Write as many paragraphs as you like using the words above.
Entries may be poetry, prose, fiction, essays or interviews.
(or any other form of creatively written expression.)
Just be funny, clever and theological...
Here are your chosen words:
puritan, ants, camel, restaurant
and please give your piece a TITLE.
Shady Corner
ReplyDeleteIn a shady corner of the restaurant in a Middle Eastern town, sat a middle-aged theologian, musing over his food.
The restaurant wasn't that pretty, and was filled with ants, crawling all over. The cooks smelled like camels, and the good was less than gourmet.
The only thing worse for the young theologian was his company, none other than the mad Arab Abdulla Arminian. The shifty-eyed, theologically unstable man was hunched over his stolen banjo, regrettably missing a string, plucking one, out of tune string, over and over, glaring at the Reformed theologian.
"So what do you have for me?" The Reformed man asked.
"Just a nice treasure, sir..." The Arab continued plucking his string.
"Well, are you gonna make me guess?" The man asked.
The Arminian grinned dementedly. "I was thinking about that, but your doctrine is such a stench in my shapely nostrils that I can't bear your presence for much longer. So I'm gonna tell you..."
The middle-aged reformer leaned forward. "Well?"
"It...It is a treasure of epic proportions, a nice book...a puritan treasure. A 1722 copy of Richard Baxter's 'Saints Everlasting Rest'. Yes, so rare, and so far out of the way..."
"How do I acquire this book?"
"Oh," the Arab giggled until he began to cough. "You'll see. Yes, you'll see."
It was fixed, he had to get that book, no matter what it cost him. And he would.
Haha!
ReplyDeleteI need to write one later...
THE PURITAN PAPERBACKS
ReplyDeleteCowboy Cowvin entered Willy's Western Restaurant warily, tipping his hat back and peering through the haze of tobacco smoke that filled the room.
"He's here somewhere," Cowvin said to himself. "I just know it."
He went over to the bar. "One Soda Scriptura," he said. An icy bottle of the refreshing beverage was pushed toward him. He downed it, wiped his chin, and watched a line of ants scurrying across the floor to some secret hole behind the counter.
Cowvin turned to survey the room once more. He frowned. His quarry wasn't here.
Then he saw him.
At the far end of the room sat Bennito Fennito, the most notorious Arminian in the west. Four of his cronies sat with him, drinking de-calvinated beverages, and swapping jokes.
Cowvin set his jaw and strode toward the table. No one noticed until he rapped the table with his fist. Bennito glared at him, and then a look of recognition swept over his craggy features.
"You again?" he asked, not bothering to sound polite.
"Me again," Cowvin stated.
"What do you want?"
"I want my own back."
"And what would that be?" Bennito countered in a patronizing tone of voice.
Cowvin flushed. "My set of Puritan Paoerbacks!" he growled. "I know you took 'em. I know you have 'em. Give 'em back. Now."
Bennito looked smug. "And if I don't?"
"I'll tie your ornery hide to my saddle bow and make you listen while I read aloud an entire volume of Spurgeon's sermons," Cowvin said.
The four cronies leapt to their feet angrily, but Bennito silenced them and bade them be seated. He twirled his mustache thoughtfully. "Tell you what," he said at last. "We'll have a duel. Winner takes all. Which means, if you win, I'll return your precious Puritans. But if I win, I burn them like I've always wanted to." His eye twinkled. "What do you say?"
Cowvin nodded. "Fine. But any cheatin' on your part and I'll..." He trailed off, leaving the rest to imagination.
Bennito got to his feet and placed his hands on his hips. "What kind of duel?" he asked.
"The usual," Cowvin shot back. "To see who's the fastest draw in the west."
Bennito grinned impudently. "Very well."
By now, the whole of the saloon had taken notice of the confrontation. Men and women gathered, watching the two enemies with interest. Tables were shoved aside to make room for the contest.
Bennito and Cowvin faced each other, tense and ready, fingers twitching.
"On the count of three," a voice from the crowd shouted. "Oooone... twoooo... three!"
