Holy
Brian 'Head' Welch From Korn
Mega-Church
Courting
Back of the Church
Scott Strapp From Creed
Warehouse Church
Dating
Tar & Feather
Bono From U2
Sanctuary
Shagging
Monday, December 17, 2007
Friday, December 14, 2007
I’ll Be Having a Gay Old Time Watching the Oscars
Originally published in the SoMA Review (http://www.somareview.com/gayoldtimewatching.cfm)
In the past, I have not been open with my friends about watching the Oscars. After all, they already know I don’t watch the Super Bowl, and well, liking the Oscars—and especially those outfits parading down the red carpet!... Well, let’s just say I didn’t want anyone to draw any unnecessary conclusions about my lifestyle.
I happen to be gay. But not in the way you think. I don’t go for guys. I just like gay things. This revelation occurred to me one night when I was standing on the porch of my house, staring at the only star visible in the Southern California sky and trying to remember what play won the Tony last year. That was when it hit me: I’m gay! It didn’t matter that men did not sexually arouse me—in fact the thought didn’t even cross my mind when I announced my gayhood to my newly liberated soul. I simply felt free at last, to care about the Tonys and the Oscars, or the latest episode of “Desperate Housewives,” or how to knit myself a pair of socks.
How to explain this to others, however, was a little more difficult. Had I been born a century or two ago, it might not have been a problem; there was a time, after all, when gay and homosexual were two very different things. One could in fact have a very queer night and there would be nothing homosexual about it. After all, Abe Lincoln slept with his best friend Joshua Speed in a double bed for four years, and wrote him intimate—by today’s standards even mushy—letters, and nobody back then had a second thought about it, especially since Lincoln was in love with one woman, married another, and went on to sire four sons. But today, since being gay means having feelings for the opposite sex, I was in a pickle. Who, exactly, was I? A straight man with gay interests—a “stray?” I almost felt that way, as if I didn’t quite have a place to call my own.
I finally concluded that I belonged to the class of The New Gay—men who exhibit all the characteristics of being gay except for the “guy-on-guy” factor. It all harkened back to those olden days of chaste brotherly affection and Victorian sentimentality that allowed men to be girls without fear of reprisal. And it all seemed very logically chic. If corduroys could go retro, why couldn’t gay? The whole idea seemed enticingly postmodern, and I couldn’t wait to test it out on my family and friends.
I first broke the news about my new lifestyle to my family. I minced no words. “Family,” I said in my most commanding voice, “I’m gay.”
“You’re a conservative Republican—you can’t be gay!” was my uncle’s response. I reminded him that I was actually a confused conservative Independent, but that made no impression. Then I tried to explain my New Gay theory.
“Already heard too much,” my cousin replied, “Please spare us the details of your lifestyle until after dinner.”
My other cousin started laughing, and soon everyone followed. Grandpa silenced the family by telling me to “Go with the women to the kitchen. The men have guy things to discuss.”
He issued the order like it was a punishment, but I was absolutely elated! The kitchen! I had always wanted to venture into this mysterious, enchanted domain while the men talked about football and such, but had restrained myself out of a sense of straight decency.
The kitchen had turned out to be everything I had imagined. The women sat around the table drinking tea and talking about gardening, romantic comedies playing at the local theater, and party themes for the baby shower they were throwing for a friend. At one point my aunt said, “I have the best gossip!”
Guys never gossiped! “Tell us! Tell us!” I egged her on. Her voice fell to a conspiratorial whisper.
“I heard that Bruce Willis is going out with a girl who just turned 18.”
Everyone giggled, especially me. I had always dreamed of having such a conversation! Then, at the height of the wonderful discourse, Grandma showed us how to crochet hot pads from yarn.
My heart leaped; it was something I had always wanted her to show me, but I had never had the courage to ask. Could it really be happening at last?
My friends took the news better than I expected. “Big shocker!” most laughed. “Been wondering how long it would take you to come out.” Friends, it turns out, usually know you’re gay before anyone else (including yourself). After one awkward night of explaining that it didn’t mean I had feelings for them, that I would not start inviting them to ballets and would not email them pictures of nude men, everything was cool.
