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Array
(
[sid] => 58500
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => Celebrating the Sabbath
[time] => 2004-08-02 07:22:54
[hometext] =>
[bodytext] => Sunday afternoon the rain had stopped. The inanimate bodies of the faithful that had been strewn about the house like piles of dirty laundry on sofas, chairs and on beds upstairs, earlier that morning had arisen. Lost souls in search of new life, wobble around half-awake and hung over. It is the resurrection of the party. A hodgepodge of hogs are parked in the driveway and on the lawn, under tarps and blankets or just plain wet. One chromed Harley panhead, a holy icon, with ape hanger handlebars and a red flamed glossy black fat bob gas tank, is sheltered on the porch, beneath the eaves, high and dry above the mud and muck. Angel wanna bees and other Outrageous * huddle around the boob tube in the living room, watching Sunday Services. American Football, a Spaghetti Western with stale beer, left over pretzels and soggy potato chips. The Cowboys are getting scalped by the Redskins. Outside in the backyard, the beer kegs are empty dead soldiers lying in the mud. Bud in the can from the local 7-11 now provides salvation. Friend of the Devil blasts from a boom box, while three girls sit on the picnic table, swaying to the music and laughing at the brave souls dressed in only skivvies, slipping, sliding and tumbling in the vegetable garden as guys and gals tussle in the naked mud wrestling tournament. This is Hog Heaven. Next door at the Church of the Nazarene, they are singing and giving praise to the Lord. On our side of the fence, we know Jesus never rode a Harley. [comments] => 3 [counter] => 191 [topic] => 43 [informant] => pvd [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 20 [ratings] => 4 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => oops )
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