Showing posts with label I'm A Funny Guy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label I'm A Funny Guy. Show all posts

Monday, July 30, 2012

I Shouldn't Be Allowed to Speak in Church.

It is pretty well known that I have somewhat of a way with words. I'm no Plato, but I like to think I have a slightly higher than average vocabulary, especially being in good ol' Oklahoma.

Sometimes I get a bit wordy when I'm leaning on things.
Every now and again I can put words in a certain order that will make some folks laugh, other folks cry, and piss others off beyond belief. Call it a talent, call it a gift, call it whatever you wish, but there is no denying that God has given it to me.

So why is it that I so frequently muddle my words in His house?

That's right, I'm going to give you the top three most offensive things I've ever said in a church building.

Having been raised in church my entire life, I'm no stranger to being behind a pulpit. In fact, I preached my first sermon at the tender age of 13, and it was exactly seven minutes long. I buzzed through three pages of notes so fast that the congregation wasn't sure if I had completed one point or the typical Baptist three.

Fortunately, the third most embarrassing thing I've said in church was nothing irreparable, but it did manage to make a whole slew of folks mad at me.

3. "The Revival/Basketball Game statement"

I was 16, I was athletic, and I had just recently gotten a team together for a church basketball league. I was excited, because I was basically the head coach, and I might have done a bit of "outside recruiting." You know the kind, where you have to search outside the doors of the church for a few players, players that don't really know anything about Jesus, but have a mean 14 foot jump shot, and so you sign them up all in the name of witnessing. 

Being proud of the team I had acquired, and not knowing yet that we would be spectacular failures in front of both God and men, I wanted to encourage the people of our good church to be in attendance for our first game. I stood behind the pulpit and addressed them, saying, "It'd be real nice of y'all to come out and watch us play tomorrow evening." Then I remembered something in the back of my mind. Weren't we having a revival this week? No worries, I can handle that. 

"I know we're having a revival tomorrow night, but surely some of you can make it out to support us."

You would have thought that I had just questioned the immaculate conception of our Lord and Savior AND mentioned predestination all in one breath. The sharp inhalation of all those old-timers in the congregation caused a mild vacuum in the building. My youth minister at the time practically dragged me off the stage by my earlobe. I'm pretty sure I had to sacrifice a small goat to make amends. 

But it gets better. 

2. "Pimp Juice"

I had just recently been named Youth Minister, and I was busy establishing myself as a "cool guy" once again. This took more work than I thought it would, and so I found myself hanging out with my youth, trying to absorb their culture, their language, and their customs. One of the things I really harped on was transitioning from secular to Christian music, and I knew that in order to do that I should listen to some secular stuff to get an idea of what the kids were being bombarded with. 

Some of you remember Nelly's song "Pimp Juice." It is a tale of unrequited love in which Nelly seems to have captured the heart of a beautiful young lady, but he is concerned that she only wants him for his "pimp juice," which I, at the time, thought was something served out of that big cup that rappers always carry around. 

Little did I know, "pimp juice" stood for something very different in the eyes of my youth. One Wednesday evening, as we were preparing to start the lesson, one of my kids was joking with another about how he thought this girl liked him, but the girl was in the room, and she was vehemently denying it. I looked up and addressed the situation by saying, "Yeah, she only likes you for your pimp juice, man." The entire youth group stopped and looked at me. 

I love this picture. 
It took two or three of the older guys in my group to take me aside and explain to me what their translation of "pimp juice" was. Suffice it to say, I could not look the young lady in the eyes for the rest of her days in the youth group. I was, to put it mildly, mortified. 

And it gets even better.

1. "The unknown sexual innuendo"

This took place only yesterday, and was in fact the inspiration for this post. 

We have a very diverse and incredibly awesome Sunday School class. I know I've raved about it before, and I'll continue to rave about it because it is amazing. The people are real. They have problems, we have problems, and everyone will share them with everyone else so no one has to feel left out or alone in their struggles. We are also...a tad immature. 

You know how when you were twelve and someone would say "sex" and you'd giggle for thirty minutes with your friends? Well, our class has never really grown out of that phase. In fact, I'd venture to say that those reading this from that class just giggled when they read the word sex not half a paragraph ago. 

At the moment, we are going through a series called "The Five Love Languages." This is a very popular curriculum in churches, and it honestly does help a lot of marriages. The five languages of love according to the author are quality time, gifts, affirming words, physical touch, and acts of service. In our class, you can pretty much substitute "physical touch" for "sex." Imagine that, a bunch of mid to late 20 year olds having sex. Anyway, when we start discussing physical touch, it inevitably leads to giggles, laughter, and someone, usually me, saying "SEX" really loud, just for the laughs. 

Anyway, back to the situation yesterday. One of the class members is the mayor of the fair town of Muskogee. He does the announcements for our class, and is sort of the "warm-up" act before the main lesson. He addresses everyone in the room with a question of the day, and gets everyone comfortable. Some days that works splendidly. Other days he has to fight for control like the producer of "Toddlers and Tiaras." So yesterday, Bob looked at me and, referencing a newspaper article I wrote last week, said "Travis, I bet you at a lot of peaches last week, eh?" 

"Absolutely not. Why would you eat anything with hair on it?" 

