Reverend Richie Ryder, Doctor of Divinity
Mike knocked ferociously on Richie’s bedroom door. He demanded in strong language that Richie go to town and buy milk, bread and eggs at Walmart before noon.
“You don’t do nothing else and don’t got no job or go to school, you should at least get me some stuff,” his grandpa had said.
Richie woke up and stared out into his room. Above his desk, his pride and joy hung framed on the wall: his doctorate of divinity degree from the online Worldwide Church of the Redeemer (Reformed) online seminary. He paid over $300 and spent an incredible six months studying for his doctoral degree which tested his knowledge of the Bible and the official church commentary, The Truth and Meaning to Life by Dr. George C Norgood. This credential allowed him to pick up a small amount of money on the side as an ordained minister and wedding officiate. Richie had responded to his failures in community college and
the job market by studying theology. God bless the friendly old woman who gave him a well-worn and dogeared copy of Dr. Norgood’s magnum opus. It was on that fateful day that Richie decided that he, too, would like to know the truth and the meaning to life. He signed up and to his surprise found he could become a doctor of divinity and an ordained preacher by completing an online course
. His grandpa was skeptical because they didn’t do that kind of thing when they were his age, but what the heck, Mike said, they say you can make some money at it, so why not.
“If you actually woke up before eleven, maybe you wouldn’t have wasted six semesters at the community college and lost nine jobs in six years, you lazy ass,” Mike said from the hallway.
Richie bristled at Mike’s berating and slipped on his jeans over his athletic shorts.
“Milk, bread and eggs? Sure, gramps, whatever you need. I’ll have to fill the car up with gas before I go to Walmart,” said Richie.
“That’s fine, boy, but if I’m not eating a pastrami sandwich by noon, there’s gonna be hell to pay. See if the gas station or Walmart are hiring
, I don’t like seeing you play that play box thing or going on the internet all day, especially if them gnomes or whatever bother you so much,” said Mike.
Richie rolled his eyes. “They’re trolls, gramps, and the only reason they hate me is that they’re jealous of my musical skills and my drawing ability. Maybe if they worked on their God-given talents more they’d be too busy to mess with people like me.”
Richie stormed out to Mike’s ancient Buick and drove to the gas station a few blocks from their house.
Then he saw it - the black van of death; the assault vehicle of the Skellitin Warriers, an infamous street gang in Richie’s neighborhood. Richie was one of the gang’s favorite targets
.
The van looked deserted, and Richie pulled in to a pump as far away from the gang’s war van as he could. He paid at the pump and filled the gas tank as quickly as he could, looking at the crudely drawn skeletons, anarchy symbols and misspelled slogans such as DOWN WITH OBEME and JUSTIS FOR DA WIT MAN on the side of the van.
As Richie was putting the pump back in its place, he heard a yell from the distance. “HEY, DICK RYDER!” Richie spun around and saw Tyson Anders, Eli Feinstein and Jason Connelly standing in the doorway of the station’s convenience store. Snack foods and a 40 ounce beer were hanging from Tyson’s pockets.
Richie scrambled into his car and quickly turned on the ignition. The gas station attendant yelled at the Skellitin Warriers to pay for the merchandise, but they ignored his warning and ran for the war van.
“Dude, let’s get that little faggot,” said Tyson as he ran to the driver side door. Eli ran for the passenger side door, but neither door would open.
“Dude, the faggot won’t open! Like, why won’t the faggot open?” said Tyson.
“Yeah, like, uh, what up with that,” said Eli.
“You retards, you have to go in through the rear entrance,” said Jason.
“Yeah, dude, you would know about rear entrances, homo. Got kicked out of the Marines for lazy eye, tahaa,” said Tyson.
Jason glared at Tyson, his lazy eyes glowing red under his shades. Tyson opened the rear door and got into the van, opening the passenger side door for Eli from inside.
“OK, dude, like, you got to push the van for me to get it started,” said Tyson.
“Dude, why do I always get stuck with that job?” said Jason. He pursed his lips and folded his arms.
