Hi everyone, it’s Deacon Carl, standing up here on our sacred pulpit, in front of God and this entire congregation, letting you know the slanderous rumors being spread about me are one million percent false. Let me say this loudly and clearly enough so everyone in the balcony and inside the crying baby room can hear: the sexprints all over the church van are not mine. Those are not my footprints on the windshield. That is not my assprint on the passenger side window. That is not my penis-print on the moonroof.
Some of you know I initially blamed Pastor Lance for the sexprints and for the strawberry-watermelon-flavored lube that was all over the floor mats. I’d like to once again apologize to Pastor Lance for my rush to judgment. That said, how was I to know he was missing his left testicle from a childhood swingset accident? He never brought it up at any potluck or pancake breakfast or spaghetti feed. Also, as I told Pastor Lance when I apologized, my accusation should be considered a compliment – when I saw those two large testicular prints on the driver’s side window I immediately thought of him!
While I’m up here I’d also like to offer a sincere apology to Cantor Jeff. I accused him immediately after finding out about Pastor Lance’s missing testicle. In my defense, God came to me in a dream and said, “The sexprints are Cantor Jeff’s. He took the van out to do some street preaching and met up with a woman named Carla and they did some cocaine and had tantric cocaine sex in the church van and forgot to clean up after themselves when they were done.” Was I not supposed to take this message from God as the absolute truth, especially when it was so detailed? Also, how was I supposed to remember Cantor Jeff was missing three of his toes, some from the Gulf War and some from Type 2 diabetes, and so none of the sets of footprints in the van matched his?
Some of you here have said I am attempting to deflect blame from myself with baseless accusations about other people. Some of you have pointed to the grainy parking lot video of someone who vaguely looks like me escorting a woman who looks like she is probably named Carla into the van and snorting cocaine off each other’s tits. Some of you have wondered why I have staunchly refused to have my own toe, ass, and testicleprints taken by the police. If you really don’t have anything to hide, you say, then why not just rule yourself out as a suspect by getting toe and/or assprinted? And yes, while I’d obviously love to do that, I cannot. Why? Because in this day and age, with all the creepy sexprint fetishists that exist, my testicleprints would be all over the internet and I would probably not get into heaven.
And at this point, does it even really matter who did this? Our God should be a forgiving God who forgives people who did not know about the security cameras in the church parking lot and does not take vengeance on anyone who has a standing Thursday night appointment to have extremely hot but harmless van sex with a woman probably named Carla. Our God is a gracious God, right? A God who knows that whoever did this normally does a great job sanitizing and sterilizing the van but in this case probably got a little lazy because he was exhausted from work and thought he could just wait until the morning to clean everything up.
I don’t know about any of you, but that’s definitely the God I believe in.