I never imagined my new lifestyle would leave me so stress-free. I no longer had to come up with excuses for why I couldn’t go to the latest action flick movie with my guy pals. Guys would call me late at night to ask me for tips on getting a girl. My best friend called me last week to ask me for a quick synopsis of the latest Oprah book selection—it was one of the most engaging conversations we had ever had. I got so emotional that I started to cry, and he ended up hanging up on me. Another friend called to ask if I had any boyfriend connection who could help him get on “Queer Eye for the Straight Guy.” I told him I would ask around, and the next day he sent me a thank you gift of chocolates and bath bubbles.
Best of all were the girls. Girls I hardly knew suddenly wanted to hang out. They were eager to hug me and tell me how wonderful it was to have a “sensitive guy friend.” “If only you weren’t gay I would love you forever,” they would whisper in my ear. I was always quick to tell them I was not homosexual, just gay, but they would always be equally quick to reply that they “didn’t go for that sort of thing.”
It wasn’t long, however, before people started talking. “If he’s so gay then why doesn’t he have a boyfriend?” I tried to explain that I was gay in the non-sexual sense of the word, but no one seemed to understand this. I knew what I needed: a guy friend to whom people could point and whisper, “There’s Scott and his ‘special friend.’” So I found Tom.
I met him while waiting for a bus. You meet lots of great people waiting for a bus. It seemed like fate—the same day I realized I needed a "special friend," was the same day Tom had broken up with his lover of five years, Patrick. Destineee…when you sit down next to meee…?
Tom and I started doing all kinds of things together—movies, Gay Pride Day at Disneyland, shopping, trying exotic foods, roller-skating... He was the first guy I had ever seen an art house movie with, and he didn’t care what people thought when the two of us would sit on the beach and just talk.
I saw Tom as a friend, but unfortunately he began to view me as something more. Finally he mentioned that he thought we were a “good match” and that maybe we should get “a little more physical.” I had no problem with that—hugging was perfectly fine with me—but Tom’s idea of physical was a little more expansive.
I knew then that I had to tell him the truth. I took him to a Starbucks with lots of people.
Tom,” I said resting my hand on his shoulder, “I’m afraid you’ve misunderstood our relationship. I’m New Gay. That’s gay in all respects but the sexuality part, and I could never care for you in that way.” Tom responded by bitch slapping me and calling me a poser. Then he split, before I could tell him I still wanted to be friends. He took it harder than I expected, but then again, sometimes Tom could be such a guy.
Anyway, I’m still having a gay old time as a New Gay. I’ve learned the art of scrap booking. I officially enrolled in a step aerobics class. And I started writing poetry. I’ve never felt so alive!
Best of all, for the first time ever, I’m being invited to Oscar parties. And my male friends have been calling me up and asking who I think will win Best Actor—Heath Ledger or Philip Seymour Hoffman, two straights playing gay, something I should know all about, right?
So who cares about same sex marriages? Who cares about sex? I’m a straight guy who enjoys being a girl, and that’s really all there is to it. Pass me that crochet hook, dear.
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
Satan's MySpace Page
Originally published in the November/December 2006 (Issue #203) of The Wittenburg Door (http://archives.wittenburgdoor.com/archives/satanmyspace.html)
Music: I try to keep an open ear for everything – I'm a little bit country, a little bit rock 'n' roll. I think my favorite record in recent years was Third Day's worship album; I closed my eyes, and pretended they were worshiping me – it was truly spectacular. I was really into that Bo Bice fellow from American Idol, but his debut record was crap. What was he thinking? God can have him.
Movies: The Passion of the Christ. I'm kidding! I'm a real sucker for anything with Tom Cruise; I can't wait to tell him in person! I'm going to get him to star in my biopic. I also like Kirk Cameron – he really knows how to destroy an evangelical Christian movie.
Television: Touched By an Angel reruns. What can I say? Once an angel, always an angel. I've also been enjoying the American version of The Office. That Steve Carrell is a hoot, and he really knows how to hit hard on the absurdity of office life. I used to like Arrested Development until it was canceled – someone is going to burn in hell for that, BTW.
Books: The Da Vinci Code; I'm just glad that Dan Brown doesn't have any goods on me. The Five People You Meet In Heaven was a pretty cool idea, but it wasn't much of a page-turner. The New Yorker (mainly for the cartoons).
Heroes: Arrogant Christians. They make my job so much easier. Oh, how I love 'em!
Groups: GSA; Native Pride; Polish Hotties; I Love the 70's; People from New Hampshire; Singles & Looking; Hardcore Christians – Living Hardcore; I Heart My iPod.
Status: Single and on fire.