“Because you have a suspended license, you lazy eye freak,” said Tyson.
Tyson started the van and Jason pushed. The van sputtered a little bit and the engine started after Jason pushed the van a few feet.
“Did you see where that faggot was going?” said Eli. Jason had been scoping out where Richie had retreated to.
“Yeah, dude, he’s heading for Walmart,” said Jason. The van backfired and enveloped Jason in thick, black smoke.
“Get some exercise and walk, faggot,” said Tyson. Tyson drove the van into the street without stopping at the curb, nearly hitting a Prius on his way out.
“Faggots,” Jason said under his breath.
Richie parked the Buick as close to the Walmart entrance as he could. There really weren’t that many people at Walmart at this time of day, Richie thought to himself. He looked at his watch and saw that it was 11:25. He had plenty of time to get the milk, bread and eggs and get home so his grandpa could make his favorite lunch, a pastrami sandwich and vegetable soup, which he ate almost every day.
“I should say a quick prayer before I go in, for gramps and to avoid the Skellitin Warriers. As Dr. Norgood said, temper everything with prayer,” Richie said to himself.
As Richie was saying his prayer, he saw the war van enter the parking lot, and in the distance, he saw someone running through the field that separated the Walmart and the gas station.
Richie grabbed his pepper spray and his 1,000 lumen flashlight, got out of the car and started walking towards the entrance to Walmart. He was ready for a fight that he prayed would not come.
The war van screeched to a halt near the entrance. Tyson and Eli kept their eyes peeled for Richie.
“Where is that faggot and his old man car?” Tyson said.
He saw Jason about a hundred feet from the van, bent over and panting for breath. When he got his second wind, he started yelling at the other Skellitin Warriers.
“You illiterate piece of crap! Why did you run off like that? I had to parkour all the way from the gas station,” Jason said wheezing.
“Like, uh, where is that little faggot Dick Ryder, tahaa,” said Eli.
“OK, Eli and Jason, you guys go in the store and look for that little faggot, I’ll park the skeleton war van,” said Tyson. Tyson drove the van to the nearest handicap space and double parked the van. Why do those gimp faggots get all the good parking spots, Tyson thought.
Richie entered the store and made a beeline to the milk and eggs. Richie turned and a few aisles away, he saw Jason and Eli entering the store.
“HEY, DICK RYDER! Go get him, Eli . . . oh crap . . . “Jason said, and then vomited onto the floor.
Eli ran to Richie and took a sock filled with pennies out of his pocket.
“You’re going to pay for being a little faggot, you, uh, little faggot,” Eli said as he approached Richie.
Richie dropped his milk and eggs and took out his high power flashlight.
“Don’t do this, man, I don’t want to hurt you,” Richie said.
“A little faggot like you can’t hurt a beast like me,” said Eli.
Eli swung the sock at Richie, who blocked it with his left forearm and shined the strobe light into Eli’s face, disorienting him.
“Whoa, like, can a flashlight give you a legal high?” Eli said.
He covered his eyes and took another swing at Richie, but the swing went wide and Eli fell on his face. He made a futile slap at Richie, who dodged it and ran in the other direction. Eli was out of the fight.
“You’re not getting off that easy, fag. I’ll parkour you to the grave,” Jason yelled at Richie. “Get up, you worthless piece of crap,” he said to Eli. Eli groaned and disregarded Jason’s orders.
Jason did a cartwheel, but screwed up the landing and wound up sprawled out on the floor. Richie made it to the end of the aisle and made a sharp left turn towards the back of the store. Jason ran as fast as he could, drawing his airsoft pistol from his right hip and caught up to Richie.
“Eat BB’s, faggot! Live by the bullet, die by the bullet!” Jason yelled as he intercepted Richie.
Jason let loose a fusillade of airsoft BB’s, many of them hitting the mark and giving Richie little welts all over his body. Richie gritted his teeth and pulled out his pepper spray. After shooting 16 times, Jason dropped his pistol and took out his Ka-Bar folding knife.
