The Origins of My Blasphemy, Pt. 1
My mother likes to remind me how I shit my pants during baptism.
It was sometime in 1988, the year of my birth, in the local United Methodist church. I was being held by my father, dressed in my outfit of purist white. As I awaited the so-called cleansing, force-fed a lot of Christian pomp, I must have decided the time would be better spent cleansing my bowels. Cleanse them I did, and gloriously so, right there on the altar. My father looked down to see slimy brown shit being squeezed through the leg-holes of my diaper, soiling his hands as well as my white adornments.
Face twisted in disgust, he had no choice but to rush me to the bathroom to clean me up and remove the clothing supposed to represent my innocence. I was brought back to the ceremony in a t-shirt. Though I was technically baptized as a Methodist that day, it was already too late. I had been baptized in my own shit. I feel this "de-christening" wins out, as the contents of my guts hold more importance than any water dabbled over by cloth or clergy. And unlike the Christian baptism, a good bowel movement is a sacred act.
Hail Satan!
It was sometime in 1988, the year of my birth, in the local United Methodist church. I was being held by my father, dressed in my outfit of purist white. As I awaited the so-called cleansing, force-fed a lot of Christian pomp, I must have decided the time would be better spent cleansing my bowels. Cleanse them I did, and gloriously so, right there on the altar. My father looked down to see slimy brown shit being squeezed through the leg-holes of my diaper, soiling his hands as well as my white adornments.
Face twisted in disgust, he had no choice but to rush me to the bathroom to clean me up and remove the clothing supposed to represent my innocence. I was brought back to the ceremony in a t-shirt. Though I was technically baptized as a Methodist that day, it was already too late. I had been baptized in my own shit. I feel this "de-christening" wins out, as the contents of my guts hold more importance than any water dabbled over by cloth or clergy. And unlike the Christian baptism, a good bowel movement is a sacred act.
Hail Satan!
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