St. Elmo's Fire

Last night
Well, no
Early this morning
I dreamt
Or dreampt, phonetically
But probably just dreamed
That I was dragged
To a religious seminar
Hosted by those silly Scientologists.

It was impossible for me
To hold back the laughter
As one Mr. John Travolta himself
Gave an almost moving speech
On his cult
Complete with life-sized puppets
To demonstrate whatever the Hell
It is that those clowns
Believe in.

Tim was there, maybe my Dad
And an Eric or two.

For the little life of me I couldn't
Stop laughing at the coining and repetition
Of the term "alien Jesus" throughout the sermon
And commentary of my friends.

At some point I escaped to the basement
Of the compound to reload
Multiple magazines of the .22 caliber variety
Though I never got to empty them
On any deserving parties.

And just when I thought it was safe
Tim hit me with it again:
"Alien Jesus! Alien Jesus!"
It was hilarious to the point of tears;
I almost woke in those.
I woke in those.

I'M TYPING IN CAPS BECAUSE I'M YELLING NOW.
I WOKE IN THOSE.

I've had a few
And I apologize--

Like I told her last night:
If you're lonely
Talk to Jesus.
They say He's still listening

Rubbed raw and useless
And ready for another round...