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Human Bic Lighter before/after The place is a church. A protestant church for the curious. Wasps all dressed up to outclass the Joneses in Almighty's God's eyes fill the pews. The collection plate is passed around to the awkward dismay of the patronage. As a child I would wonder why God wanted my money. If He made everything, then He owns everything. So putting money in the plate amounts to a tranfer of money from one place to another. Much like moving chairs around the living room. Why all the re-arranging. What difference does it make. Besides, if God is hard up for dough, can't he just miracle up some benjamin's for the short term quick fix, like late at night when Father Ethan finds a severe need for a fat chinese boy, and none of his parishoners can provide the tithe. I'm sure there are those who use such an analogy to break into the poor box at Catholic churches for abortion and booze money, and I certainly don't recommend that. But I don't advocate raping small boys, either. Cuts on both sides, the blood flows freely. When I was an acolyte, which is a fancy term for human bic lighter, the first time we got a new pastor, I caught him smoking. He was standing outside his little cubby hole, hidey hole off to the side where he gets dudded up. It had a door to the outside. He smoked newport menthols, I think. I was putting on my swanky red pancho like robe. (later I was dismissed from acolyting forever for reasons of chewing gum during the service in my little pew off to the side. My excuse: my mouth gets dry and God doesn't care. The pastors reasoning: Its not holy.) He seemed embarassed. I didn't care, and still don't.
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