Here for: Networking, Serious Relationships, Friends.
Orientation: Angels don't have orientations (even dark angels).
Hometown: East of Eden.
Body type: Soul-like.
Religion: I pretty much worship myself.
Smoke/Drink: I like to smoke people, but I try to stay away from cigarettes – it's a nasty addiction. Oh, and I'm a social drinker.
Children: I'm more into mentoring.
Occupation: King of darkness; dark angel of the night.
Music: I try to keep an open ear for everything – I'm a little bit country, a little bit rock 'n' roll. I think my favorite record in recent years was Third Day's worship album; I closed my eyes, and pretended they were worshiping me – it was truly spectacular. I was really into that Bo Bice fellow from American Idol, but his debut record was crap. What was he thinking? God can have him.
Movies: The Passion of the Christ. I'm kidding! I'm a real sucker for anything with Tom Cruise; I can't wait to tell him in person! I'm going to get him to star in my biopic. I also like Kirk Cameron – he really knows how to destroy an evangelical Christian movie.
Television: Touched By an Angel reruns. What can I say? Once an angel, always an angel. I've also been enjoying the American version of The Office. That Steve Carrell is a hoot, and he really knows how to hit hard on the absurdity of office life. I used to like Arrested Development until it was canceled – someone is going to burn in hell for that, BTW.
Books: The Da Vinci Code; I'm just glad that Dan Brown doesn't have any goods on me. The Five People You Meet In Heaven was a pretty cool idea, but it wasn't much of a page-turner. The New Yorker (mainly for the cartoons).
Heroes: Arrogant Christians. They make my job so much easier. Oh, how I love 'em!
Groups: GSA; Native Pride; Polish Hotties; I Love the 70's; People from New Hampshire; Singles & Looking; Hardcore Christians – Living Hardcore; I Heart My iPod.
Status: Single and on fire.
Here for: Networking, Serious Relationships, Friends.
Orientation: Angels don't have orientations (even dark angels).
Hometown: East of Eden.
Body type: Soul-like.
Religion: I pretty much worship myself.
Smoke/Drink: I like to smoke people, but I try to stay away from cigarettes – it's a nasty addiction. Oh, and I'm a social drinker.
Children: I'm more into mentoring.
Occupation: King of darkness; dark angel of the night.
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
Christi-ana-Meter
Holy
Pastors With Hawaiian Shirts
Skateboarding Christians
War On Terror
Home School
Back of the Church
Pastors With Long Hair
Hippie Christians
Civil Rights
Private School
Tar & Feather
Pastors With Robes
Born Again Christians
New Deal
Public School
Pastors With Hawaiian Shirts
Skateboarding Christians
War On Terror
Home School
Back of the Church
Pastors With Long Hair
Hippie Christians
Civil Rights
Private School
Tar & Feather
Pastors With Robes
Born Again Christians
New Deal
Public School
Monday, December 10, 2007
Satan’s Hollywood Fiasco - Complete
For those readers who actually eagerly waited each day for every new installment of this story, thank you. Here, one more time, is the story in one long dose.
All hell literally broke out when Felipe Santiago, the star of such action blockbusters as William Shakespeare’s Henry the Fourth: The Musical, Part II, declared, first privately, then openly, that he, once a lover of many women and occasionally men, had accepted the grace of Jesus Christ and become a born again Christian.
Satan was pissed. Big time pissed.
Satan, understand, built his postmodern empire in Hollywood. He cleared the industry of any overt Christian propaganda over the past century, and filled the highest places at production studios with questionable Jews, outcast Catholics, and self-centered spiritualist. He had long since managed to rid the industry of Biblical epics and morality tales. To have one of his highest paid and most known actors openly declare a commitment to Jesus Christ made him feel both angry and threatened.
The tragedy had been in the works for months, but it had gone completely unnoticed until it was too late. Felipe Santiago, it seemed, had fallen in love with the web master of his Internet homepage, who was a Christian and also trying to sell a screenplay, and whom he had never met in person. The two had written hundreds of long, exaggerated emails about love and life in the course of a year. In one email, his Web master directed him to a site offering a cyber look at who Jesus is. He committed his life on that site. The Website was flashy and full of several catchy Christian jingles and rhyming evangelical messages. He was most impressed by a picture of Jesus dressed like the Terminator with a caption that said, “I’ll be back.” But ultimately it was the picture of Jesus dressed like Uncle Sam with a “I want you” caption that made him commit his life to Christ. “Everyone has always wanted me because I can make their film gross fifty million in the first weekend,” he later said in his testimony, “But that picture made me feel wanted because he loved me—I saw it in his cartoonish eyes and his pointy finger.”