“Submit to me like a young wolf submits to an alpha male!” Jason yelled.
Jason took a step towards Richie, and Richie sprayed a stream of his mace at Jason. Jason was able to parkour out of the danger zone and took a swipe at Richie with his knife. Jason was less than graceful with his Marine knife fighting and fell flat on the floor. Richie jumped over Jason’s body and booked it for other side of the store.
Jason quickly jumped to his feet and parkoured after Richie. All the parkouring Jason had to do by this time made him really tired and he could barely jog after Richie.
Richie and Jason then saw a figure holding a store baseball bat and wearing a skull mask.
“You know who da fuck it is,” said Tyson.
Richie looked down the aisle and saw Eli shambling towards him, and behind him Jason came limping along with his knife out. Richie knew he would have to take on Tyson. Richie assumed a martial arts stance from the taekwondo lessons he took as a kid and prepared for the worst.
Tyson swung the bat at Richie, and the bat glanced off the side of Richie’s right shoulder. Richie stumbled back from the blow and Jason whooped behind him.
Tyson swung again, but this swing was softer and Richie was able to grab the bat and throw it clear of Tyson. Richie was able to get a quick punch in and Tyson’s mask flew away.
“That’s it, no more mister nice skull. You’re going to die, faggot.”
Tyson threw an off balance punch that barely amounted to a slap on Richie’s face, but it was enough to push Richie back. Now Richie was angry. He swung his right leg straight up towards Tyson’s crotch, connecting and doubling Tyson over. Richie finished Tyson off with a punch in the middle of his back, and Tyson fell to the floor with a groan.
“Don’t mess with me again, you delinquents,” Richie said.
“Dude, you’re basically a Marine. I respect you. Maybe you could be our chaplain or something. Semper fidelis!” Jason said as he saluted Richie.
Richie handed a new copy of Dr. Norgood’s book to Jason. He always carried one in case he met prospective converts.
“Read this, maybe we can talk about it later. Excuse me, I have some shopping to do.”
“Cut, print it, that’s a wrap!” said the director.
“You don’t do nothing else and don’t got no job or go to school, you should at least get me some stuff,” his grandpa had said.
Richie woke up and stared out into his room. Above his desk, his pride and joy hung framed on the wall: his doctorate of divinity degree from the online Worldwide Church of the Redeemer (Reformed) online seminary. He paid over $300 and spent an incredible six months studying for his doctoral degree which tested his knowledge of the Bible and the official church commentary, The Truth and Meaning to Life by Dr. George C Norgood. This credential allowed him to pick up a small amount of money on the side as an ordained minister and wedding officiate. Richie had responded to his failures in community college and
the job market by studying theology. God bless the friendly old woman who gave him a well-worn and dogeared copy of Dr. Norgood’s magnum opus. It was on that fateful day that Richie decided that he, too, would like to know the truth and the meaning to life. He signed up and to his surprise found he could become a doctor of divinity and an ordained preacher by completing an online course
. His grandpa was skeptical because they didn’t do that kind of thing when they were his age, but what the heck, Mike said, they say you can make some money at it, so why not.“If you actually woke up before eleven, maybe you wouldn’t have wasted six semesters at the community college and lost nine jobs in six years, you lazy ass,” Mike said from the hallway.
Richie bristled at Mike’s berating and slipped on his jeans over his athletic shorts.
“Milk, bread and eggs? Sure, gramps, whatever you need. I’ll have to fill the car up with gas before I go to Walmart,” said Richie.
“That’s fine, boy, but if I’m not eating a pastrami sandwich by noon, there’s gonna be hell to pay. See if the gas station or Walmart are hiring
, I don’t like seeing you play that play box thing or going on the internet all day, especially if them gnomes or whatever bother you so much,” said Mike.Richie rolled his eyes. “They’re trolls, gramps, and the only reason they hate me is that they’re jealous of my musical skills and my drawing ability. Maybe if they worked on their God-given talents more they’d be too busy to mess with people like me.”
