Jehovahs Witnesses are waiting for Armageddon,
7:22PM Thursday Night
If the Kingdom Hall is filled to capacity with people (some faces you are sure you have seen on Post Office walls) and there seems to be a flurry of activity, there's more clean hair than usual, it's nowhere near Nissan 14, and the Congregation Overseer looks as if he is about to hurl his dinner at any moment... that can only mean one thing (if you are into interpreting "signs" as being only one "sign" with lots of parts and stuff) ....the Circuit Overseer is Here. The most dreaded two weeks out of each year for the Organizational Butt Kissers Worldwide Brotherhood of Elders of Jehovah's Witnesses et al. Getting caught with your hand in Satan's cookie jar is small change compared to the stress this induces.
The impact this one man's presence has on this group of roughly 110 people is astounding in its magnitude for someone who lives in a trailer behind a Kingdom Hall, owns two suits, never went beyond the 12th grade, and never had a job more complicated than cleaning the toilets in a Free Clinic in Cleveland. The expectation of his visit sends out waves of speculation and preparation, anticipation and panic in advance of his physically being there, like a hail storm before a tornado. His letter and schedule arrives, is read and is posted well in advance so White-Out can be ordered by the case, dissenters disfellowshipped, the urinals scrubbed, and those "reaching out" can be grabbed by the short hairs and hauled in for pre-hearing, last minute honing with the proper organizational buzz words, jargon and button- pushing devices. All sentences must begin with, "It's so ENCOURAGING to have you and Sister Klose2God with us! Do come and lunch with us after morning FIELD SERVICE as the little woman, er, I mean Sister Kissup, is making her famous tuna salad delight! It would be such an UPLIFTING time for us and we look forward to hearing your EXPERIENCES."
Candidates are seen in the corners of the hall fumbling with 3 x 5 cards, sweating, pacing and practicing their microphone cord winding skills for perfect coils every time. The younger brothers watch with envy and awe, knowing that they, too, will give up a four-year scholarship to Harvard Law School to be able to wind a mike cord like that some day, in service to Jehovah. The single sisters watch those single brothers, dreaming of days of endless pioneering with babies in strollers, Dunkin Donuts and McDonalds every single day, and checks from the Welfare Department because they have no job skills. Paradise is at hand, could life possibly be more full?
Brother School Overseer hasn't eaten in a week and has called all the publishers assigned to the school parts at the Circuit Overseer's visit every night for a month with threats of physically dismembering them with a dull chain saw if they don't show up. Anyone going over their allotted time on their talks, and needing to be gonged, will be reported as an illegal alien and be subject to deportation, or, worse than that, have their name removed from the microphone-passing assignment sheet for two months. All sisters caught practicing their talks in the stairwells or johns before the meeting of the CO's visit will be sentenced for (but not limited to) business, high-rise and security building service time for one year. He has chosen all the pioneers and high-end stage presence types to so these parts to make himself look better, but he runs the risk now of really pissing off Sister Perfect because he plans on giving her a "W" no matter how good her illustrations are. She has never received anything but G's in 48 years, but he can't come off looking like a wuss in front of the CO. She'll get over it. So, she won't be volunteering for any more substitute talks... he'd have to run that risk. Besides, she's a female and there are about 100,000 females to every male in the organization so who cares what she does? He'll find himself another little publette to impress into servitude.
The cute little 9-year-old giving the #2 talk (the "rookie" talk) is actually a 42-year-old midget brother School Overseer borrowed from the Leftwing Congregation over in Dayton, so that the CO would be "wowed" by the prowess of the young ones in this congregation under his auspices. In his head, he sees the CO nodding approvingly towards him as the midget, er, youth, steps down after using gestures appropriate for the material. Snapping back to reality, he checks his watch. He's glad he remembered to call Brother Shrinkydink to remind him to shave closer before coming and to wear a clip-on and lots of mousse in his hair. Brother Shrinkydink owns a gay disco in a bowling alley which he called "Paradise," but he makes great contributions towards the World Wide Work so nobody minds much, and his sister is married to the District Overseer. Brother School Overseer notices him outside ditching his cigar into a snow bank before entering the Kingdom Hall and sighs with relief that he remembered his Tic Tacs. He jingles them approvingly in his pocket.
