The weather for February in Texas can be punishing--but, not when Apostates gather!
It was at least 70 degrees and sunshine was spilling out of the heavens like copious golden coins from the fists of Midas.
I assembled my crew of stalwarts before noon for the drive. (How we contracted stalwarts I can't say; perhaps it was horseback riding.)
I plotted the course in my iPhone GPS and revved the engine on the powerful 4cyl Dodge Dart and away we blazed like the Indy 500 when the flag falls.
Our caravan consisted of myself in the driver's seat, my long-time JW buddy Quentin and our adopted mascot DUB who is a one-legged, 81 yr. old ex-baptist iconoclast. We aren't exactly the 3 Musketeers so much as we may well be the 3 Rust-keteers.
I had expected the International Press to follow our activities but oddly, none appeared to chronicle the events of the day! Go figure.
Quentin and I have known each other since we were very young adolescents in knickers in the horse and buggy era of Nathan H. Knorr. We go way back.
Dub, on the other hand, was a customer in the bookstore where I use to work in the religion section. Dub is a "seeker" of truth. And when truth isn't to be found he'll settle for B.S. just like the rest of us:)
I tracked our progress, as mentioned, on my gps while Dub offered contrary advice. We got off on the wrong freeway as a result and I banished Dub to the outer darkness where weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth takes place. (He had to run along outside the car for a couple of miles until I forgave him.) The trip to Carrollton was an hour and fifteen minutes of Senior Hijinx. We discussed a great many topics on the way. Mostly this was due to the fact we are all so old we can't remember any of the details of what we wanted to say and simply move along to the next topic!
We arrived at James Wood's palatial estate surrounded by a lake, Rolls Royce, Ferrari, komodo dragons and the hide of a strange monkey.
We knew it was James' house because a mammoth blinking neon sign stands above the entrance with one word flickering eternally to view: WIBBLE!
Dub, Quentin and myself emerged from the car and the sound of knee-joints cracked like pistol fire in the noonday stillness. The old folks had arrived!
We marched in lock step reciting the chant from Wizard of Oz: Oh ee Oh, ee ohhhhhh, Oh ee oh, ee ohhhh.
I rang the dingdong bell and the gigantic door opened slowly like chamber to the Crown Jewels at the Tower of London.
A spry figure appeared to greet us (halfway between Erroll Flynn (in his last days of alcoholism) and (Douglas Fairbanks after a nasty fall on the set of a silent film.)
"Hail and Welcome" came the booming basso profundo voice, "I am James Woods and this is the home of Wibble Incorporated!"
We old farts shook the beefy well-muscled hand offered by our host as we entered one by one.
The Woods' home was designed by James himself and assembled from Lincoln Logs and rhinestones into a sumptious splendor of decadent largesse.
We were awed. I know this is true because I heard Quentine and Dub saying, "Awwwwwww..."
Once inside the foyer the expanse opened into a split-level manse replete with bustling servants that would put Downton Abbey to shame.
James escorted us into the dining area to meet his wife whose name is pronounced MY. As in MY name. Standing beside her was Michu (Pronounced Me-Jew.) She was not wearing a yamalke.
Introductions and hand shaking, hugging, blowing of kisses, flashing of gang-signs and spray painting of the kitchen took place.
I was quite taken with astonishing beauty of Michu who appeared to be about 19 years old. She claimed to be older. I'm sure she is lying!
But, being an older fellow, I reeled in my interest so as not to give away exactly how creepy I am!
The Apostafest was officially underway!
Due to the impromptu short notice of this gathering there was not enough time for international jet-setter ex-JW's to book flights.
Local apostates either had to work, were serving sentences in the pokey or had not sobered up quickly enough to make the trip.
Phone calls, e-mails, PM's and water balloons poured in from around the world with well-wishes and manifestations of love.
A veritable mountain of foodstuffs were heaped on the serving area for our delectations. Quentin speared a roast suckling pig so hard the apple was nicked loose from its mouth! Dub dived in on the barbecue and it took two of us to extract him as he was hung up on a skewer-kebob!
I delicately festooned my plate with foi gras, pickeled eel's bladder, smoke moose lips and a fine glaze of Spam sauce.
The men broke free from the womenfolk and gathered in a circle to munch, jawbone and make snarling animal sounds.
The ladies had pillow fights, bounced on the couch and swilled hard liquor. (We pretended not to notice!)
After several helpings of the main course-- dessert was served. Jeeves arrived to proffer delicious comestibles to tempt the palate! An array of chocolate covered batwings awash in peach brandy was just what the doctor ordered! I've never tasted anything quite so mammalian! I expressed my delight with several "eek-eek's" of approval.
With our middles displaced into unsightly beach ball sized protuberances, we menfolk passed around the Cuban cigars and soon filled the castle with the redolent muddle of manly pollution. The ladies choked and gasped for air throwing open windows and scrambling frantically to shut off the smoke alarms that were screeching everywhere like air raid sirens during the Blitz!
After a few discreet belches, we passed out into a satiated stupor and--one by one, rolled off our couch, chair or setee with a loud thump!
Mai and Michu seize the opportunity to roll us out the front door and Super glue us to a large red anthill on the perimeter of the premises.
What raucous laughter and hijinx ensued. Those rascals!!
Later, after daubing the swollen ant bites with axle grease from his Ferrari, James regaled us all with an aria from Air on a G-string. Don't worry--he was still in slacks!
Using a lamp cord as a lasso I managed to corner the womenfolk and herd them into the living room to join the conversation. I hope I didn't tie the knots too tight! We all chatted and indulged in recherche. Then, taking a break, we obtained a dictionary and looked up recherche to see if we had done it correctly!
Like the exhuberant man-puppy I am, I friskly suggested to Michu that we take a long walk in the sunshine around the lake. Before you know it, Mai and Michu were on their way. I was handcuffed to a chair vainly struggling to free myself, alas!
The ladies returned several hours later skipping delightfully and humming stanzas from Gilbert and Sullivan's the Mikado. I'm a good sport, however, and somehow managed not to pout. Much.
Reforming our circle of chatty friends into an oblong gerrymandered geometrical anomaly, the conversation turned serious. We discussed our personal battles with the Watchtower Society and passed around photos of the Governing Body so that we could scribble moustaches and Van Dyke beards with harsh abandon and malice aforethought! It wasn't our finest moment as human beings--yet, I doubt today any of us is sorry!!
As the giant cathedral bell above the hall bathroom knelled 6 P.M. our fine host, James, stood and announced with a tear in his eye, "If you old reprobates don't leave soon I'm gonna sing again!" Well! Our backs against a wall like that--we quickly grabed our frocks and codpieces and rushed for the door.
There was more handshaking (probably Parkinson's) and farewell's were bid. It was a no trump. Somebody shouted, "Gin!" and James hurried to lock the liquor cabinet. We hobbled out like penguins with hemmorhoids and drove off in a cloud of burned rubber as the souped-up Dodge Dart's tires bit into the concrete and the mighty 4 cyl engine screamed in protest.
The drive home was uneventful. Quentin has a powerful grasp of the Dallas topography and he served as pilate (Pontius). We only got lost one or twice.
By the time the impressive Ft.Worth skyline manifest against the setting sun we were spent. We hugged in Dub's driveway and bid each other well.
Another fine Apostafest goes into the books and all is well in the land of ex-JW tomfoolery!
Amen.