramafactions of not giving the right answer. It's called hypothetical, buddy. That is just great.

This other time, I'm waiting for them to put there shit in the boxes so I can put it in the room (pictured), and I see this kid playing with this ball, and his mom is like, "Josh, you've had enough with that ball, give it to Suzy."

The mom is talking to the kid like he's a fucking drunk. He's not a fucking drunk, he's fucking six, but he's acting like a drunk. "No!" he slurs out, rubbing his feet into the group. "Josh, come on, you have to give her the ball." "Josh!" mom repeats. Josh flips out, throws the ball to the floor, and sulks. The mom is so pissed, "That's it, Josh, you get five minutes of quiet-on-the-bench-time." First of all, who makes up quiet-on-the-bench-time? Apparently, the term is familiar to Josh, who flips out again, "Noo! I have zero minutes of quiet on the bench time!!" This kid knew how many minutes of q-o-t-b time he wanted, and he conveyed it.

I hate q-o-t-b