Every Saturday, we get together at St. Bart’s community center for group prayer. We pour some wine and sample a variety of cheeses. Then we make sex like Roman gladiators heading off to battle against a stronger foe, during which most of us will die excruciating deaths and this is our last night of engaging in unconventional positions with multiple genders who happen to also enjoy prayer and cheese. Don’t forget it’s BYOC—that’s bring your own condoms for you first timers. Hah! We’re just kidding. You don’t have to wear condoms with us. That ‘C’ is for cheese, and we’re looking to sample all sorts of crazy fungi and molds.
Our evenings include it all: The Rosary, Round Robin Prayer, Select Hymnals, Colby jack, gorgonzola, spicy gouda, Doggy Style, the Holy Cheddar Train, woman on woman, man on man, intermittent cheese breaks, Group Spooning—if you can imagine it, we can put it to prayer, stick it on a Ritz or rearrange the furniture, respectively. (Note: Before participating in the Holy Cheddar Train, first-timers must sign a release.)
We begin with 20 minutes of silent benedictions. We then sample some mild cheeses that are easy on the palette. Then once the wine is flowing, we fornicate like Neanderthals who have only recently discovered their genitalia and are eager to catch up for lost time. Like monks who have taken a vow of celibacy and are on their way to a weekend retreat, when their bus collides with a truck carrying a secret government aphrodisiac, and 14 miles of bumper-to-bumper motorists inhale the erotic potion until they’re all lying naked across car hoods and windshields shagging strangers from the traffic jam.
Again, folks, this is a prayer group/cheese tasting/orgy. We are not just a prayer group, not just a cheese tasting, and not just an orgy. Over the years, there have been couples who didn’t really understand this and they were offended by the mandatory praying, or our expectation they sample ALL the cheeses and not just the ones they can pronounce, or all the nakedness being flung about. It’s important you come to terms with the triple essence of our gatherings.
This week my wife Hilda has prepared some gospel songs, along with a garlic-horseradish gruyère she aged herself for seven months in our basement. After her rendition of “Amazing Grace,” we will sample her curdled wares. And then we will romp like savage Vikings adrift at sea for months who had lost hope of ever seeing land again, and then after hope ran dry the food ran dry and we turned to cannibalism to meet our daily caloric intake, eating the smallest and weakest of our Viking crew, only to finally spy land and come ashore to a naughty magnificence of nymphs and whores who had crashed en route to an Australian prison camp and were left man-less and cheese-less until we arrived, so that we Vikings and those harlots turned that sandy beach into a carnal buffet of loins and moldy deliciousness where we fondled and nibbled until we passed out from exhaustion.
As a matter of hygiene, please respect our ban on Velveeta, which we learned the hard way does not double as a lubricant. God Bless and see you Saturday for some wholesome prayer, cheese and organized adultery.
Image: Wikipedia
