Last night I had a strange dream. Since it's already fading I thought it would make a fun blog. I was working for a temp agency, and looking for work. The temp place calls and asks if I can preside at a memorial service at a local church, as their pastor just died. I figure, since I'm ordained in several cults, including one that authorizes me to commit the sacrament of marriage in the State of Michigan, there should be no problem winging it.

I show up at the church for a pre-service meeting. They ask no questions about what I want to say. Since I'm not up for an hour of preaching, I cleverly suggest that their members do individual testimonials. They say, no, they didn't really know him that well. Huh. Ok, I ask what the guy's name was. Henry, they tell me. How about the last name? They're not sure. Miller, maybe. No pictures of the dear departed, either.

Then comes the kicker: my pay. They'll take a free will offering, then see how much is in the envelope, and "adjust it" if it's too much. Right. So by now I figure this is some elaborate hoax, and instead of just reading pieces of Revelation, like all the other preachers do, I give 'em Ecclesiastes 9:4. (Look it up, you heathens!) Admittedly, a nasty thing to do at a funeral, but I figure they deserve it. Then I just carry on with some passages from the Book of the Subgenius for good measure. Somehow, I don't think there will be a problem with the free will offering being too much. I figure it's my contribution to organized religion. They aren't offended in the least, though, and we all shake hands and part friends.

This morning I called my pal, the Master Wordsmith, and asked him what he would have done. "Read the speech from "Waking Ned Devine" " he tells me, "that's a good one." So now I have something to look up....

And I swear by all that is truly holy, that when in Port Watson I'll stick to only doing weddings at the New Reformed Graceland Wedding Chapel of Elvis The Most High. Really.