Minion of Crowley, King of Hell

I'm still in relaxed holiday mode, though the suburb's noise level is back up, including screaming kids next door.  Pet hate.  I know, I know, a jury would convict, I'd get lynched etc, etc, but seriously, if the little shits start yelling at me again when they're on their trampoline, I will go to the door about it.   I got woken up by Jehovah's Witnesses this morning, which I actually found funny as hell.  It's been years since they caught me because I knew the regular one's knock, but these were new and also, still asleep.  So I yanked on the nearest clothes and opened the door, hair all spiky and insane, gaze unfocused.  Nearest shirt was my black TEAM CROWLEY tee, complete with pentagram on the front.  They took this well, I must say.  They must be as used to householder weirdness as census collectors.

They asked me whether I thought the world was falling into chaos (Me, "Oh, definitely!") and what I thought the reason was and I said, "Methylamphetamine."  Well, after a couple of tries that might have made them think I had some personal association with the stuff.  Then they read me a Bible verse and I have no idea what it said.   Something along the lines of the world is ending but that'll be okay.  They tootled off and I got the door shut before I started chortling.  Seriously, you have to get amusement where you can.  And they did provide me the favour of being my alarm clock, because I have to go help my mother out today and gods know what barbs she's going to sink in my hide.  So I need all the fun I can get.  

Go Crowley, King of Hell.