And the big G

Everyone is different when it comes to finding the big G. There are the vast majority of people who find the big G when they are introduced to it at a tender, young age. 

A family member, or friend, decided that they were ready, and just like that, they are no longer ignorant to G. Some are touched and enjoy the experience, while other's feel repulsed.
Some rebel against it, and lash out at others because they feel that they have been forced into a life of servitude by whoever introduced them to it in the first place. They feel like their childhood was robbed, and turn to darkness.
Then there are those who feel that they are lucky to have been brought into the fold so young. Basking in the glory that is the big G, and trying to force it onto others.
Some people find the G in the shower, on the shower wall, or in the kitchen, on a piece of toast.

I was force fed the G at a young age, and I didn't want it. It made me different from other kids who's parents had forced them, because my parents were slightly different, and came at it in a much darker, and heinous way. 

They took me into a dark room, where 5 other children my age all waited for our lives to be altered forever.
I dont remember the woman's name, and I am not sure if I want to.... but what I do remember is this: Sunday School is bullshit! And to top it all off... I was a Catholic.

God is one of those things that I have never really been able to wrap my head around, and from precisely the moment I walked into that dark, musty smelling torture chamber, and was handed a picture book in which Jesus was holding a dinosaur, I knew that me and that holier than though bitch who taught our catechism class, weren't going to get along.

That was kind of how my relationship with religion, or the big G in the sky, has gone for my entire life. I dont pay any attention, unless I am arguing about something.

I figure that my only real brush with any kind of divine entity happened when I was in highschool. I wasnt touched by an angel or any shit like that. I dont care who you say you are, but you arent touching me, whether you come at me all feathers and choirs, or just crack walking.. Rape is rape motha fucka.
But my friend Sarah felt the touch of God, hard.

My best friend Sarah and I used to go to the monastery in our small town because it is the perfect place to not only check out some seriously scenic vistas, while becoming one with nature, but also to canoodle with monk dudes who say and do some seriously fucked up shit.

This particular time we were walking back past the monastery, after becoming one with nature, or as most people call it, weed, and Sarah happened to notice that there was a Razor scooter leaning up against a wall of one of the dorms.

Suddenly I am looking at a candy crazed infant who's eyes are so round and shiny that you just know that bitch will throw a tantrum if she cant have a fucking gumball.

I immediately begin to try to talk her out of this insane, and evil act she is about to commit, but Sarah has a habit of completely ignoring common sense, in the face of the greater good: anything illegal.

Ok.. so I may have only halfheartedly elbowed her a couple times, and it may have been towards the scooter, but I felt that in the grand scheme of things, I was telling her that this was wrong and this kind of vile lechery would be punished to the greatest extent of the law.

I probably should have considered that Sarah was stealing from a monk. These dudes sit and pray all day long. Even if there isnt a god, there has to be some kind of energy that they can control at will, like spiritual Professor Xaviers or some shit.

Now, the monastery is on a hill. A big hill. No a fucking ginormous hill. This hill eats other hills for breakfast.

So, making a get away worthy of Bonnie and Clyde, Sarah goes ripping down the hill at mach 12, and I lope behind her lazily 'cause these monks are all 900 years old anyways and the most they could probably do is give us a mean fist shaking, from the window, as we make off with their sleek speed machine. 

Suddenly, as if Sarah has been bitch slapped by the hand of god, she is airborne. Maybe this all happened in slow motion because it was such a juicy moment in life, and my brain wanted to savor it, but I swear she had hang time.

Hang time immediately led to face time, which immediately led to all other parts of her body making wawaweewa-sexy-time contact with the pavement.

God had clearly made a statement, and that was pretty simple: we needed to bring that scooter back right now, or someone was gunna feel the wrath.

So, since I had been in catechism as a child, and Sarah found herself a recent convert, we decided that we should probably steal it anyways.

We named that little bitch Scooty, and he came with us everywhere. He rode in the back of Sarah's SUV so that he would be at the ready whenever it was time for some serious shenanigans.
Scooty was our best friend, and we knew that we would never be without him. I even thought I might let him walk me down the aisle...

But then... just like that... Scooty was gone... Ripped from out lives, leaving nothing but an empty hole, and the need to fill it.

Scooty was a soldier, and like any good soldier who knows that his comrades arent going to carry his rickety ass back, he made us go on without him.

Cptn Scooty found his final resting place somewhere near a highway in the vicinity of BC, 3 days after our brush with God, and that little gaffer taught me a valuable lesson:

When you steal anything from people with super powers, always let your friend take the reigns because inevitably they will face fuck the ground, and thats not something that you have ever really acquired a taste for.