The School and Service Overseers Wait - 7:28 PM
Brother Service Overseer is uncontrollably peeing in his pants yet again, having gone through a whole pack of Depends today alone, because his own hours don't meet the Congregation Average for three months running. He took that promotion at work not understanding that it meant installing and maintaining burglar alarm systems at Our Lady of the Hayride Catholic Church every Saturday and Wednesday morning. He is standing in the Second School rubbing his ass in anticipation of its loss, and cursing those damn pioneers for running up the congregation average monthly hours to that totally unattainable number of 9. He would have to ream them out at the Pioneer Meeting on Saturday afternoon after he got off over at Our Lady's. But on the brighter side, he looks so cute in his little tool belt! Sister Pioneer4Life gets hot (he saw her staring wide-eyed) when he shows up in that. Sister Service Overseer will be out in service with Sister Klose2God all afternoon, so won't be the wiser. He thinks he's still got it goin' on, but then awakens to the fact that that is his own hand he feels on his ass and people are starting to stare.
Sister Makindubs has the part on the District Assembly right after the lunch break and has to speak up to be heard above the hoagie-induced snoring from the friends. She speaks directly into the microphone in answer to a well-rehearsed series of stupid but leading questions from the brother at the podium about her latest challenge and blessing from Jehovah in her incessant field service. She is carefully avoiding "word whiskers" and using lots of animated and absolutely NOT preplanned or rehearsed gestures.
In exchange for this tireless work of hers, Jehovah has chosen to overlook the fact that her house is a nightmare even to a roach, her lawn looks like a nature reclamation project, her kids have no friends because they are home-schooled and are socially inept, afraid of their own shadows, and they don't see the light of day except when getting into the car to go to the hall or out in service with PioMom. Dad is a janitor and works three shifts to support PioMom in the field ministry. Their family does all the "family parts" on every School/Service Meeting that has a part for a "theocratic" family. ( "So, Billy, what will be your presentation tomorrow morning in the door to door ministry using this issue of the Watch Tower with the dead people in war torn Beirut?" "Well, Dad," eight-year-old Billy says, holding up the magazine for the audience, "I will say, 'This is just one wonderful example of the kind of thing that Jehovah will do to everybody who is not a Jehovah's Witness...'")
But we digress....PioMom prepares to
"Well, Brother Lyksgize..." Sister Makindubs begins talking about a miracle that happened involving "the CALL BOOK." Sister Makindubs' call book is the envy of the District and is as thick as Shaq's fist. It is held together with several retied broken ancient rubberbands and hair scrunchies and has papers in every color known to man sticking out of it in all directions. It is considered to be a holy artifact. The spiritual welfare of Cleveland hangs in the balance within its pages. Whenever anyone leaves the congregation, they pass on their calls to Sister Makindubs because they know those calls will be kept safe in the CALL BOOK. She keeps calls until the toilet paper they were written on dissolves or the householder dies. She has written down every door that she has ever been to in 22 years of pioneering, believing in her heart that "there are no bad calls." It happens that she was out in service in a rough area of Cleveland with Sister Hipsoplenty when they arrived back at the parking spot to find the car had been stolen.
It was a perfect service car, a black and white, unpresumptuous four-door sedan with bench seats and ample literature storage in the trunk, and cup holders. It was also a used Cleveland squad car that she had gotten at an auction. (She had kept the handcuffs she found in the glove compartment in case of an emergency!) Now it was gone! In it had been the CALL BOOK. (Gasps are heard from those still awake in the audience.) Sister Makindubs immediately fell to her knees right there in the middle of the Cleveland projects and implored Jehovah to save the CALL BOOK. (They could HAVE the car, she just wanted the CALL BOOK. Two weeks went by, and she had all but lost hope of ever seeing the CALL BOOK again, when the cops rang her doorbell and told her they had found her car... but it wasn't pretty! Did she want to come down and identify it?
