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The Beast Feast and Bubba
By Bobby Neal Winters
I got a call last week from my old friend Bubba back home. After the usual chit chat about the weather and his deep distaste for Hilary Clinton, we got down to more serious matters, like religion.
“I went over to the Beast Feast at the Nazarene Church last Saturday Night,” I told him. My friend Mikey, the Nazarene Meat-Smoker, had invited me.
“Beast Feast?” he asked. “Did it have something to do with the Book of Revelation?” Bubba is a Baptist, and in his particular church you can say “dishwater” and it’ll get back to the Book of Revelation sooner or later, sort of like the Kevin Bacon game.
I explained to him it was an event that was composed of mainly men—and mainly manly men at that—who like hunting and fishing. A few of them had contributed their game and cooking skills in order to provide a good time for the rest of us.
“They had buffalo, duck, wild turkey, all sorts of fish, and ostrich,” I told him, still tasting the ostrich as I expect to until the day I die. This seemed to be a disappointment to him.
“So it wasn’t about the Book of Revelation?” he asked.
“No,” I replied. “Why do you care so much?”
“’Cause I think the world’s about to come to an end?”
“Why so?” I asked. Over the course of years, I’ve learned that it doesn’t do any good to argue with Bubba. It’s best to let him tell his side of the story and agree with it in any way you can find short of lying, and sometimes it’s best to lie.
“The new preacher at my church has been telling us about Babylon. In Revelation it talks about the Fall of Babylon and how the world ends right after Babylon falls,” he said.
“Well?” I asked.
“Did you know Iraq is Babylon?”
I did know that the site of ancient Babylon was located in what is now Iraq, but I am also aware that interpreting the Book of Revelation is more complicated than that. However, recalling my many years of experience talking to Bubba at times like these, I continued my strategy.
“Really?” I found myself asking.
“Yep,” he said. “I’m surprised that you don’t know that. Don’t they teach those Methodist preachers of yours nothing?”
“No, I guess not” I said. My teeth clinched slightly, and I sounded colder than I intended. My strategy was trying my patience more than I thought it would, so—foolishly I see from hindsight—I tried to steer the conversation away from Iraq.
“So why are you so worried about Iraq,” I asked. “Before the world comes to an end, isn’t the world supposed to be like it was in the days of Noah with sin and crime?” Clearly I wasn’t thinking.
“Oh, but it is,” he said. “The back roads down here are full of folks cooking methamphetamine in their cars. They take that stuff and they get paranoid and come after you. That’s why I got me some protection.”
“Protection?” I echoed. The word caught me off guard, and I momentary wondered how condoms had gotten into the conversation.
“Yep,” he said, sounding proud. “I got me a 44 magnum.”
This shocked me. It wasn’t because he’d bought a gun, but because he’d bought another gun. He already owns two twelve-gauge shotguns, two four-tens, two twenty-twos, and a nine-millimeter Luger.
“Good grief, Bubba,” I said. “You are going to have enough fire power there for a war.”
“So,” I said being sarcastic, “are you going to put some gun slots in your doors and windows like Josey Wales?”
“Already done it,” he said. I could tell by the flatness of his tone he wasn’t being sarcastic.
It was at that point I lost my patience and told him I thought he was overreacting. He didn’t appreciate my opinion and told me a short goodbye.
A couple of days later, I called him back in hopes of mending fences.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “You live there, and I don’t anymore, so you know what’s best.”
“It takes a mighty big man to own up to being wrong,” Bubba said. “And you danged sure were wrong. The other day when I was off at work somebody broke in and stole all my guns. And YOU thought it wasn’t dangerous.”
“What was I thinking,” I said. “What was I thinking.”
(Bobby Winters is a Professor of Mathematics, writer, and speaker. You may contact him at bwinters1@cox.net.)
By Bobby Neal Winters
I got a call last week from my old friend Bubba back home. After the usual chit chat about the weather and his deep distaste for Hilary Clinton, we got down to more serious matters, like religion.
“I went over to the Beast Feast at the Nazarene Church last Saturday Night,” I told him. My friend Mikey, the Nazarene Meat-Smoker, had invited me.
“Beast Feast?” he asked. “Did it have something to do with the Book of Revelation?” Bubba is a Baptist, and in his particular church you can say “dishwater” and it’ll get back to the Book of Revelation sooner or later, sort of like the Kevin Bacon game.
I explained to him it was an event that was composed of mainly men—and mainly manly men at that—who like hunting and fishing. A few of them had contributed their game and cooking skills in order to provide a good time for the rest of us.
“They had buffalo, duck, wild turkey, all sorts of fish, and ostrich,” I told him, still tasting the ostrich as I expect to until the day I die. This seemed to be a disappointment to him.
“So it wasn’t about the Book of Revelation?” he asked.
“No,” I replied. “Why do you care so much?”
“’Cause I think the world’s about to come to an end?”
“Why so?” I asked. Over the course of years, I’ve learned that it doesn’t do any good to argue with Bubba. It’s best to let him tell his side of the story and agree with it in any way you can find short of lying, and sometimes it’s best to lie.
“The new preacher at my church has been telling us about Babylon. In Revelation it talks about the Fall of Babylon and how the world ends right after Babylon falls,” he said.
“Well?” I asked.
“Did you know Iraq is Babylon?”
I did know that the site of ancient Babylon was located in what is now Iraq, but I am also aware that interpreting the Book of Revelation is more complicated than that. However, recalling my many years of experience talking to Bubba at times like these, I continued my strategy.
“Really?” I found myself asking.
“Yep,” he said. “I’m surprised that you don’t know that. Don’t they teach those Methodist preachers of yours nothing?”
“No, I guess not” I said. My teeth clinched slightly, and I sounded colder than I intended. My strategy was trying my patience more than I thought it would, so—foolishly I see from hindsight—I tried to steer the conversation away from Iraq.
“So why are you so worried about Iraq,” I asked. “Before the world comes to an end, isn’t the world supposed to be like it was in the days of Noah with sin and crime?” Clearly I wasn’t thinking.
“Oh, but it is,” he said. “The back roads down here are full of folks cooking methamphetamine in their cars. They take that stuff and they get paranoid and come after you. That’s why I got me some protection.”
“Protection?” I echoed. The word caught me off guard, and I momentary wondered how condoms had gotten into the conversation.
“Yep,” he said, sounding proud. “I got me a 44 magnum.”
This shocked me. It wasn’t because he’d bought a gun, but because he’d bought another gun. He already owns two twelve-gauge shotguns, two four-tens, two twenty-twos, and a nine-millimeter Luger.
“Good grief, Bubba,” I said. “You are going to have enough fire power there for a war.”
“So,” I said being sarcastic, “are you going to put some gun slots in your doors and windows like Josey Wales?”
“Already done it,” he said. I could tell by the flatness of his tone he wasn’t being sarcastic.
It was at that point I lost my patience and told him I thought he was overreacting. He didn’t appreciate my opinion and told me a short goodbye.
A couple of days later, I called him back in hopes of mending fences.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “You live there, and I don’t anymore, so you know what’s best.”
“It takes a mighty big man to own up to being wrong,” Bubba said. “And you danged sure were wrong. The other day when I was off at work somebody broke in and stole all my guns. And YOU thought it wasn’t dangerous.”
“What was I thinking,” I said. “What was I thinking.”
(Bobby Winters is a Professor of Mathematics, writer, and speaker. You may contact him at bwinters1@cox.net.)
