I Was Raptured By The Experience.

Posted by admin on June 2, 2011 in Religion |

I don’t like to keep secrets from my friends. Pretty much, I am an open book when it comes to things that happen in my life. So it’s with a heavy heart that I tell you all that the rapture did indeed come and I was part of it.

I know. I find it hard to believe myself. I was sitting here minding my own business — and, in fact, making fun of the whole rapture nonsense on Facebook — when I was raptured.

It didn’t happen at 6 o’ clock, however. It was at 8. I guess God must have been running a little behind. You know how that goes.

I didn’t really know it was the rapture. Like most of you, I always seem to be the last to know. I thought I was just taking part in a talent contest at a new bar that had just opened up in town. I had never heard of the bar before, and I pride myself in knowing all the bars by name around these parts.

But I thought, “why not?” They were offering free drinks and the chance to compete in a talent competition, so I hopped into the Black Widow and headed into town. The bar wasn’t hard to find. In bright, almost blinding white neon the sign on the roof said in 20 foot letters, “Heaven or Hell.”

A great name for a bar, I thought. I actually owned a little of each, my friend Bobby having sold me plots above and below ground over on the Olympic Peninsula. Seems he had stumbled onto the hallowed ground and had the presence of mine to sell space in both before the rapture rolled around and real estate there would be at a premium.

I guess they had opened a new place in Florida. I walked in and was met by some guy named Peter who was obviously the bouncer at the door.

“Name?” Peter said, matter of factly.

“Robb. Robb Zerr,” I replied.

“Ah, yes. There you are, Robert.” We’ve been expecting you.

That seemed a bit odd since only moments before I had decided to go to the bar.

I was ushered over to a small table in the back. There were perhaps three or four hundred other people in the place, which seemed to just go on and on. Frankly, I didn’t know how many people were in the place. It seemed a bit odd to see so many people, since the parking lot looked a bit empty. Maybe they had valet parking and I just hadn’t seen the sign directing me there.

I was really thirsty. Finally this angel of a waitress came by and took my drink order. Ah, “What the Hell,” I started to say. “Good choice, sir. I’ll be right back with two. She was back in a second, two drinks in her hand.

“What’s this?” I asked.

“What the Hell. It’s equal parts dry vermouth, gin and apricot brandy with just a dash of lemon. Enjoy!”

I was going to tell her that I didn’t really want these, that it was just a saying. But the show was finally starting and I didn’t want to miss a moment of the competition.

The judges were already seated in front of the stage. As I was seated in the back, I couldn’t tell who the judges were. I only hoped it wasn’t Simon Cowell. I couldn’t take any more criticism – I had had enough of that when I was married.

The first act took the stage. An Elvis impersonator. He was really good. He did the 1968 Elvis – in the black leather outfit. He was dead on. I don’t think the judges liked the pelvic thrusts, as he got pretty low scores. Next out was a chick singer. She had a bottle of Jack and did a great rendition of Me and Bobby McGee. Well, it would have been perfect, but the bottle was already half empty when she took the stage and she ended up slurring some, then screaming the second part when the tempo picked up.

I was definitely up against some stiff competition here. Act after act came up on stage, each giving it there all. I thought the judges were a bit prejudiced. They let some Christian singers slide right on by, even though they were a bit off key and had really big hair. The bigger the rocker, the worse the scores. And if the low scores weren’t bad enough, the judges were really give them hell during their critiques. Horrible things, like, “You’re not worthy” and “To the devil with ya.”

I began to freak out a bit. First, some of these guys were really good, certainly as good, if not better, than the people they were impersonating. Me, I didn’t do any “tribute” material. I was just me. And I was screwed.

Finally, the head judge called me up to the stage. I made my way through the crowd, which had thinned considerably. I guess if you weren’t a finalist you didn’t get to watch the rest of the show.

I got up on the stage. The spots were blinding. I couldn’t see the crowd or the judges, which I guess was a good thing.

I gave the performance of a lifetime. I thought I was superb. The lights came up, and for the first time I could see the judges clearly.

Crap! It was God, Jesus Christ and the Holy Spirit! I was indeed screwed.

The Holy Spirit spoke up first. Well he didn’t speak. But you got the message loud and clear. “My performance lacked soul,” he said. Jesus thought I “nailed it, but that it seemed to drag on longer than Lent.” Finally, it was time for God to judge. He looked down for a moment at his notes, then back at me. “I thought you gave it your all, Robert. It was good, but not good enough. I’m sorry, but you’re not going on to¬† move on to the next level. Better luck next time.

“There will be a next time?” I asked hopefully.

“Well, no. But we didn’t want to discourage you. I may be God, but I’m no Simon Cowell.

Out on the Treasure Coast, still trying to get my act together,

– Robb

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