When she arrived, there was the car (or what was left of the car) up on cinder blocks with everything gone but the floor and the Happy Meal boxes. There on the floor, in several thousand pieces was (you guessed it) the CALL BOOK. The audience breaks out in a frenzy of applause at the recovery of the CALL BOOK, praising Jehovah who most certainly saved it from the hands of those Godless hoodlums! (Never did it occur to them that it was the only totally WORTHLESS thing in the whole car, with absolutely no pawn, chop shop, street or resale value whatsoever.) Jehovah had most certainly blessed Sister Makindubs and this was surely a sign directly from God for her to continue her selfless efforts in the ministry. The applause is deafening and tears flow as several head for the bathrooms during this distraction to relieve themselves of their two-Shasta lunches. Meanwhile, the brothers change the props on stage for the next encouraging and uplifting part. "Having Sex in This Time of the End - Why?" A 55-minute symposium."
Wednesday morning, 9:35 (late start yet again), basement of the Kingdom Hall (Spanish congregation meets upstairs...roughly 40, most of them landscapers off for the winter, out every single day). No brothers show up for the basement arrangement yet except one who isn't baptized but comes out every Wednesday to learn the ropes from the "pioneers and mature ones" as he was directed to. He's an idiot and mostly gets ignored. Sister Sneezy dons a Kleenex for a headcovering just in case.
There are 7 regular pioneers in this congregation, collectively they call themselves the "7 Dwarfs" and have selected cute lil' Dwarf names for themselves. They are a clique so tight you can't get a School Assignment Slip between them, and they resent intrusions and newbies. That is Sister Dopey on the phone starting her time by calling one of her studies to confirm that they will, indeed, meet again at 10:00 even though both parties already know this as the study has been going on for 5 years and they are still in the Live Forever book, Chapter 8. Two others are finishing their Egg McMuffins and talking with their mouths full. Two more are putting on mascara and donning another layer of unmatched leg warmers a la Flash Dance, circa 1982. Sister Grumpy is in the corner by herself actually preparing her presentation and organizing her calls. The other 6 Dwarfs hate her guts because she makes them look bad.
An auxiliary pioneer enters with her kids, low harrumphs and mumbles are heard from the Dwarfs. "If she thinks I'm taking those stinkin' kids in MY car with their greasy french fry fingers, she's outta her mind," Sister Happy says under her breath, as she smiles and waves to Sister VakashunPio. "Those auxiliary pioneers are such mooches... they think I'm gonna just hand out return visits to them so they can make their time this month! They can go get their OWN damn calls. I'm no babysitter."
Nineteen-year-old Brother Haznoclu arrives at 9:40, Sister Sneezy removes the Kleenex from her head with a sigh of relief. "Ah, a brother is here to guide us and save us, and organize us stupid sisters or we'd be here all day," she thinks, admiring the muscles working in his jaw as he speaks. The braces on his teeth glint in the fluorescent lights. "Sorry I'm late, I had to put a $1.50 worth of gas in the car, and that's all I had because, as you know, I quit high school to do this and I have no job skills and, hence, no job. But I started my time by leaving a magazine on top of the pump there. My parents told me that if I didn't pioneer they would have to kick me out, so here I am... lousy attitude and all. So don't give me any crap today, I'm not in the mood." (What the Dwarfs hear is, "It's so wonderful to see so many out in Jehovah's service on such a cold day. I am sure he will bless our efforts in the field.") "Let's just skip the Daily Text today, it's the same ol' yadda yadda yadda," he continues, "and I need at least 4 hours today to make my time and you sisters really are a pain in the ass to deal with out there with all yer bitchin' and moanin' about the cold, being hungry, changing stinky babies in my back seat and all, so don't get in my way. But hey, I'm looking for a good submissive sister with a great bod to do my laundry for me and this is definitely a buyer's market, so put on your best show for me today and let's get the hell outta here."
