The Church of DMX, Part 1.
The 300-strong congregation stood in the aged Church, a large picture of Earl Simmons overlooking them. His eyes were strong, confident and loving. Paternal, almost.
The priest stood at the lectern as the mumbling onlookers of all races and creeds, understanding why they were there, were yet to pay attention. He raised his hands.
“Where are my dogs at?”
The congregation halted and begun to sit down, a low tremor of “arf, arf, arf.”
The priest lifted a tome to his lectern. “Today we read from the Genesis of our lord, and then there was X.”
“I’m going to bring it to you cowards and you had better be quick, aight?” His first statement led to solemn nods in the crowd. “All your men, up in jail before? Suck my dick.” A gasp from an onlooker. The priest, undeterred, continued. “And all of the other cats you run with, get done with, dumb quick?”
The priest’s eyes narrow, his face twisted in anger.
“How the fuck will you cross the dog with some bum shit?”
He points, furiously, to the gold-rimmed frame of DMX.
“And yet, there go the gun click. 9–1–1 shit. All over some dumb shit. Ain’t that some shit!?”
The crowd mumbles its agreement, some smiling, agreeing.
The priest’s fury is palpable as he slams the tome closed. He begins his next lecture, his voice booming. “Y’all niggas remind me of a strip club! Every, you come around, it’s like-” he shouts, gesticulating to the portrait of “the dog” himself — “What, exactly?”
The congregation is silenced. He turns back. “I’ve just gotta get my dick sucked.”
One male member of the congregation drops to their knees, crying. They realize their mistakes. They realize that they have not truly known where there dogs were at. They have realized that they have failed to understand their lord’s teachings. The priest watches from the lectern, his face cold. “Please, let me repent,” the man begs. The priest shakes his head grimly.
“I don’t know who the fuck you think you’re talking to. But I’m not him, aight Slim?” His hand raises to the painting of DMX.
“So watch what you do.”
The congregation silently nods.
“Today we learned that we cannot look upon our lord to provide us with that which we crave. We must crave to do honest acts, to honor our “dogs” so that we may honor “the dog” himself. If we do not, well, we may find ourselves looking at the roof of the church, a preacher telling the truth, and it hurts.”
The congregation, as one, says “maaaaan.”