First of all, let me explain how I have lost that thing in your head which I believe is usually described as a “filter.” It's that thing that stops you before you say or do something highly inappropriate. Mine has gone missing. And it's my belief that when someone sees how unsteady I already am on my feet and how my left arm is obviously impaired, it's highly unlikely that they're going to knock me down. I'm sure there will come a time when I carry all this just that teensy bit too far and get hurt, but so far I'm OK. So here's what happened in this week's Unfiltered Chronicles.

My wife works most weekdays, so I'm on my own for lunch. Probably much like you, I've got a handful of places I like to eat. One of those places is a Luby's cafeteria near me. They know me there; the food is good and reasonably priced. I've never really had any problems. Until this week. And I fully admit that I started it.

My favorite Chinese waitress, Nancy, brought my tray to a table and as I was tipping her and sitting down, I couldn't help but notice this fat-ass white guy about my age at a table across from me. He had on a black t-shirt with “Satan Sucks” in big white letters. When he got up to go to the restroom, I saw the back of the shirt. It had a crucifixion scene with "Jesus Saves" in smaller letters.

I was wearing some new fur-lined Crocs my wife had gotten me for my recent birthday. As he made his way back to his table. He stopped and said, "I've been looking for some of those shoes. Could you tell me where you got them?" He was from the country and these country bumpkins come into my city to eat and shop fairly frequently, even though they go back home to their double wide and write letters to the editor about how dangerous my city is and how no decent person would think of living there.

I gave him directions to the shoe store just down the street. Then he asked me what church I went to. I should have pegged him by his hair. I call it "preacher hair," but it is also often seen on ambulance chasing lawyers and used car salesmen. It's often fake.

I told him I didn't go to church and I didn't want to discuss it. He got this look of horror on his face and said he'd pray for me. I told him to save his breath and go finish his fried chicken and mashed potatoes and gravy. (His plate was loaded with nothing but starches.) He pulled out a little pamphlet that matched his shirt and gave it to me. He said, “You can read this or throw it away but I will pray you read it.”

I pointed to the word “Sucks” and said, “You do realize this is a sexual reference, don't you?” Again, that look of horror along with stunned silence. So I continued.

“You see, 'sucks' is a transitive verb requiring an object. So, in this sentence, 'Satan' is the subject, 'sucks' is the transitive verb, now we are left to question what the object of that verb is. Does Satan suck lemons? Does he suck chocolate milkshakes?”

In the continuing look of horror/stunned silence, I opined that, “What you're saying, if I know anything about our current cultural references, is, 'Satan sucks cocks.' And I suppose, given his locale, that Satan sucks cocks in Hell. Is that what you mean to say with this t-shirt and pamphlet? Is that your Christmas message for the children?”

He was so close to hitting me, I almost felt his hammy fist on my jaw. But he just grabbed his fat-ass wife in the middle of her chicken-fried steak and hustled to the exit.

I sincerely hope I ruined his day.

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