I
have heard the call. I have accepted the responsibility, and I thank God my
family has been chosen to be a model of justice in my neighborhood. We are a
light that shines in the darkness, and darkness shall not overcome us. There is
a wonder working power in the goodness, the idealism, and the faith my family
possesses. We will use whatever means necessary to defend our freedom and to
make our neighborhood secure. We are here to defend the hopes of all mankind
and to eliminate evil.
The
other day I saw my neighbours moving some stuff around in their house, and I
said to myself, “Dear God, they are making a bomb!” I knew this, because these
people had towels wrapped around their heads, and we all know what those people
are like. I called some of my friends over and showed them, but they weren’t
too sure. They suggested I wait and see before I busted in their front door and
started shooting. I told them I was confident we would find all the evidence we
needed once we were inside.
“Are
you with me?” I yelled in an inspiring shout for freedom.
“No,
it’s illegal!” They yelled back, then went home.
“If
you’re not with me, you’re against me,” I shouted after them. One British guy
and his family from across the lake stuck around, but that was it. “We are
fighting evil here ,you bunch of cowards. We are fighting for peace,” I said to
no one.
We
armed our children and surrounded our neighbour’s house then demanded they let
us in to check the place out.
“No
bombs here,” the leader of that household said in broken English. He was lying,
because, as we all know, people who can’t speak English properly are habitual
liars. I insisted a neighborhood delegation be allowed in to check it out.
Finally they agreed, but we couldn’t find much. All this proved was that they
had lying down to a fine art.
“No
bombs here” he lied again, obviously insulting my intelligence. So we blew in
his front door, back door, windows, and roof. I was proud to watch my boys rock
the neighborhood with massive explosions. Our wonder-working power put on a
hell of a good show. We shattered his house with technical precision, although,
unfortunately, we had to shoot some of his children who got in the way. It was
good chance to try out some new guns though.
“It’s
like a giant video game!” My youngest shouted with delight as the front porch
disappeared in a ball of fire. Some of my sons carried video cameras instead of
guns to keep us all updated as to what was happening. Another son
compassionately edited out the really gruesome scenes, because if there is
anything I hate, it’s gratuitous violence on TV. Once the house was secure, we
turned the place inside out. We tore out walls and dug up floors.
“No
bombs here,” one of my sons reported in perfect English after the dust settled
and we had the head of the house under citizens’ arrest.
The
neighborhood had all gathered to watch the show. “We haven’t found any of the
bomb stuff yet, but we’re sure it is here somewhere,” I assured them. “What we
have found though is evidence that he was beating his children.” Unfortunately,
just at that moment, some of the children we had just killed to restore peace
to this suffering household were carried past. This seemed to distract our
neighbours from fully appreciating the safer neighborhood we had created for
them. Their ungratefulness really hurt, and I just could not understand why
they hated us so much. I figured they were feeling guilty for not helping, so I
offered them a second chance. “How would you guys like to help with the
cleanup, repairs and perhaps some childcare? I don’t think it’s fair that we
have to do everything. After all, we’ve made the neighbourhood a safer place
for everyone, not just our family.” But they just shook their heads and went home.
“What
would Jesus do?” I called after them as Jesus’ smashed body was carried past to
be stacked with the rest of the collateral damage.
Andy MacPherson is a writer who also serves as a care worker for people
with disabilities at Bethesda Christian Homes.