The Dwarfs hear, "...and please help us, Jehovah, to do your will and show loving kindness to all we meet and to each other. In Jesus' name we pray, Amen." The Dwarfs say, "Amen." The Dwarfs beat feet to their cars leaving Sister VakashunPio and her kids to fend for themselves in the parking lot saying that they all had studies and "prior arrangements" to go to. Brother Haznoclu hands her the Territory card #666 and tells her to make sure the not-at-homes come back to him, and leaves with single Sister Dopey with the big jugs. Sister Vakashunpio stuffs the card in her book bag, muttering something about Brother Haznoclu being a flaming something or other, and goes home to write letters to security high-rise occupants to make her time. She vows NEVER to do this again.
I gotta get me one of dem signs that says "BROTHERS NEEDED" and walk around the assembly all day with it like that guy with the bad acne is doing. Maybe I can find me a Millennium Man and settle on down for eternity. Someone actually sits all day making those stupid signs: PLEASE BE SEATED, KEEP MOVING PLEASE, HOLD HANDRAIL, VOLUNTEERS WANTED, USE ONLY TWO TOWELS PLEASE, SISTERS PLEASE DON'T APPLY MAKEUP IN REST ROOMS, PEEP HOLE TO SISTER'S JOHN IS ABOVE THE THIRD URINAL FROM THE LEFT.
There are never enough johns for the sisters who get
virtually all the trips to the john with the kids while their counterparts sit taking
(mental) notes about the attributes of the sisters going back and forth to the johns. The
rest of them are sleeping with their eyes open or working in the "Trucking"
department. When they were still serving food at assemblies, working in trucking was
definitely a Chick Magnet job. Now it's limited to a few lucky brothers with connections
running pickup for garbage and recycling containers, so the pickens are slim."They
would get to take off the suit coats and roll up the sleeves, revealing major pec-age,
wielding huge dumpsters up and down the corridors which could be heard echoing in the post
lunch break quiet, and would rival even Jehovah's own voice during pre lunch dramas. A
veritable testosterone rush."
Working the lunch distribution counters when they were still doing the food thang, and using the food tickets, was the most horrifying experience one could have. Especially if you weren't particularly good at adding on your feet. "Let's see...uh, one roast beef, one chicken sandwich, two Danish, 2 lemon-limes, a fruit bag, one milk, that's uh, three-fifty--no FOUR fifty, uh, chips are uh, 15 and .....I think well....(damn!) Just give me five and we'll call it even. NEXT!" There you are standing and facing a hungry mob, 45 people deep, whose sole break from the terminus bordomnetude of this assembly was to EAT. And the only thing standing between them and that food was YOU. NOT for the weak of heart.
So then they went to the no ticket/no cash CONTRIBUTION method, then NO HOT LUNCH method, then BYOS finally to "simplify" things...never giving up the CONTRIBUTION thing though...BYOS, y'all, but pay ANYWAY for the privilege of BYOS. Next they will be serving Tang and astronaut rations to save on garbage, and then maybe try connecting everybody to community G-tubes that hang from the ceiling like oxygen masks in an airplane, and feeding everybody at their seats so they never have to stop the Assembly program at all.
More likely the WTS was losing money big time because nobody could add and those who were selling the tickets were pocketing the proceeds. We used to sell tickets from behind the betting windows in our race track/assembly site. It was a strange sensation doing this "holy" thing in this den of iniquity from behind steel bars and bullet proof glass no less. It felt like a scene from "The Sting." You half- expected the temple prostitutes to meander in not knowing their usual clientele were on hiatus. And I won't even go INTO what it was like to clean the bathrooms of a race track facility when you only were at the place once a year, and they KNEW you would clean it for them free come summertime if they gave it to us Dubs for "free." We not only cleaned the place, we repaired it, painted it, scrubbed the concrete floors and installed all new sound systems. You tell ME who was laughing about that deal. There were people cleaning unknown bodily substances from bathroom walls there that never cleaned their own johns, and any child labor laws or health codes were strictly overlooked for Jehoover. Its a wonder that we didn't all die of hepatitis and give birth to two-headed kids in the aftermath like Chernoble.
Things inside the walls of the WitchTower take on a life all their own. Nothing is the same as on the outside where things such as tact and individuality still exist. People inside have no choice but to compare themselves to the lives of those of "status" in the congregation in order to ascertain whether they themselves actually exist. The Witnesses will quickly deny that any such differences or levels exist, as they perceive themselves as all "equal," a "loving family," "united in love," speaking the "pure language of the truth," etc., ad nauseam.
