Putting the hole back in holy?

When I was 7 years old, I used to really dig sneaking into the Baptist church in my hometown. I would spend a couple hours just walking around trying to not get caught.

During most of his tenure at that church, the preacher was fucking the organist. But I didn't understand what was going on. So I would hear them in his office or catch a glimpse of them spanking each other with hymnals in the choir loft.

For the better part of my childhood, I thought a prayer should sound something like "Oh God! Oh God, that feels so good! Please God, don't stop!" I mean, I really wanted God to inspire in me that kind of breathless bliss.

In 1983, I was asked to give the blessing at my family's Thanksgiving dinner. I have to assume everyone found it fairly shocking because it was the last time I was asked. And because we buried my great-grandmother two days later.