Woke up in church the other day when I heard the phrase “shot my wad” uttered from the pulpit.
Got to hand it to the pastor for grabbing my attention with that one. I believe he used it in the context of simply feeling finished or spent, rather than losing at the casino or forgetting to put a ball in his musket load. But he opened the door to male ejaculation. Slipped it right into the sermon and moved on without even pausing for a cigarette.
Offended? Not me, but I couldn’t help looking for reaction from other parishioners. Nothing but blanks. No one wiping their forehead. Perhaps they were sleeping, too, with eyes open. Good trick to master for the early service following a late-night Saturday adventure.
Then again, I was sitting near the back. Maybe it was “taught by rod” or “fought my god” or something like that.
No, the man does not mumble. It was clearly “shot my wad.” Could’ve sought clarification afterward, but didn’t want to come off like Pee Wee Herman or some sophomore in phys-ed. Might have suggested objection to the pastor’s earthiness.
I like a bit of earthiness with my godliness. Talk to me in language that I understand. On my own level. Even if I’m only half-listening.
Had been sensing wax buildup in one ear. Pulpit squirt cleared that right up.
Closing hymn in my head as a I drove home: “Wad a friend we have in . . . “