I stopped myself too late, as the duality of the words I had just spoken washed over me the way they can when a man offhandedly refers to cunnilingus during Sunday School. For a moment, some semblance of order was maintained as those around me began to grasp the painfully obvious. I just hung my head. Then the giggles started. And they kept going. And I just sat there, eyes downcast, wondering why in the world the good Lord lets words even come out of my mouth. 

Bob, I'm sorry. Next time I'll just talk about how much I love oranges instead. 

Friday, April 27, 2012

My Very First Podcast.

No need to waste the words here when I have plenty of them here today:

I'm at the very beginning of a rags to riches story. ZING!

Monday, April 23, 2012

The One About Transitions.

This should not be confused with transition defense, which I'm terrible at.


I'd say that's all I'm able to say...but we all know that it's me, and that won't happen.

I posted a blog last Wednesday, about a tragedy that had befallen our hometown. If you haven't read it, go do so here, and this post might make more sense. It was a blog that was tough to write, but not for the conventional reasons that are normally associated with chronicling death. It was tough to write about because I was fighting my narcissistic nature the entire time that I wrote it. In fact, at one point, after having spent about 3 hours writing and deleting and rewriting, I finally had to walk away.

I'm so glad I walked away. You see, what I was writing was full of the word "I" and "me" and my thoughts and memories and opinions. And in the end, I'm not the person I needed to be writing about. So after spending a short time in prayer, I started all over. I listened to this song, and I allowed God to show me how he could be glorified, which inspired me to write the words that so many of you took the time to read and share. In fact, here are some of the numbers from the post, On Tragedy.

It has been viewed 2300 times in the last five days.
It has been viewed in 226 cities in 29 countries on 6 continents (the only one missing is Antarctica, and I can't blame them really, getting an ISP out there is tough).
It has been shared 430 times on Facebook.
It has accounted for 5% of all my blog traffic in the past three years.

Those are the stats as of right now. Even as I'm typing this, I'm checking my real-time data on the analytics website, and people are still drifting on and off the page. And seriously, as much as I've always loved blog traffic and numbers, I've realized two amazing things that I love more.

  1. The gospel message has been viewed 2300 times in the last five days. I've not been given any knowledge whatsoever that there have been decisions for Christ made as a result, but I like to think there have been. 
  2. The family has been completely unanimous in their expression that the post gave them peace and comfort. 
They buried Kambrin today. No one has given me an official attendance count, but I'd say somewhere in the neighborhood of eight hundred were there. There was standing room only in even the overflow room. There were a lot of tears, but even more laughter. We got to hear her uncles tell stories, and remind us all that she wasn't here anymore, but that we'd see her again one day. 

We drove out to the cemetery. My family gathered around my dad's grave briefly before the internment, and...we laughed. We joked about the size of coffin I'm going to need when I die. We talked about putting all four of us boys into a giant crypt with bunk beds in it, just like our room used to be. When the family arrived, we gathered closely around them and tried to give them comfort. There was more laughter, there were more tears. And then it was over. 

And because I absolutely deplore anyone who I feel is "cashing in" on tragedy, that's the last you'll ever hear of Kambrin on this blog. 

And so here I am. I'm sitting at home, much like five evenings ago, and faced with the most stress I've ever had when typing up a blog. In fact, I've been telling my wife all week that I have no idea how I'm ever going to write a new post. I'm wrestling with transitions. 

You see, a lot of people who have never seen this site before have been here in the last few days. More are on the way. I know that, because today I was asked at least five times what a "blog" was, and then asked for specific directions on how to get here. If you're reading this, I guess you made it. Thanks.

But it's in all that traffic where the problem lies. You see, I've not always been a "spiritual" blogger. I've always had and openly talked about my faith, but I haven't always represented it with the cleanest stories, language, or subject matter. If you look through my archives, you'll see posts littered with profanity, off-color humor, and several other things that would offend a great many "church folk," and my mom. 

I could go back through the posts and delete the worst ones, and I might still do that. I could also go back through and edit out all the foul language and use words like "pickles" and "dangit" and "fudge." And I might still do that as well. I haven't made a final decision though. You see, those posts, those stories, they represent a part of me. They let people know (if any still exist that think it) that I'm not perfect. I have a history. And it's not a "before Christ" history either. I've been a Christian for twenty four years now. It was simply a time where I was not as close to God as either one of us would have liked for me to have been. 

I will say this though. If you think I'm going to turn my little piece o' the internets into something other than a humor blog, you're dead wrong. You see, tragedy and comedy are a lot alike. In fact, you can't have one without the other. They are intertwined with each other, and both will ultimately lead to the other. So we'll go on laughing here. We'll go on telling stories about the athlete refusing to die and the fact that I'm a crybaby, or the time when I got what I deserved

For you rookies that might still be reading this, if you click the blue text, it'll take you to some funny stories. 

Will as many people see this post as the one before it? I'd be crazy to think that. Will this post be shared 430 times on Facebook? Maybe by me...but that's it. But the people that matter will be here. And they'll read it, and they'll know that even though I have a past, and even though I can form letters into words which might bring peace and comfort to some, ultimately I'm Travis Sloat, I'm a Christian, I'm proud to say my hometown is Okay, Oklahoma, This blog and I are a work in progress, sometimes I cuss a little, I love you all, and...I like to fish.  

How you doin'?

(Picture enlarged to show sexiness)