Richie stormed out to Mike’s ancient Buick and drove to the gas station a few blocks from their house.
Then he saw it - the black van of death; the assault vehicle of the Skellitin Warriers, an infamous street gang in Richie’s neighborhood. Richie was one of the gang’s favorite targets
.The van looked deserted, and Richie pulled in to a pump as far away from the gang’s war van as he could. He paid at the pump and filled the gas tank as quickly as he could, looking at the crudely drawn skeletons, anarchy symbols and misspelled slogans such as DOWN WITH OBEME and JUSTIS FOR DA WIT MAN on the side of the van.
As Richie was putting the pump back in its place, he heard a yell from the distance. “HEY, DICK RYDER!” Richie spun around and saw Tyson Anders, Eli Feinstein and Jason Connelly standing in the doorway of the station’s convenience store. Snack foods and a 40 ounce beer were hanging from Tyson’s pockets.
Richie scrambled into his car and quickly turned on the ignition. The gas station attendant yelled at the Skellitin Warriers to pay for the merchandise, but they ignored his warning and ran for the war van.
“Dude, let’s get that little faggot,” said Tyson as he ran to the driver side door. Eli ran for the passenger side door, but neither door would open.
“Dude, the faggot won’t open! Like, why won’t the faggot open?” said Tyson.
“Yeah, like, uh, what up with that,” said Eli.
“You retards, you have to go in through the rear entrance,” said Jason.
“Yeah, dude, you would know about rear entrances, homo. Got kicked out of the Marines for lazy eye, tahaa,” said Tyson.
Jason glared at Tyson, his lazy eyes glowing red under his shades. Tyson opened the rear door and got into the van, opening the passenger side door for Eli from inside.
“OK, dude, like, you got to push the van for me to get it started,” said Tyson.
“Dude, why do I always get stuck with that job?” said Jason. He pursed his lips and folded his arms.
“Because you have a suspended license, you lazy eye freak,” said Tyson.
Tyson started the van and Jason pushed. The van sputtered a little bit and the engine started after Jason pushed the van a few feet.
“Did you see where that faggot was going?” said Eli. Jason had been scoping out where Richie had retreated to.
“Yeah, dude, he’s heading for Walmart,” said Jason. The van backfired and enveloped Jason in thick, black smoke.
“Get some exercise and walk, faggot,” said Tyson. Tyson drove the van into the street without stopping at the curb, nearly hitting a Prius on his way out.
“Faggots,” Jason said under his breath.
Richie parked the Buick as close to the Walmart entrance as he could. There really weren’t that many people at Walmart at this time of day, Richie thought to himself. He looked at his watch and saw that it was 11:25. He had plenty of time to get the milk, bread and eggs and get home so his grandpa could make his favorite lunch, a pastrami sandwich and vegetable soup, which he ate almost every day.
“I should say a quick prayer before I go in, for gramps and to avoid the Skellitin Warriers. As Dr. Norgood said, temper everything with prayer,” Richie said to himself.
As Richie was saying his prayer, he saw the war van enter the parking lot, and in the distance, he saw someone running through the field that separated the Walmart and the gas station.
Richie grabbed his pepper spray and his 1,000 lumen flashlight, got out of the car and started walking towards the entrance to Walmart. He was ready for a fight that he prayed would not come.
The war van screeched to a halt near the entrance. Tyson and Eli kept their eyes peeled for Richie.
“Where is that faggot and his old man car?” Tyson said.
He saw Jason about a hundred feet from the van, bent over and panting for breath. When he got his second wind, he started yelling at the other Skellitin Warriers.
“You illiterate piece of crap! Why did you run off like that? I had to parkour all the way from the gas station,” Jason said wheezing.
“Like, uh, where is that little faggot Dick Ryder, tahaa,” said Eli.
“OK, Eli and Jason, you guys go in the store and look for that little faggot, I’ll park the skeleton war van,” said Tyson. Tyson drove the van to the nearest handicap space and double parked the van. Why do those gimp faggots get all the good parking spots, Tyson thought.