In a flash, both men snatched their pencils and sketch pads from their belts. They were drawing furiously. Mere seconds later, Cowvin threw his pad down on the table and announced triumphantly, "Finished!"
Bennito Fennito looked up in disbelief. "You're finished?" he said stupidly. "But-but-"
"I been practicin',"Cowvin said, blowing on the tip of his pencil. "Take a look."
He held up a portrait of Bennito. "Only took me 10 seconds to sketch every feature on your dog-ugly face, you doctrines-of-grace-hater. Now give me my books."
It was Bennito's turn to flush. "No!" he spat.
There was an angry murmur from the crowd. "That's no good," someone shouted. "He won fair and square!" The crowd moved forward menacingly, backing Cowvin up.
Bennito suddenly looked scared. "Fine, fine," he said in a sullen voice.
The Arminian grabbed a sack that was as lumpy as the hump of a camel, reached inside, and drew out the precious parcel.
Minutes later, Cowvin was riding happily off into the sunset, the set of Puritan Paperbacks stuffed snugly inside his saddlebag.
Sorry that was so long, but I had to give it an epic feel. :)
ReplyDeleteHaha! That was awesome! Nice work.
ReplyDeleteMichael wrote: "The only thing worse for the young theologian was his company, none other than the mad Arab Abdulla Arminian. The shifty-eyed, theologically unstable man was hunched over his stolen banjo, regrettably missing a string, plucking one, out of tune string, over and over, glaring at the Reformed theologian."
ReplyDeleteHahahaha! That has to be one of the funniest things I've read all day!
@Ink Slinger: The "Mad Arab Abdulla Arminian" was my H. P. Lovecraft tribute. Glad you enjoyed it.
ReplyDeleteA Close Call
ReplyDeleteI stumbled to the only safe haven I knew, The Tulip Cafe. I hoped Mavis hadn't closed the restaurant for the night. The lit neon sign was a beacon of hope. Shaking like a leaf and white as a sheet, I pushed open the door and stumbled to the counter.
Mavis, the white-haired proprietor, was leaning on the counter reading the Puritan Paperback edition of The Mortification of Sin and wearing a "John Owen is my Home Boy" T-shirt.
"Whoa, boy. You look like you've seen the ghost of Charles Finney. Can I get you a cup of coffee? Some Soda Scriptura?"
"Definitely the Soda Scriptura. I need a good dose after what just happened to me.", I answered in a shaky voice.
I grabbed the proffered bottle, yanked off the cap, and took a long swig. With shaking hands, I set the bottle on the counter accidentally squishing an ant who was predestined to get squished at that moment.
"Are you okay, Sonny?", Mavis inquired with concern.
"You wouldn't believe what happened to me tonight..."
"Try me. I've seen a lot in my short 72 years, so you won't scare me", she replied assuringly.
"I'll go crazy if I don't tell someone. You won't believe this, but here goes..."
"I was invited to a special liturgical service at the Tiber Crossroads Church. I shouldn't have gone, but I was invited by a friend. I thought I could at least check it out just to find out if there was anything theologically wrong with the place.
"We were supposed to walk through this prayer labyrinth, holding incense sticks, and repeating this one phrase. After a while, I started to get a headache. I went to sit down on the side when I must have fallen asleep, because I had the strangest dream.
"I was in the prayer labyrinth, chanting those words, when everyone began to do a dance step. Kind of a heel clicking sort of thing. Everyone was dressed like cardinals - mitres and everything. Red from head to foot. I was saying the words in a mindless way, but then I looked down. I was dressed the same way! I tried to pull the hat off, the robe, and the shoes, but they were stuck!
"Suddenly we weren't in Tiber Crossroads anymore but in Saint Peter's Basilica in a long line heading to the altar. I tried to break free but was swept along with the crowd. In a panic, I yelled for help and suddenly the doors burst open. In rode this man who was dressed like a Bedouin from North Africa. He was riding a camel. The cardinals tried to stop him, but he plowed right through them and rode up to me. He spoke and said, "Get on my camel, Humpty. This is your only way to safety."
