Degrees of Irony

π hit in the face by a man!

I am not adept at irony. I like irony on the menu, but overpriced.

Here's an example of what is acceptable as irony in my world: The Story of the Christian Whore.

Back in 1991, while traveling through the Florida panhandle, working on creating a Cracker alphabet, I was talking to a Deputy Sheriff in a small town. I was gassing up and he'd pulled up behind my cheerfully decorated van. I hadn't decorated it; it had come that way, handed down to me by my Uncle Ricardo in a fit of gallows humor, but that's an entirely different story.

The Deputy, whom I figured wasn't there to gas up, came right to the point, after coming up and invading my personal space. "You in town for long, or are you smart enough to see that your kind ain't welcome here?"

Slipping into my well practiced Scottish brogue, I replied, but only after inhaling sharply and making a face. "Aye, laddie, I'll be making for the road just as fast as the good lard lets me. I ken that this no be a spot on which I should tarry."

Much to my surprise, not to mention my delight, the Deputy laughed. "Ha ha," he chortled. "Yer all right, son! Hey, on yer way out, stop here and worship." With this cryptic remark he fished into a breast pocket on his crisp uniform jacket and handed me a business card.

SISTER SATISFIED
CHRISTIAN CHARITY
AT YOUR SERVICE
211 Hoffman Ave.
Crackerbarrell, FL
Turn North at the Water Tower

Without thinking I asked, "What's this?" in my normal voice.

"About 25% of our local economy. Go try it out." Pointing along the street he continued, "Head on up three blocks and turn right. Have a good day." And with that he whirled and got back in his patrol car. He didn't give me another look as he backed out and regained the street.

(to be continued when the boss goes to lunch...)

After concluding my business with the gas pump, I followed the Deputy's directions and soon found myself in front of one of those barn-like churches, it was a big building, with a steeple and two steps up to the main entrance. The only sign was over the door: "Christian Charity"

I pushed through the front door and found myself in what for all the world looked like a doctor's waiting room. It was a small room, with only a sofa and two folding chairs. There was a door at the far wall, with a window in the wall next to to it. I heard footsteps behind the door and so when it opened I was standing there, waiting.

"Hi, I'm Sister Satisfied! What your name?" She looked to be in her mid to late 20s. She was pretty in a farm-girl sort of way, very healthy looking. I mumbled something about the gas station, the Deputy and fumbling, handed her the business card.

From that point on details grow hazy. But to bring this to moral tale to a close, I'll explain that Sis. Satisfied was a whore. A Christian whore. She and her fellow Sister Satisfieds, (Sister Christian having been trademarked by Night Ranger) charged money for holy acts of sexual gratification that did not involve intercourse, vaginal or anal. They were all virgins or church-married. And my particular Sis. Satisfied was certainly adept at giving pleasure without endangering either herself or my eternal soul.

So there you have it. Christian Whores, devoted to God but addicted to mammon. I left satisfied and she remained unsullied. I am VERY surprised that there isn't a nationwide chain of Christian Charity.