The Thrill Is On

“There’s a splinter in your eye and it reads: REACT.” – REM

Friday, October 27 th @ the Real Life Church

Hungry for something besides the old bar routine, I rallied for a week to scare up a posse for a trip to the Meth Effect Judgment House. Having long ago watched Hell House, a documentary about these Christianized haunted houses, I was ready to finally enter one myself. (If you aren’t familiar with them, simply put: they seek to frighten the attendees away from bad moral decisions but oftentimes employ ham-handed tactics that relate more to their own narrow religious view than a helpful and universal set of ethics.)


The Horne Party of 13 was called inside and immediately began filling out registration cards, as required, while a thugged-out minister recited a poem that explained how a woman on meth will soon be as disgusting as, and I quote, “a purloined squirrel.” We took a short trip from there to the first room where the actors pretended to be worshipping God in a Bible Study. One of the main characters, Britney, was saved in this scene.


From there, we were lead through a series of different rooms that chronicled the lives of Britney and her two brothers, Devin and Billy – the former refused to let Jesus into his heart for fear it’d hinder his meth production and the latter seemed merely intrigued by the prospect of eternal salvation. Long story short, Britney and Devin die after the meth lab explodes their trailer. Each is judged according to the decisions they made at an age considered too young to have enough common sense or experience yet to vote: sheep go to Heaven and goats go to Hell. Having just witnessed the death of his siblings, Billy wises chooses Team God for his afterlife fire insurance policy.



It was also in this Judgment Room that our group found itself in deep but humorous doo-doo. Turns out these cards we filled out were going to be used to bring us closer to the Lord by having St. Peter (who looked and spoke a lot like Charles Bronson of Death Wish fame) use them to call out our names. Seems some of us – not me or Grizzle but some of us – decided to use fake names.


So, St. Pete says, “When I call your name, step forward… Buffy Cvorovic, Chris Horne, Grabby Munchkin, Doofus McKenzie, Lavender Gypsy, Waylon Tweeker…” and so on and so forth. Neither Grizzly nor I could keep a straight face and were soon met by a scrawny security guard who informed us we would either stop laughing or be asked to leave. He followed us through the rest of the house.


In the end, we were sat in the sanctuary to silently pray that Jesus enter our hearts. The preacher then asked if anyone said this prayer and being a wise ass, I raised my hand. A very sincere man of faith approached me and I was whisked away while the Horne-less Party of 12 left. Though my spirituality was set before we went and we only went for a lark, I have found myself thinking and talking more about religious issues of late. And I can’t help but wonder if God is working in mysterious ways again.


Saturday, October 28 th – Third & Cherry Street

Before the music could play, I paced as calmly as I could around the corners surrounding the blocked-off intersection where we were set to dance. But I was a nervous wreck inside, a fact only hidden by the layers of white make-up on my face and the Bo Duke blond wig on my head. As that all too familiar first note rang out over the street and our cue to move in was clear, I searched for someone large to stand behind so my flawed dance moves wouldn’t be so noticeable.


There must’ve been three hundred people present and they’d waited so patiently. When we were all lined up and doing those introductory stutter steps, a cheer arose and my anxiety became an adrenaline rush on which I’d surf the entire night.


To say it was perfect would be a lie, but to say it was awesome, it was great – well, that’s gospel truth right there. Almost eighty zombies – ages ranging from elementary school to retirement planning – converged for a single purpose: to make something cool happen in Macon. And it worked like a charm. Big props to everyone involved and especially our Michael Jackson. That kid seriously laid it down and left it all out on the field. Next year, I’ll be ready. Bet Macon will too.