MOSH

I hit the streets again with some of my favourite Turn Or Burn gospel tracts on Friday night. Not far from my nice leafy suburb populated by many godly Christian folk, is a night spot that fans the fires of hell and invites hordes of demons to push through cracks in the pavement. Perfect environment to fight the good fight.

I was wandering along, handing out tracts to sinners, when I passed a club holding a satanic ritual in public -- a giant bonfire in the beer garden with plenty of people literally asking God to smite them or Satan to possess them. Then I spotted the sign on the wall -- Fokofpolisiekar were playing. God was definitely trying to tell me something -- the last time I did some street evangelism, I heard these diabolical twits swearing at law enforcers. I had to find out if my Rock Is Satan's Music tracts had been read by the band -- I managed to shove a fistfull at them last time.

Paid my cover charge and walked into Satan's throneroom. On my way to the bar for a non-alcoholic refreshment, I passed a large group of men who looked a lot like women. On closer inspection I realised these were women dressed a lot like men -- they were, in fact, lesbians. I always carry anti-gay tracts with me, so I handed out a few to the lesbos with a dire warning that dikes will spend eternity in hell being sodomised by demons. This seemed to excite a few of them, so I pushed my way to the bar and ordered a Red Bull. I had no idea the special was a double vodka and Red Bull, but reality hit me when I downed the drink under three seconds and felt my head spin and a strange euphoria flood my central nervous system. I think demon possession feels a lot like this. I told the barman my favourite lesbian joke -- What do you call a lesbian dinosaur? A lickalotopus. Haha, I even laugh at it now that I don't have Russian Bears attacking my brain cells.

I had no trouble shoving my way through the crowd as the band started up. I was wearing my MOSH T-shirt -- it has nothing to do with jumping around like a crazy fool to satanic music. It stands for: My Organisation Saves Heathens.

I think my T-shirt slogan ignited a wild frenzy of moshing -- or it may just have been the music. Either way, I had to put my unarmed combat training to good use -- the moshing fools got the bruised ribs, bleeding noses and fractured shins, not me. But I did get drenched in beer and a lesbian grabbed my genitals, shouting 'Whose being sodomised now, you fucking Jesus freak!' By the time I'd jumped, kicked and pushed my way to the stage, the crowd was so out of control, a Springbok rugby player would have struggled to stay on his feet. But I'm Paintball Pete -- even a mosh pit at a Slayer concert would be a walk in the park for me.

After observing the anarchy on stage and in the mosh pit, I was convinced that my tracts had simply been rolled into dagga joints and smoked by these God-and-police-haters. I bruised more ribs on my way out, loudly praying my fiercest imprecatory psalm of God's wrath against evildoers. Don't think anyone heard a word over the pulsating chaos -- probably thought I was just cursing God and the cops like everyone else.

I have not failed. I'm sure at least one lesbian will repent of her ways ... the one who grabbed my privates. That should be enough to convince any dike that a real man is better than a cucumber any day. As for those swearing Afrikaans punks, hell awaits.

Fight the good fight. And remember, MOSH.