Well, dodged that bullet.
Came back from the parish’s corned beef and cabbage dinner to discover a pamphlet left by the Jehovah’s Witnesses.
Apparently they’ve discovered that Jesus was not only pasty white, but based on the picture, Richard Chamberlain. I feel bad anymore about mocking the poor fools, so it’s better I don’t confront them, I suppose.
14 comments Og | Uncategorized
My mother considered anyone coming to her door to sell something as a volunteer plaything. As such, she would invite the Witnesses right on in, and have a nice long talk with them
This only happened a few times, and she must have been placed on some sort of ‘Black list’, as they never came to her door again.
I suspect they didn’t appreciate having their missionaries talked clean out of their religion.
A mezuzah used to be proof against them, but apparently not anymore; particularly around Eastertide, they persist in sticking pamphlets in our door.
It’s said that my great-grandfather knew his bible so well he could out-argue a Jehovah’s Witness. Apparently that means he could talk about it for so long that he wore them down.
You could always put on a heavy apron and some rubber gloves, splash some ketchup and tomato sauce on and around you, and then answer the door with a butcher knife in your hand. “This… isn’t a good time.”
lol. Hell, why bother with ketchup? There’s almost always some actual blood around here somewhere. Often as not mine.
I could just do this, though.
The cherry on top is to chase after them a little. “Wait! Do you know how to get bile out of a white carpet?”
Jo: I was chased through a Granger parking lot friday afternoon by an achondroplastic dwarf. She didnt mention bile. It was no less startling for all that.
Chased through a parking lot by a dwarf? should have been a slow speed chase.
They seem to get a certain glee out of Easter time, going door-to-door to tell people that Jesus is dead.
They even accosted me while we were missionaries in Mexico City. I was at my lowest point of a particular trial of my faith when they knocked on my gate. Oh, went out and I listened to their sad news of my dead Savior, when all at once, He spoke to me: “These people don’t love you.”
I looked at them and knew it was true. So, I told them: “it’s all very nice for you, probably true for all I don’t know about it, [they smiled] but here’s the thing: you don’t love me.
I stood there not saying another word, just searching their eyes. They knew the truth of it. Mumbled something and left me there.
I went inside and sobbed for joy at the truth of Who does love me, faith newly bolstered against the enemy.
Dodged THAT bullet!
You know why Italians don’t like Jehovah’s Witnesses?
[ godfather voice ]
Because Italians don’t like any witnesses!
[/godfather voice ]
Jim
Sunk New Dawn
Galveston, TX
Joan: That’s the Whizzo Quality Assortment method for dealing with proseletyzers: “That’s as may be, but it’s still a frog.”
Whizzo!
Back in my days in Herr Clintoon’s Luftwaffe, I worked with a staff sergeant who had the sure fire recipe for guaranteeing no return visits: Be buck nekkid and covered with gun oil and cleaning fluid when they arrive. Invite them in, then calmly finish cleaning your gun collection while oh-so-politely arguing every point raised.
He said he never saw the same set of missionaries twice, although he never could get them to stop sending new ones over.
I usually stop all salesmen by having a 1911 down by my side, as I do to anyone knocking on my door.
YMMV
There was a group who came around in a bus and dropped proselytizers off in wholesale lots in my old neighborhood. More than once I saw them from down the block, so I’d go to the door naked with a bad dog in one hand and a .45 in the other just so I could throw open the door to scream at them. Word got around and they avoided my corner after a few times. I’m not sure which party enjoyed it more, though.