Let's look at how many levels of acceptability and
"equality" there are: (off the top of my head and in no particular order ):
Satan, very worldly, worldly, householder (two levels: bad call, good call), return visit,
regular stop on magazine route, study, study making progress, approved associate, study
attending meetings, study making meetings and going out in service (unbaptized publisher),
baptized publisher (two groups: male and female - males going onto to other levels not
available to the sisters), regular publisher, irregular publisher, inactive, active,
marked (bad association), privately reproved, publicly reproved, auxiliary pioneers,
regular pioneers, disfellowshipped, disfellowshipped but reinstated, disfellowshipped and
an apostate, disassociated, born in the "truth," came into the
"truth," special pioneers, Gilead Missionaries, Bethelites, ministerial servants
(sound, maintenance, literature, microphones), anointed, congregation elders (school,
service, accounts, congregation overseers), Circuit Overseer, District Overseer (the
"traveling" brothers), Assembly Overseers, writing, printing, building, buying
and legal overseers.... and probably a hundred or more additional nonlevels up to the
Gluteus Bodius in the Penthouse Apartment at Bethel. There are also some seldom mentioned
levels such as "ghost pioneer" (who is someone who makes incredible hours but is
NEVER seen in the field service arrangements) and "elderette" (who is either a
loud-mouthed wife of a loud-mouthed elder or a pioneer sister who can't grasp the concept
The minute you come in contact with a Jehovah's Witness you are instantly categorized into one or more of the above categories or perhaps subcategories of someone's imagination. Everyone will have you categorized differently depending on their access to your personal information. If you become a Jehovah's Witness, you spend your whole existence going from one category to another category, reaching out for this category or striving for that category, and all of this is based on your time sheet, your attendance and your ability to read and spit back mundane propagandized material from a Watch Tower publication and/or your gender, and it has nothing to do whatsoever with your spirituality or qualities as a human being. It would appear that some Jehovah's Witnesses are "more equal" than other Jehovah's Witnesses, but the turmoil in the ranks can't be seen with the naked worldly eye who is presented with this picture of "unity." However, inside the walls, it's roughly the equivalent of being caught in a never-ending nightmare of Venn Diagrams for the rest of your life. Everyone jockeying for position, and no one getting anywhere except by standing on the head of another. Excuse me, but do you really WANT to be on that Ark with these people when Jehovah closes the door? It reminds me of the movie in which Indiana Jones had to spell Jehovah's name by jumping from one rock to another....if he missed just once....he could kiss his ass, and that treasure, goodbye!
Two blessed congregations received word three months ago, directly from Jehovah, on his letterhead, stating that they were to select 20 people from their congregations (who are currently in good standing, making the average congregation hours, and not involved in any judicial committee meetings... if they can FIND 20 of those) to be in the DRAMA. It's now Sunday morning 11:00 AM sharp, day three (or sometimes four) of the District Assembly and the throngs of people (most of whom came only to see this and will leave immediately afterwards) fall into silence. (This is the only time you will be able to get into the bathroom without there being a line.) The music swells, crackles, pops, then swells again, (squeak!) as the Bethel Orchestra (squonk!) renders the opening dramatic but somber tune for, "Sodom and Gomorrah - Such a Deal."
Seats were carefully chosen today to get the best view of
the DRAMA, with preference given to being able to see BOTH groups of people perform
simultaneously. Like a hideous ping-pong game, the heads in the crowd go back and forth
waiting and hoping to glance once moment, one slip up, in the syncronization between ends
of the field. Even the kids in both Sodoms are wearing identical togas and red sashes for
TOTAL UNITY. The scene inspires awe. It begins....
