“What? know ye not that your body is the temple of the Holy Ghost
which is in you, which ye have of God, and ye are not your own?”
1 Corinthians 6:19

Because it's a hilarious, festive way to go, deaths by flocks of carnivorous balloons are generally unreported in Mexico.  Indeed, since the tormented cries of the dying are hard to distinguish from the sound of laughing children, and because the balloons leave no trace of their victims, most deaths by flocks of shiny balloons go completely unnoticed for days at a time.

Often, the missing people are assumed to have been kidnapped by the cartels.  This misunderstanding enables the balloons to operate with impunity.  Like schools of floating piranha, flocks of shiny balloons cruise through the streets of Mexican towns in search of a tourist or street vendor to devour.  Once a victim has been chosen, a swarm of inflatable Godzillas, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, and ravening Hello Kitty balloons descend upon the doomed soul and proceed to consume the entirety of the victim's body until nothing remains but a pair of sneakers and the sound of hilarious, unbearable laughter.

I watched it happen once in San Luis Potosí.  I thought I was filming the door of the church, flapping around like a madman in the wind, but it was a flock of shiny, carnivorous balloons, feasting on their prey.  Brutal and horrific:

That guy really put up a fight.  Swaying all over the place, he.  Swinging on the hinges of eternity like a church door in the wind.  Notice how the balloons camouflaged the carnage with the sound of church bells.  Muffling screams of hilarity and terror with ritualistic displays of melodic faux-holiness is a tactic that goes back millennia.  The balloons waited to descend on their prey until the church bells started ringing.  Once the public was distracted by the call to idolatry ringing through the town square, the balloons wasted no time in consuming the poor soul on the sidewalk where he stood. 

Selling mangos, perhaps, or coconuts sprinkled with chili powder.  Balloons, even.  Like a falconer who takes the mask off the predator to sell it to children, completely unaware of the malevolent, carnivorous nature of the insatiable, inflatable beasts, the vendor digs the pit in which he himself lay finally laughing.  To death, and also Hades. 

God forbid, the children whose parents bought the balloons for them will later go mysteriously missing themselves, presumed to have been kidnapped by the cartels.  Kidnappings happen all the time, but not as often as balloon attacks.  Balloon mauling deaths are a real problem down here.  The cartels are bad, but if anybody knew how many of the desaparecidos were actually killed by swarms of shiny balloons, a plan of action could be made.

What the balloons don't know, or the weird, robed men carrying the deflated heads of dangerous heretics in coolers through the city,

Is that their insatiable, heathen appetites for blood will never be appeased by performing a sacrificial balloon feast on the Merry-Go-Round of the false, proxy-Satanic doctrine of Hello-Kitty Catholicism.  It doesn't matter if the doctrine is contained in the mellifluous echo of a narcotic, hypnotizing catechism,

Or within a swarm of shiny balloons.  The door of the one true church can not be closed by hands of any kind.  Whether human or balloon.  And the door of the one true church can not be eaten by balloons.  The door of the one true church is made of balloons.

The door of the one true church is made of balloons, because it's no door at all.  The doors of the one true church are all in your head.  Literally.  The doors of the one true church are the portals through which light and noise are drilled into your brain.  Ears and eyes, and all.  What.  Is that weird?  Know ye not that your body is the temple of the Holy Ghost, and that you are a cathedral of balloons, walking down the street?  Isn't that why you stoop to enter the unholy wooden gates of the temples of proxy Satanism and other deadly religious orders?  Because you know that you yourself can be deflated?  If you've ever seen a news report, you know that people's temples are being punctured and deflated every day.  And if you're honest, you have a nagging sense that some of your own air is leaking out. 

Through age, if nothing else.  It might be a slow leak.  Then again, you might get suddenly crushed by a rainbow,

Beams of colorful light falling down on you like an iron piano, 

From the scaffolding of dreams above.

And what if the dreams never get built?  Will your death go viral, as a Tik-Tok executioner films the heavy machinery of worldly hope crashing down upon you?  Or will your face end up on a milk carton, just another desaparecido eaten alive by a swarm of inflatable stars, or the floating door of a church?

Never to be seen again.

So, what is it?  A flock of carnivorous balloons, or the door of a cathedral?  Is the temple made with hands, or is it made out of hands?

Where should I do? 

What should I go?

When do I knew?

How do I no?

It's easy.  Next time you go to church, consider what would happen if you poked the door with a needle.  If it wouldn't pop, deflate, draw blood, or cause permanent damage to your vision or hearing, chances are you're in the wrong place.  Go find some other temples (avoiding anyone who worships the temple itself), and hang out with them.

Thanks for listening.