I open the door and say hello, and the Jehova's witnesses begin their practiced speil, haltingly somewhat. It was only later I realized why their patter was off-kilter. I was standing there with my Satanic long hair still half-wet from the shower which makes it look a bit slick. Like I'd been headbanging with my buddy the Dark Lord. I was standing in the doorway which gave me an extra five inches on these guys who were short as it is. And I was wearing my weird Threadless tee which I think illustrates a particular programming pattern but to the uninitiated probably looks like a ghastly pagan symbol with leering happy faces.

The Jehova's Witnesses are prepared to deal with little old biddies and lonely housewives who think inviting well-dressed men clutching Bibles will get them one step closer to heaven or at least give them some blessed company... (pun intended). The J-dubs are ready to hear about how it's never been the same since Mittens the kitty passed away, and they have a practiced speech about how in the great hereafter beyond the apocalypse the lion shall lie with the lamb and the lamb will be nuzzling Mittens and you'll hang with all the peeps of the animal kingdom in a multicultural, multispecies eternity.

No really, you can see pictures of this on the back of The Watchtower (the free magazine they give you). It's worth asking for a copy just for the illustrations (though the J-Dubs will return weeks later if you do and ask you how you liked it so you'd better have a speech practiced (something blasphemous and hilarious if possible)).

But I DIGRESS...

The Jehova's Witnesses are NOT prepared to deal with a six foot tall (well, 5 feet 11 and a half inches but you'll grant me artistic liberty, right?) hulking dude with a mane of rock star hair, jacked up on coffee and wondering why these suited squares have dragged him away from The Internet which he was perusing.

"We're hosting an event in celebration of the life of the Greatest Man. It's on March 22 at Kingdom Hall." mumbled the one clutching the Bible.

"Yup," I say. I get the feeling the J-Dubs would have preferred that I just bellowed "GET THE HELL OFF MY LAWN, FREAKS" instead of talking to them because that's a response they could easily rationalize, and I wonder myself why I didn't say "thanks, but no thanks" a long time ago. But now we're both committed to our conversational paths so we have to ride this crazy train to the end of the line. Choo choo!

The J-Dubs' script probably suggests the next question the tenant, will ask is "who is the greatest man?" but I'm not dense. I know they're talking about good old Jesus Christ. I really have nothing against Jesus, just those who would parade him as a symbol for a restrictive and controlling sect. Sadly this includes most Christian religions but I'm sure someday I'll find one that does it right. (One particular story I was told in a bar once suggested a particular Christian sect that has a good thing going but I don't think I'm allowed to tell you what I've heard about them lest someone gets arrested... but the words "let's all get naked" were involved at one point).

Eager to hasten the end of this encounter I say "well thanks for letting me know, I'll take that flyer you got there," and I see that actually the guy doesn't really want to give it to me. Everyone is welcome in the afterlife but not everyone is welcome at Kingdom Hall in this life. There are standards. The J-Dubs have always had a problem dealing with their disciples' kids who are eager to rebel. They haven't struck upon a youth movement to channel that energy as the Baptists have with Christian Rock.

But eventually the guy gives me the flyer and I wish them a good day and close the door.

I sort of worry that those guys are back at home now lying awake in their respective beds staring at the ceiling envisioning ways to prevent the big, weird guy from coming to their open house. I hope I haven't perturbed them too much.