Many toga-clad men are pushing and pulling on smaller more delicate-looking toga-clad men on the field in "Sodom." Much mock raping and pillaging is taking place with great enthusiasm. Off to the side, "Abraham" stands with his staff looking towards two men in off-white togas (the angels who stayed for dinner aka "Jehovah") who are gesturing in disgust towards the mahem in the city. Like a badly-subtitled Japanese film, Abe speaks:
"Ok... fine. Which one of you girls is Jehovah THIS time? What is this? Charlie McCarthy? Whats with the ventriloquism? And by the way, sending your friend down there wasn't such a good idea either. Those guys are ruthless. Why do you think I made camp up
here and not down there? Then again, maybe he'll be right at home with those patent-leather sandals of his." (The angels are still gesturing dramatically and nodding like they're listening to Spice Girls on their Walkmen. Abraham waves his staff in their faces. )
"Look, PAY ATTENTION! You asked me if there were any good men down there yet and I said there were, er, is... one anyway. Now yer making noise like you're gonna whack the place anyway! What's with THAT, Lord Indiangiver?" (One angel suddenly turns to Abraham with his hands on his hips... stamps his foot.)
"Abraham!!!!" (Jehovah's British-accented voice booms through the stadium. Children scream, mothers smack their kids and say "You hear that voice??? That's GOD! Now stop making faces at Billy and LISTEN!")
"Abraham!!!" (The angel's lips move on 5-second delay) "I told you I would THINK about it... and frankly, I have my doubts even about that guy Lot! His wife is the original Material Girl, and his daughters are ho's! Is that the best you can do? For this you want I should save this manure pile of a city? Oy, such a mess." The angel holds his face in his hands and rocks back and forth. The other hugs him comfortingly and picks lint off his toga.
"With all due respect, your Highandmightyness...we had a deal." Abe turns his back in mock disgust and indignation on the angels who are braiding each other's hair and quibbling. The intensity of the moment hangs heavy in the air, waiting for God to reply.
"The problem is," Jehovah begins slowly, (taking a few melodramatic steps towards the audience in perfect synchronization with the Jehovah at the other end, folding his arms on his chest) "I can't make up my mind if I should resurrect them or not once I have wiped them off the face of the earth. It would be a nice touch, don't you think, if I could make an example of them to the rest of eternity? But then, I start to feel GUILTY, oy, the GUILT, and I decide I should let them have a resurrection, but then I plan on using them as a reference point of 'All Things Evil and Disgusting,' so I nix the resurrection thing. But then I think, Oh, the HUMANITY, I HAVE to ressurect them... and then I'm off again... and back and forth... all this wishy-washy behavior on my part is starting to wreck my credibility in Brooklyn. It costs my Spiritual Israelites a fortune in printing costs every time I change my mind on things. It's sending Governing Body members to the Launching Pad before their time."
He looks back at Abraham who is yawning. "Hey! A little SYMPATHY might be nice."
Abe scratches his beard and puts more tofu on the fire for his guests. "I see your dilemma. And while we are on the subject, your Penthouseness, why is it if you are omniscient, you're asking me all these meshuginah questions? Is this a test or are the rumors true about you not being able to see through lead and having short term memory loss?"
The angels, who are doing the Macarena, pause. They move their lips at the same time, arms around each other's waist, "I'm trying to learn to delegate!" They reply, in harmony like the DoubleMint twins.
"Cute, very cute." Abe says, pouring his left over Starbucks over the campfire to kill it. "I vote we nuke the place then, because there is some ripe property down there I wanna develop for condos and a Walmart. I've been wandering homeless long enough already."
"Oh Goodie! I love Kathy Lee fashions!" The angels are clapping wildy and jumping up and down. "Well, Abe, you've been most helpful. But now I suggest you go behind that rock over there and cover your ass, because this fire and brimstone stuff really makes a mess. And can I geat a timeshare on one of those condos? Being in the Heaven of the Heaven's all the time gets lonely."
From behind the rock, "Yeah, yeah, yeah,...whatever."
Jehovah raises all four of his arms toward the mayhem in the city... lightening flashes, thunder roars, much screaming is heard, music swells, applause, applause, applause, mad rush for the lunch line and the parking lot.
People who become JWs (aka "Dubs") become so
ensconced in the cult mindset that their ability to reason and to question goes right out
their ears. They also become incredibly superstitious for a people supposedly protected by
the God of the Universe... and they believe EVERYTHING that other Dubs tell
them...regardless of the source or the lack of authenticity. It's astounding. See if
any of this sounds familiar and ask yourself if you, too, bought it, lock, stock and
barrel: Are these true or false?