"I grabbed his hand. He pulled me up onto his camel, who grinned at me in a funny way, and we rode off into the night. We somehow left Italy and wound up outside my apartment."
"When I thanked him, he grabbed my shoulder, looking me in the eye and said, 'Be careful what you say, young man. For your chanting came true in this dream. See that it does not happen again.' And with those parting words, my rescuer and Humpty vanished from my sight."
Out of breath, I took another swig of Soda Scriptura.
Mavis was all agog. "Well what did you say? Tell me! Tell me!"
Pausing, I replied
"There's no place like Rome, there's no place like Rome."
[Sorry, I couldn't resist.]
Hahaha! Love it, Persis!
ReplyDelete"You look like you've seen the ghost of Charles Finney."
ReplyDeleteLove this line. Gotta use it in my daily life!
"I grabbed the proffered bottle, yanked off the cap, and took a long swig. With shaking hands, I set the bottle on the counter accidentally squishing an ant who was predestined to get squished at that moment."
That made me laugh so hard I spewed Soda Scriptura all over my monitor at work.
@Persis: Goodd stuff!
ReplyDeletePoor ant, though. :-(
Kamikaze
ReplyDelete"Puritan, come in, Puritan," I whispered into my walkie-talkie.
"Puritan," a voice replied. "Say, why do we have the codename Puritan, anyway? We don't even like the Puritans that much anyway...I mean, they had some fine stuff to say, but..."
"Don't ask me, mate, I didn't assign the names." I coughed, glancing out from my shady hiding place. "I located Kamikaze...I've heard some talk about him sabotaging the race this Friday, as we suspected."
"What's his reasoning?"
"He's not too fond of those with a Monergistic slant."
"Ahh...I see. Hey, when you get back, you really need to come to this awesome restaurant...Their food rocks."
"Something tells me they don't serve pork."
He laughed. "No, not in the Middle Eastern desert. Thankfully, they don't serve camel; I like camels..."
"Not to eat, though."
"Yep. Alright...when will you make your move?"
"Soon. Ouch!" I winced, by reaction rather than pain, over a large ant that just bit my forearm, swinging it to throw the creature off. "Oh no! NO!"
"Chris, what's wrong?"
"It's...it's awful...No...the man's insane!"
"What!? What is it?!"
"He's...he's playing invitational hymns, various renditions of the sinner's prayer, Mark Schultz's Love Has Come, Jason Gray's More Like Falling In Love, and more horrible music still, all playing...simultaneously! And...and..."
"And what?! WHAT?!?
"And Creflo Dollar...Joyce Meyer...Joel Osteen...Rick Warren...Mark Driscoll...and...no...no...GAH!"
"What? What?!"
"He started doing the Arminian Antics dance!"
There was a gasp on the other end. "Alright...turn on In Christ Alone by Stuart Towned on your phone, speakers blaring, and run out singing."
Shaking, and wincing in pain, I nodded. "I'm going in."
@ Joel the Immerser
ReplyDeleteLOL, rotftbmhafwiwlola*
*(Laughing Out Loud, rolling on the floor, then bumping my head and forgetting what I was lol about.)
@ Persis
ReplyDeleteYour story sounds amazingly like Scott Hahn's autobiography. : )
@ Michael Wright
ReplyDelete"The restaurant wasn't that pretty, and was filled with [aunts], crawling all over. The cooks smelled like camels, and the food was less than gourmet."
Michael, at first I thought you were describing my last big family reunion extravaganza.
@Persis: Bwahaha! Great!
ReplyDelete@Joel: Brilliant. "Arminian Antics dance" About died laughing with that.
@stranger.strange.land: Sorry, didn't mean to bring about painful memories. :-)
ReplyDeleteOh, those were the highlights, Michael.
ReplyDeleteHighlights, huh? Boy oh boy... :)
ReplyDelete@Joel: Hahaha! That was great!
ReplyDeleteGlad y'all enjoyed it. :-D
ReplyDelete@Joel: Nice one.
ReplyDelete@Persis: "You look like you've seen the ghost of Charles Finney!"
ReplyDeleteBwahahahahaha!