At this point in the service, the adults would collectively lose their fucking minds. They’d hop around in circles, screaming. They’d hysterically cry and hold their arms up towards the heavens. They’d gyrate around on the floor and speak in some unintelligible language: Bugga bugga boo! Oh, I love you Jesus! Yada gabba doodle boo boo wak!
It was fucking awesome!
Life doesn’t get more exciting for a 10 year old kid than attending a service in a Pentecostal Church. We went to Church every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday night. On Sundays, we would be in Sunday school. On Saturday, we’d attend Church picnics or other related events. It got to the point where we were at Church more often than we were at home and we didn’t mind one fucking bit. Not only were we surrounded by friends, but at any second, there was a distinct possibility that someone would become possessed by the good ol’ Holy Ghost and feel compelled to shout at the ceiling, “GABBA GABBA GOOOOO!”
The Holy Ghost was so fucking cool. It made the adults look like idiots!
Damn, all we ever got to do was standsitkneelstandkneelsitkneelstandsitkneel, then sneak out at Communion. I guess that's how I came to know the Goaly Boast.
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