- When Jehovah starts Armageddon, if you are within the confines of a Kingdom Hall, you will go untouched.
- You must go to all the meetings because you never know at which meeting they will announce that Armageddon is starting. If you miss that meeting, then you won't be in a Kingdom Hall and will have only yourself to blame when you get hit by bowling ball-sized hail.
- Going out in service is a voluntary work. No one forces you to go.
- Hours of field service are not important when reaching out for the position of ministerial servant or elder. Only your spiritual qualifications as listed in Timothy and Titus are considered. Jehovah has the final say so.
- Elders can handle any situation, no matter how personal, no matter how in-depth. They have a red phone in the office to call Bethel if they need to get answers.
- All "Questions from Readers" that Bethel gets are answered even if the question smacks of apostasy. All letters will be published in the magazines. Letters of questionable content are never marked "WATCH THIS ONE" and put in a permanent file with your name on it for all eternity.
- When you are reinstated, all record of your ever having been disfellowshipped gets destroyed in the spirit of being forgiven 7 + 70 times and "love never keeps account of the error." The congregation immediately welcomes you back with open arms as if nothing ever
- Smurfs have become demonized and have in fact, bitten small children and run from Kingdom Halls screaming obscenities.
- Items bought at garage sales are ALWAYS demonized. Garage sales held by Dubs are thereby exempt and safe to shop at.
- At assemblies, all speakers must follow strict guidelines for their talk times as everything must be done "in an orderly fashion." This does not apply however to the Circuit Overseer's speech if he is the last speaker nor to anyone from Bethel who speaks. Gonging a Bethelite is a disfellowshipping offense.
- The guy who runs the sound system is chosen for his popularity and good looks.
- Kingdom Melodies were all written by Dubs in some sort of bad or life threatening situation where all they had were roaches to eat and a pad and pencil handy to write songs.
- If you miss a meeting because you were having a hysterectomy, you have a lack of appreciation for the things that Jehovah has provided you.
- When in Service, ring the bell once, knock loudly on inside door once, leave literature in an inconspicuous place so that people (who just heard and saw you banging on the door with no answer) will not know no one was home at this house, you having thereby averted and
thwarted a last minute robbery plan. Step over the 15 newspapers and pizza fliers by the door on your way down the steps and across the lawn that hasn't been mowed in a week.
- Upon coming into the truth, beat your relatives over the head with it every chance you get, denouncing them as hateful and doomed human beings, avoiding all family functions and returning their Christmas gifts, and they will see the error of their ways and beg you for a Bible Study.
- When you are studying, your greatest enemies will be persons of your own household. They warned you up front about that.
- You can be a Jehovah's Witness and still be glamorous and sexy.
- You can be a Jehovah's Witness and still be an individual.
- You can be a Jehovah's Witness and still take that promotion and get that college education with absolutely NO GUILT about doing so.
- You cannot be a public speaker without having Theocratic Ministry School Training on "repetition used for emphasis" and the three P's.
- Jehovah's Witnesses are known and recognized worldwide because they are loving, decent, honest Christian men and women. When they arrive in a neighborhood and get out of their vans like the Invasion on Normandy, the neighbors immediately say, "Oh honey, look! Those wonderful loving, decent, honest Christian men and women, the Jehovah's Witnesses, have graced us with their presence!" Let's do make lemonade and welcome them in to chat!
- No one forces you to become a Jehovah's Witness. Absolutely no pressure is applied.
- No one forces a Jehovah's Witness to stay, after all they didn't SIGN anything.
- There are no repercussions for leaving the Jehovah's Witnesses. There's the door, don't let it hit you in the butt on the way out.
- Jehovah's Witnesses don't give another single, fleeting thought to their brethren who have left...never a single bad thought leaves their unified little minds.
- and last but not least, Jehovah's Witnesses have the "truth" that leads to everlasting life and mandatory loyalty to the Organization is just a nasty rumor started by Ray Franz
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