CLOTHES DISTRIBUTION

Thanks, Denise, He Said Sarcastically

I watched the solar eclipse hoping for the Rapture and all I got were two burned retinas and some kid named Nootbaar

Author, D. Denise Dianaty promised me a rapture, and I didn’t get it.

I’m livid.

Especially after reading her Medium story promising I’d see one and driving for two hours to get my rapture fill in a small town in Georgia.

I suppose you want some background on Denise’s story. Well, I’m too incensed to give it. Read it yourself. Basically, it was a documentation of all the amazing things that wild-eyed Christian fundamentalists promised would happen during the Great Eclipse of 2024, also known as The Last Eclipse.

They assured us that the Rapture was coming, so I put on my underwear (nothing more because what’s the point if you’re about to be ruptured by the Rapture) and traveled to north Georgia (Marjorie Taylor Greene country).

I know, I know, the smart people among you will say, “No, dumb ass, Denise was making fun of these people. Have you gone wacko like every other old white guy in the country?”

Legit question. At first, I thought she was making fun of them, too, but I felt a mysterious force descend upon me as I approached the small Georgia town. A sense, you could fairly say, that I was approaching the land of nutbars and their powerful forces that have consumed half the nation.

My plan, upon arrival, was to follow Denise’s excellent suggestion to distribute empty clothing to freak out the locals:

But we all know what happens when we freak out the locals in MAGAland. They get freaked out.

So instead, because I was behind enemy lines, I decided to tread carefully and focus on the eclipse. When the apex of the eclipse hit here in Georgia at 3:05 pm, I looked up at the sun for a few minutes thinking if Trump can do it, so can I. Glasses Shmasses.

When I felt my eyes smoking, I thought, “Okay, that’s probably enough,” and I started wandering around town in a haze. That’s when I saw this:

I investigated.

As I approached, I saw several people in a circle looking up at the sky. They also were staring at the sun without eclipse glasses. Empty clothes were hanging everywhere.

“Have people started shooting into the sky yet?” I demanded as a few people took notice of my approach.

“Not yet,” said some guy in a thick drawl.

“I was promised by a nutbar that they would be,” I replied.

“A nutbar?” someone asked.

“Yeah.” I took my phone out of my pocket and showed the woman Denise’s story, which described one of the Rapturists as a nutbar.

“Oh,” chuckled the woman. “She must mean Lars Nootbaar, the greatest baseball player in American history. I saw him here just a minute ago.”

“Wait. What?”

“Oh yes,” she nodded happily.

I googled him, assuming he was a favorite son of this town. I discovered he’s a rather obscure baseball player for the St. Louis Cardinals born and raised in El Segundo, California.

Her eyes looked glazed over from Oxycontin, so I tried to move on.

“What’s with all clothes hanging and the angel on the side of the van there?” I asked, rubbing the smoke out of my eyes (my retinas were still burning).

“From all the people disappearing,” she said. “Linda Sue hung ’em all up.”

The man who had told me nobody had yet been shot into the sky was firing a gun into the air while we chatted.

“But y’all said nobody had been shot off into space yet,” I objected.

“You know, son, saying ‘y’all’ just doesn’t really fit your Yankee accent,” said the shooter.

“Sorry,” I said.

“Just sayin’,” he replied. He then shot into the air a few more times.

“Why are you shooting your gun into the air?” I asked.

“Seein’ if any of thems come down,” said the man matter-of-factly.

“We figure we missed the Rapture while we were watching the eeeclipse,” said the woman. “But all these clothes were layin’ around all over town and we figured they all been sent up to see Jesus. So we gathered them clothes up like good Christians hoping that if we organized them like this, Jesus would give us a second chance.”

“He does that? Give second chances?” Maybe there was hope for me, after all. It was becoming clear that this whole Rapture thing was for realz.

Then, Lars Nootbaar showed up.

I wouldn't have recognized him if I hadn’t googled him. He was wearing a red Cardinals baseball cap and was clutching a pile of underwear.

“How the hell is this happening?” I asked.

“Language,” said somebody I hadn’t yet spoken to.

“It’s a miracle,” beamed the Oxycontin lady.

“Why are you here?” I asked Lars.

Lars looked around at the crowd gathering around him. Then he looked at me and asked, “Can we take this offline?”

I shrugged and he pulled me by the elbow and we walked away from the crowd.

The crowd shuffled in unison as it tried to follow Lars and me.

Lars spun around and pulled a piece of underwear from his back pocket and whipped it around his head in a threatening manner. “Back off!” he said to the enraptured audience.

The crowd halted.

We continued several more steps, out of earshot.

“I saw this really cool story on Medium by this lady who writes porn poems,” he whispered to me. “I love that shit. Anyway, she said we should all freak out the crazy Christians by dropping off clothes all over the place. So that’s what I did.”

“You came all the way from California to do this?”

“No man, I was in Memphis on a rehab assignment. And I saw the cool porn-writing lady’s post on Medium and thought this would be a cool place to do it because I dated a girl here once named Linda Sue.”

“I know this lady!” I exclaimed. “Sort of. We make fun of each others’ writing all the time on Medium!”

“That’s cool,” said Lars. “How’d I do?”

“You did fine,” I said. “But all I got for it was two burned eyeballs and a Nootbar.”

I showed him an energy bar that magically appeared in my hands out of nowhere while we were talking.

I was beginning to think that Lars Nootbaar was a being with magical properties.

“Dude,” said Lars. “Why are you only wearing underwear?”

I shrugged.

“Not a good look for a guy your age,” he said.

“Nothing is,” I replied, and we left town to take in a Braves game in Atlanta.

Notes

This silliness is in response to a challenge of sorts by Author, D. Denise Dianaty. Find more of her stuff here (she’s not really a porn poet!)

https://medium.com/@momzillanc

I’m sure that Lars Nootbaar is a perfectly fine young fellow. We shouldn’t make fun of people’s names. I will surely be left behind when the Rapture does come.

Hey, while you’re here, check out one of my novels. If you like humor, try Psalm of Vampires, a novel about a hard-luck streaming vampire. If you’re into magic vs. high tech, check out MagicLand, a 2023 Feathered Quill Awards finalist.