Richie entered the store and made a beeline to the milk and eggs. Richie turned and a few aisles away, he saw Jason and Eli entering the store.
“HEY, DICK RYDER! Go get him, Eli . . . oh crap . . . “Jason said, and then vomited onto the floor.
Eli ran to Richie and took a sock filled with pennies out of his pocket.
“You’re going to pay for being a little faggot, you, uh, little faggot,” Eli said as he approached Richie.
Richie dropped his milk and eggs and took out his high power flashlight.
“Don’t do this, man, I don’t want to hurt you,” Richie said.
“A little faggot like you can’t hurt a beast like me,” said Eli.
Eli swung the sock at Richie, who blocked it with his left forearm and shined the strobe light into Eli’s face, disorienting him.
“Whoa, like, can a flashlight give you a legal high?” Eli said.
He covered his eyes and took another swing at Richie, but the swing went wide and Eli fell on his face. He made a futile slap at Richie, who dodged it and ran in the other direction. Eli was out of the fight.
“You’re not getting off that easy, fag. I’ll parkour you to the grave,” Jason yelled at Richie. “Get up, you worthless piece of crap,” he said to Eli. Eli groaned and disregarded Jason’s orders.
Jason did a cartwheel, but screwed up the landing and wound up sprawled out on the floor. Richie made it to the end of the aisle and made a sharp left turn towards the back of the store. Jason ran as fast as he could, drawing his airsoft pistol from his right hip and caught up to Richie.
“Eat BB’s, faggot! Live by the bullet, die by the bullet!” Jason yelled as he intercepted Richie.
Jason let loose a fusillade of airsoft BB’s, many of them hitting the mark and giving Richie little welts all over his body. Richie gritted his teeth and pulled out his pepper spray. After shooting 16 times, Jason dropped his pistol and took out his Ka-Bar folding knife.
“Submit to me like a young wolf submits to an alpha male!” Jason yelled.
Jason took a step towards Richie, and Richie sprayed a stream of his mace at Jason. Jason was able to parkour out of the danger zone and took a swipe at Richie with his knife. Jason was less than graceful with his Marine knife fighting and fell flat on the floor. Richie jumped over Jason’s body and booked it for other side of the store.
Jason quickly jumped to his feet and parkoured after Richie. All the parkouring Jason had to do by this time made him really tired and he could barely jog after Richie.
Richie and Jason then saw a figure holding a store baseball bat and wearing a skull mask.
“You know who da fuck it is,” said Tyson.
Richie looked down the aisle and saw Eli shambling towards him, and behind him Jason came limping along with his knife out. Richie knew he would have to take on Tyson. Richie assumed a martial arts stance from the taekwondo lessons he took as a kid and prepared for the worst.
Tyson swung the bat at Richie, and the bat glanced off the side of Richie’s right shoulder. Richie stumbled back from the blow and Jason whooped behind him.
Tyson swung again, but this swing was softer and Richie was able to grab the bat and throw it clear of Tyson. Richie was able to get a quick punch in and Tyson’s mask flew away.
“That’s it, no more mister nice skull. You’re going to die, faggot.”
Tyson threw an off balance punch that barely amounted to a slap on Richie’s face, but it was enough to push Richie back. Now Richie was angry. He swung his right leg straight up towards Tyson’s crotch, connecting and doubling Tyson over. Richie finished Tyson off with a punch in the middle of his back, and Tyson fell to the floor with a groan.
“Don’t mess with me again, you delinquents,” Richie said.
“Dude, you’re basically a Marine. I respect you. Maybe you could be our chaplain or something. Semper fidelis!” Jason said as he saluted Richie.
Richie handed a new copy of Dr. Norgood’s book to Jason. He always carried one in case he met prospective converts.
“Read this, maybe we can talk about it later. Excuse me, I have some shopping to do.”
“Cut, print it, that’s a wrap!” said the director.
