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Knee pads preach the word of God

Updated: Jan 8


David Sherman


One of my neighbours, a man who looks like he spends a lot of time in the sun, if you know what I mean, bought a pink car with four-cylinders, believe it not.

It’s a good Christian’s duty to know where the devil treads. Let’s face it, a man in tight pants driving a pink car must be a little light on the horsepower, if you know what I mean. You can’t be a real American on less than six cylinders.

The Godless women who share his infested shack -- I’m sure the property values have collapsed since they moved in three years, four months and six days ago -- also flaunt their lack of sanctity in tight pants. Really tight ones. Really, really tight. Clothes were created to hide what the good Lord believed should be hidden, not only to give jobs to people in China and Bangladesh.

Their friends also look like they spend their days in the sun. Maybe they collect garbage or pick potatoes when they’re not doing drugs, coveting our women or embarrassing true Americans by driving cars made in countries where they don’t speak English or German. One or two have to be plugged in like vacuum cleaners.


Real Americans thrive on carbon monoxide. We drill for gas and breathe oil fumes. If the Lord wanted us to have windmills and solar panels, they’d grow like whatever the name of those huge trees we cut or burnt down. Only communists, atheists and George Soros and friends try to ration God’s gas and deprive devout American shareholders of dividends and stock options.

We protect our children from these blasphemous saviours of energy and people who don’t share our intrinsic values of excess and hate and behave contrary to the teachings of the Good Book. My wife and I went to the school meeting and made sure any book of unmentionable filth was removed. The devil lurks behind the cover of many a so-called piece of literature or climate hysteria. Children shouldn’t be taught about where they came from when they can read about the Virgin Mary. And, if the good Lord wanted us to have blue skies and clean lungs, he wouldn’t have invented lung cancer, emphysema or COPD to enrich the medical industry.


My wife and I spend a lot of time on our knees, praying. But, the devil must reside on the linoleum. My poor wife does things I’m sure the good Lord does not approve of when she’s on her knees, God bless her, and I’m powerless to stop her. I am but a helpless man, overcome with weakness first. Thank you, Jesus.

After all, we’re made in God’s image and the good Lord has chosen us to learn, perchance to teach the evils of lascivious behaviour via PornHub. I pray for our sins almost nightly and for Christmas, the celebration of the birth of Jesus Christ, our saviour, we were rewarded with matching knee pads. The Lord provides.

Knowing how successful the devil can be in seducing his weak and humble servants, we’ve put pornography trackers on each of our computers, iPads and phones. To keep our marriage sacred and holy, our minds empty of perversity, we share these profane and depraved images to make sure we are never lured into attempting anything we see.

We test ourselves every Friday and Saturday night. When the children are asleep, their doors nailed shut and our bedroom door locked, we try to learn the lessons of our Lord by a baptism-like immersion into depravity, depravity my wife seems to enjoy, thank you, Jesus.


But, we always have more to learn. To conquer the devil, one must know him well. And, so we pray that we learn quickly so we can end the exposure to the immorality of those others lost in the desert of sin.

So guilty was I last weekend I begged my wife to whip me. The flogging I deserved, especially after she slipped on the knee pads and sat me on the washing machine on spin cycle. Talk about good vibrations. It felt like heaven so it must’ve been the devil opening the door to hell. So, we’ll have to try it again to be sure.

Two women live next door to the men with the pink car and the sun-coloured faces and there’s barely a weekend goes by when men don’t park their cars in their driveway. I, of course, check every Saturday and Sunday morning to see if our neighbourhood is wholesome and I am moved to immediate prayer when I see different men’s cars parked there long past midnight. My wife slips on the knee pads to pray and since she’s already on her knees, well … I am a weak man. I have promised the Lord I would repent by trading in our Toyota for something with a true Christian eight-cylinder gas guzzler made by Americans or sweaty overpaid Mexicans.


In the summer, when I like to leave the windows open, we are invaded by the sounds of ungodly pleasure coming from these women’s home. I pray for their souls and then my wife slips into her knee pads and before you know it, I’m praying for our souls. As soon as I catch my breath. Which is difficult since I’ve been chewing on a pillow to stifle my own screams for mercy from flowing through to our neighbours’ window.

The worst part, and the most shameful, is opening my eyes and seeing our neighbours and their immoral men staring into our bedroom, applauding.

Across from these godless young women and next to the godless men is a family of people who always wear hats or headscarves. I’ve reported them to the police 16 times because they are obvious terrorists but the police, being African and without knowledge of our ways let alone the ways of the Lord, told me if I called again they would arrest me. And they were wearing large guns on their hips. God in heaven would never allow African men to carry guns that could be used against white Christians just trying to stand their moral and religious ground.

On the corner lives a family I don’t speak to. I believe they are Japanese. I’ve seen them on the porch one dinner time eating noodles. I ignore the hatred in their eyes. They refuse to accept we had no choice but to follow God’s instructions to drop fire bombs and nuclear weapons and immolate entire cities. Yes, we killed, well, we’re not sure how many since some were simply turned to dust, but we believe in the bible’s encyclical, an eye for an eye. The Ten Commandments are also our guidelines, when convenient.


These noodle eaters did not turn the other cheek and work for the tax department, conspiring with communists to take money from God’s chosen ones and hand it over to drug users and fornicators who waste the our philanthropy on food, housing, medical care and rusty cars.

But, I have no fear. I always keep two of my 37 AR15s in the bedroom and I’ve practiced loading and aiming from the window in case the supposed men in their pink cars and really, really tight pants, attempt to invade. We have also equipped ourselves with binoculars and telescopes to protect our ourselves from the Godless past times of our neighbours.

And once I slip on those knee pads, rifle in hand, my God-fearing wife follows suit. The thing that woman can do with knee pads and an automatic weapon.

As Exodus 14.14 says: “The Lord shall fight for you and ye shall hold your peace.” My wife, good God-fearing woman she is, has mastered holding my piece.

Amen.

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