Missed Mission: Updated

I spent some time this weekend recalling last year's Letter to My Neighbors, because these people have yet to modify their behavior to meet my specifications. Yes, I know that Saturday was beautiful and sunny. Well, I know that second-hand. Tom did a lot of yard work, but I did catch glimpses of the sun through the window while lying, slug-like, on the Sofur. He assures me that it was a lovely day, though, and I believe him.

Beautiful day or not, the neighbors need to stay in portions of their yards which are completely out of sight from any portion of my yard. Brody, a Great Pyrenees (translation: Barky Guardian Dog) can't handle the pressure. And neither can my nerves or eardrums.

Last year, I was greatly worried about the condition of the four screen panels in our front bay window. I didn't fear so much for the screens as I did for Brody's health and well-being if Tom came home before I did and found the screens shredded and scattered around the house.

Yes, this happened.

No, it won't be a problem this year. We don't have any screens left.

Brody did miss one major Threat Level Red on Sunday, though. He must have been napping under his favorite tree in the back yard when our doorbell rang. Normally, he's in the house and a ringing doorbell sends him into paroxysms of frothy, drooly, barking formidability.

I've always been of the opinion that the fact that he's spraying possibly-rabid saliva all over the inside of the bay window five feet above their heads would suggest to visitors that they might want to reconsider the necessity of their presence. But, since Brody was lying down on the job, I had to check the situation out for myself.

You might recall that I do not answer my door. Ever. Unless you're seen to be in possession of a) one of my dogs, b) a pizza or other delicious food item, c) a giant box with a ribbon on it, d) Cody Canada or e) a giant cardboard check, I'm not opening the door.

To make this determination, I scrape a bit of dried dog-spit off the bay window and peer around the curtain. Then I go back and sit on the Sofur till whoever it is goes away.

However, I almost made an exception yesterday. When I stealthily put only enough eyeball around the curtain to see who was standing below me and slightly to the right at my front door, I beheld...

Missionaries.

I'm pretty sure they were Jehova's Witnesses. They were squeaky-clean young men, with perfectly-parted hair (I was looking down on them from my perch, remember. Also, no dandruff was observed.), white dress shirts, black ties, black slacks, and black backpacks. I went and sat down, waiting for them to go away.

Though I did kind of wonder what was in the backpacks.

They must have had a quota, or received a report that I was in extra-urgent need of salvation, because they rang again, and then knocked (in case the doorbell was just a decoy) before wandering off to spread the word elsewhere.

But now I'm almost wishing I'd let them in. Let's imagine the possibilities, shall we?

Me: Come in, come in, young men!
Young Men: Why thank you! We've come to share the joy of our faith with you!
Me: Well, isn't that lovely? I'd like you to meet my three dogs. Lucifer, Satan, and Beelzebub. Don't mind the horns.

(Hmm. I actually do have a pair of devil horns on a head band. Note to self: Wear that and actually answer the door the next time missionaries come to call.)

Me: What fine young gentlemen! I'm sure you and your families had a wonderful holiday last weekend. So, tell me, how did you celebrate Zombie Jesus Day?
Young Men: (looking shocked) Zombie Jesus Day? Jesus wasn't a zombie.
Me: He had to be. He died, right?
YM: Yes, ma'am, he did. (even though they are freaked out, they would remain polite)
Me: And then he came back to life, right?
YM: Yes.
Me: So, he's a zombie.
YM: No, ma'am, he is not a zombie. He could not possibly be a zombie.
Me: (Pause. I can figure this one out.) Oh, okay. I get it now! He was a vampire! That explains all the references to blood. That makes way more sense than 'zombie.'

Me: Hey, you want to go down to the family room and see my stripper pole? I just learned some awesome new moves! Three drink minimum, though!

(I do not have a stripper pole. I fall down entirely too much as it is. But it would be totally worth it to say that I did, just to see the looks on their faces.)

Me: I will absolutely convert to your religion, whatever it might happen to be. IF you will both get Cross Canadian Ragweed tattoos. On your necks.

Me: Let's play "Let's Make a Deal!" I will join your religion if you can find, in your nifty black backpacks, one of the following: 1) Porn, 2) One ounce or more of pot, or 3) Handcuffs.

Me: (you might have noticed, I've stopped allowing the Missionary Boys to speak at this point.) Hey, you can go through your whole speil, spread the word, yada yada yada. But, while doing so, you must clean my house. You stop scrubbing and I stop listening. Plus, I'll let Beezelbub out of the bedroom.

Me: Does your religion have "commandments?" Because I don't take orders very well. At all. Now, if they're more like "suggestions..."

Me: Hey, what's your religion's stance on reincarnation? Because I totally think I might have been Mary Magdalene. And possibly a vampire.

Seriously, I usually leave religions alone. I state my heathen beliefs, and let people make of them what they will. They should do whatever makes them happy, as long as it doesn't involve me. But if a couple of naive, unsuspecting boys show up at my door, they're on my turf, and all bets are off.

Now, you play! What would you suggest, should these boys come back for another try?

UPDATE: It has been pointed out to me that Jehova's Witnesses do not celebrate Zombie Jesus Day, or, in fact, most other holidays. I should have known that, because I went to elementary school with a girl from a strict JW family, and she got to miss school whenever we had any of the classroom holiday parties. (Apparently, Jehova's Witnesses have something against cupcakes.) So, in all likelihood, my clean-cut visitors were probably Mormons.

This doesn't change anything about the future plan, though. Only that I need to learn more about the various religious affiliations. Like, if they were Mormons, I probably could've offended them with coffee instead of having to bring up porn and drugs, if I am correct and Mormons still eschew caffeine. I'm fairly certain I'd have stuck with porn and drugs, though, because they are more fun.

I also realized that those two young men greatly resembled a pair of characters in Mark Henry's latest novel, Road Trip of the Living Dead. (If you haven't read it, do so. Now. But only after you read his first darkly hilarious title, Happy Hour of the Damned. Fashionista zombies? Can anyone resist that?) Upon reflection of Mark's story, I now know I should have brought my visitors inside and searched their backpacks for 'shrooms.