Nancy: “Why are you banging on my door?”
Banging Man: “Have you accepted Jesus into your heart?”
Nancy: “Does it look like I would be friends with him on Facebook?”
Banging Man: “We can all be redeemed as long as we have faith. And some disposable income for tithing.”
Nancy: “The only way you can be redeemed at this moment is if you are actually here to deliver the Chinese food I ordered an hour ago. Did you bring the shrimp eggrolls?”
Banging Man: “Um, no, I don’t know about the eggrolls… but I do have a brochure about everlasting life and-”
Door slams.
Door opens again. “On second thought, does that little brochure of yours mention eternal damnation?”
Banging Man: “Oh, yes. Many times. We’re really fixated on that.”
Nancy: “Great. Can I have one of your extras? I feel compelled to give it to my ex-husband so he can plan accordingly.”
Banging Man: “Well, I just have the one, because there have been some budget issues at the Redemption Center. And there’s a coffee stain on it from that time I was startled by the image of Our Savior in my breakfast omelet and-”
Door slams.
Door opens again. “How bad is the stain? Because now I’m really invested in giving that thing to my ex.”
Banging Man: “It’s not too terrible, but I really don’t know if I want to give it to you anymore.”
Nancy: “That’s the last thing my husband said to me before I filed for divorce.”
Door slams.
Fred, as in Fred from Wang Chung’s House of Un-Baptized Asian Food, wanders up. “Are you the one that ordered the Shrimp Fiesta Platter?”
Banging Man: “No. But good luck with knocking on that door. You might be here a while.”
Originally posted in “Crusty Pie” on 04/18/15 and “Bonnywood Manor” on 04/17/16. Extensively revised because I have issues with letting things be…
Categories: Past Imperfect
Bonnywood Manor 
Banging Man has annoyed me at my door too.
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There are entire gangs of Banging Men roaming our street. Apparently our neighborhood has been classified as having an urgent need for salvation. I’m sure it has nothing to do with me… 😉
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If it’s good Chinese food, he can knock, knock, knock, knock….
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I agree. If you’re thoughtful enough to bring food to my door, I’ll certainly consider being cordial…
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The Mormons (Hi, I’m one, but determined not to be offended) have begun to discourage our “Jesus” people from banging on doors uninvited. Nobody wins and there’s always the risk of loss of digits (from having hands on the sill when the door slams), viewing of people you’d NEVER want to see naked, even voluntarily (eye sight is important folks), surly dogs who have big teeth regardless of their actual size, and having things flung at one’s head. No. The wise proselytizer gets references and invitations before stepping toe on unwarranted and possibly heathen or hedonist turf. At least here. Maybe they’re still testing the waters elsewhere? Mary there (Magdalene, right?) may have changed her name to Nancy but I ain’t fooled. You can take the fallen woman out of the brothel, but you can still always tell. (and yeah, her name probably really IS Nancy…I’m not that barmy. Yet.) It’s the resemblence of her outer attire, with it’s stripes and raggediness that probably led our wayward knocker (oops..I should say banger, but that ain’t any better really) to try his luck. It looks remarkably (sans the transparency) like something our Lord would wear.
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Interestingly enough, I did notice the ecclesiastical couture of our shady heroine, and whilst I was working on the revision for this post I tried very hard to work in a reference to “Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat”, but I couldn’t quite get things to work, mainly because this photo is in black and white. Also interesting, the Banging Men who frequent our neighborhood are rarely of the Mormon persuasion, despite the presence of an LDS satellite office not that far away. (It’s a lovely building, located in an historic neighborhood that is all the rage these days, what with the house-flipping craze sweeping the nation.) Instead, my porch is mostly occupied by the Southern Baptists, who travel in much larger contingents than the typical Mormon two-man method, meaning it takes the Baptists much longer to vacate my premises whilst I ignore the banging and peek out the bedroom window, waiting for them to trottle off…
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Laugh snorting! Banging man. Banging for god. Conjures so many bizarre images!
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Oh, if only you could see what was going on in my twisted little mind… 😉
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Oh, many, many naughty things.
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And, in an alternative reality:
Normie (answering the door in a ragged see-thru toga): whadaaya want?
Banger Sister: would you care to join me as I celebrate a deity?
Normie: Unless that deity is made out of beer, get outta here. (Slams door.)
Opens door.
Normie: Is that deity known as Bacchus?
Banger Sister: No. But my best friend knows how to get some.
Normie: Okay. So what’s your name?
Banger Sister: Nancy. What’s yours?
Normie: Normie.
Nancy: Did your parents dislike you? Never mind. I don’t wanna know. With a name like that, you can smoke all the Bacchus you want.
😉
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And with those words, you just earned automatic membership in the Elite Society of Bonnywood Manor Commentary Royalty. Your membership kit should be arriving in the mail shortly… 😉
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Aww shucks. Thank you. I will wear my tiara with pride. 🙂
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Hmm. I have noticed that I haven’t been the recipient of “banging man” in a very long time. I figured the pentagram carved on my front door somehow dissuaded them. LOL
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Please hold whilst I grab a carving knife out of the kitchen and proceed to redecorate my front door… 😉
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LOL. Don’t forget to put a few bloody teeth in a tissue.
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So much door slamming😱
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More importantly, how fresh is that shrimp going to be if it took an hour to deliver?
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May be with lots of ice😂😂😂😂😂
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