Flash Wednesday again; raw dialogue from the pituitary gland in Adjunct to 8/9/2013 flash friday; a trinity of flashs

“So, god spoke to you, did he? I’m curious what does god sound like?”
“You are trying to diminish me, make me seem foolish.”
“I assure you, I couldn’t make you sound any more foolish than you are doing on your own. It’s a simple question, you said god spoke to you, so what does his voice sound like.”
“There’s this tom waits song I really love. God sounds like tom waits.”
“Gravelly voice, American accent in English?”
“No. Like something I really love.”
“But he spoke …”
“It’s a figure of speech. Would you have been more comfortable with the scent of god wafted towards me? I saw the face of god? I felt his pelt? I tasted god? Yes, I tasted god he tastes like a cross between a snickers bar and pussy.”
“God tastes like pussy, isn’t that, I don’t know, heresy?”
“Skipped right over the snickers didn’t ya? And yes, heresy, you don’t know what that is.”
“Well, I went through catechism, I’m pretty sure a whole platoon of nuns would have beat me senseless if I said god tastes like pussy.”
“Well, it’s possible god isn’t catholic. It’s possible too that nuns don’t know what pussy tastes like, but improbable. If there was a betting line, I’d go with God isn’t catholic and nuns know what pussy tastes like.”
“You’re right, I don’t care about heresy. I just protect and serve. I protect the community from whack jobs and whack jobs from the community. You aren’t doing a very good job of convincing me you’re not a whack job.”
“Have I hurt anyone? Threatened anyone?”
“Not yet, but, shit, Joan D’Arc spoke to god and she swung a sword at … a bunch of people.”
“Heh. English. There was a war going on. Lot’s of people were swinging swords. Pat me down for a sword officer?”
“Again?”
“Good point. That right has already been violated. I’m not claiming any kinship with Joan either, but, I reckon if your community had a bunch of 400 year old British aristocrats in it, I could where that comparison would make you nervous.”
“You were spray painting a church sir.”
“So charge me with vandalism and let a judge decide restitution. You grill a lot of vandals officer.”
“Only the ones that claim god spoke to them.”
“Ah, so I’m being detained for telling the truth.”
“Not exactly, your being detained for thinking that is the truth. I’m not a shrink, but my feeling is that hypothetical judge in your jurisprudence fantasy would be more likely to order you up a shrink or two before asking for the ten bucks of restitution to clean the church doors.”
“Did you tell me I had the right to remain silent.”
“I did. Miranda rights don’t play big in crazy court, but yes. I also said you could lawyer up, wanna?”
“No, just asking. You told me I could shut up and I could have a mouthpiece and I told you god spoke to me, that pretty much sum things up?”
“More or less.”
“So, which are holding me on? Graffiti or listening, again figuratively, to god?”
“I have 72 hours to figure that out.”
“Yeah, I know, I’m asking as a personal question. You could also put me in a psych ward for 72 hours to evaluate. So why are we talking? I mean you think I’m crazy so that explains why I’m talking against advice from Miranda, but why are you? Isn’t there some other protecting and serving that would be more productive?”

“Yes. I think you are crazy. And to answer the unspoken question in all that, yes, if you were some punk kid tagging gang signs on a church I would have scared the shit out of you and let you go hours ago.”
“So, your problem is with god? That’s pretty common among recovering catholics.”
“I’m not in recovery, I don’t have a problem with god, nuns scare the shit out of me, but I don’t think god has much to do with nuns.”
“Huh. You know I’m not a shrink either, right?”
“Suppose I were to ask you right now to get a bucket and a sponge and clean the church door?”
“I’d say I’m a little short, but if you loan me the supplies, yeah, lets go do it.”
“Wait, God spoke to you to write a message on the church door, wait, let me find my notes … God Doesn’t Worship Here … right? And you’re willing to erase it just to get out of trouble? That seems … weak.”
“God didn’t tell me to do that. Didn’t tell me to do anything, spoke was figurative. Yeah, I’d lock up somebody who said voices were telling him to take actions too, that’s crazy. That’s not how god works. I did the spray paint on my own. The minister knocked up my aunt and denied it, wait, no, there’s a biblical term … bore false witness. Given the circumstances I thought I was being pretty mild. According to that book that’s supposed to be about god, that minister would have got his ass smote, not his place of work tagged. I was gentle, not weak, and I wasn’t following gods orders.”
“You run into this a lot doncha?”
“Run into what?”
“Communication problems.”
“I don’t know what a lot is. So, can I go?”
“You think that now you’ve convinced me your not a whack job?”
“No, but do I sound like a threat to the community?”
“I’m still not a shrink, and, honestly, you don’t sound like you’re not a threat to the community. If I get you in front of judge in less than 72 hours will you promise to tell him or her that god tastes like pussy.”
“And a snickers bar. Jesus Christ those nuns really did fuck you up. Yes, I promise to tell the whole story. You might want to ask the minister, however, if he wants to press charges given his part of the whole story. There really isn’t a crime if he doesn’t, and crazy court … good luck finding a DA who wants to prosecute, despite how offended you are by the idea that god tastes like … a snickers bar.”