So now all hell had broken loose. Dark angels, who had been hard at work on scripts for HBO dramas and miniseries, had been recalled to brainstorm. And the stars of NBC’s highest rated situation comedy agreed to stay on one more year just to preserve Satan’s cause, and insure there would still be a plentiful number of films requiring tasteless stars on the lookout for good exposure. But no efforts from Satan’s elite could put him at ease, and he ended up spending the entire night pacing, complaining, and being downright confused. “He can’t be a movie star anymore, that’s for sure.” Satan told his secretary and occasional lover, Billy. “There’s no telling the damage that can do.”
“There’s already an unauthorized biography about his life as a Christian,” Billy pointed out while fixing Satan’s morning cup of tea, “And Felipe Santiago t-shirts, coffee mugs, and inspirational CDs go on sale tomorrow at Christian bookstores around the world.”
“Mugs! Already? And it’s so close to the holidays.”
Billy nodded.
“It’s worse then I thought.”
It was rare for Satan to feel so uneasy. He had led a tranquil life since the start of the Cold War had put renewed interest of carpe diem themes into pop culture. One might even say that Satan was a humble man seeking to capture the essence of the American dream. Recent examinations of Satan’s work have in fact shown that he had become very western. But he still led a simple life. In a recent interview, he had commented, “For the past twenty years I’ve been on a vacation of sorts. There doesn’t seem to be much good in getting all stressed out trying to scheme—humans, especially in recent years, have created quite lovely vices that essentially do my job for me. Post-modernism is a beautiful thing.” Living in semi-retirement, he shared a three bedroom corner track house in Garden Grove with Billy, who on top of be being Satan’s secretary and occasional lover was also his butler and driver. He enjoyed gardening and recently had put up a white picket fence to keep the high school kids from walking on his lawn. Just as a fun job, he commuted to Hollywood once a week to do a voice on two separate animated series. He frequently told friends that he had never been so happy in his entire life.
Not long ago, an actor offered to give Satan his Brentwood estate because he was moving into a larger home in Santa Monica, but Satan declined. Whenever he was in the estate of a Hollywood star, there was always a feeling of detachment. He liked the smell and sense of community he found in Garden Grove; he also made a point of not getting too personal with clients. Satan once shared a condo in Huntington Beach with Dennis Rodman. The whole time they shared the home, Rodman kept pestering Satan to produce his movie, and Satan kept saying no in the name of good taste. It left their friendship shattered, and the two hadn’t talked sinse, although Rodman did send Satan a lovely fruit basket and a fifty-dollar gift card to Ross when he heard about Felipe’s unfortunate conversion.
Meanwhile, in the mist of Satan’s crisis, Felipe Santiago was having the time of his life living the Christian life. His first Christian photo shoot was a success, and photos were available on his Web page for a small, nominal, fee. Sunday, after a meeting with the press at a Irvine mega church, he would go to Sea World for his public baptism. Tickets for the baptism sold out at Ticket Master in fifteen minutes. Later that same day he would go to Tijuana and serve as the U.S. representative for the national cock-fighting tournament. And he was feeling more spiritual and Christian-like every breath he took. He was even thinking about forming a Christian punk rock band. The only problem he had in the past week was really only a small misunderstanding. A pastor caught him dancing inappropriately in an empty park and made a fuss over the immorality in his “loose swinging hips.” But it turned out that Felipe had accidentally lit his pants on fire while trying to burn a trash can full of suggestive books that he had once collected in his personal library, and he was only trying to put out the flames. So everything ended okay, and the confusion was cleared right up.
Satan’s woes, however, did not stop with Felipe Santiago. Felipe was a busy man and learned the power of evangelism quickly and forcefully. A week after Felipe’s spectacle of a conversion, while eating lunch with George Sanderburg, the director of Santiago’s academy award winning film Do They Shoot the Gorillas In China, Santiago became very vocal about his newfound love and Satan’s newfound curse.
“I found Jesus, and I want to tell everyone how wonderful my life is.” He said as Sanderburg licked off the ranch dressing from his salad. “That’s why I asked you to have lunch with me.”
“I’m happy for you. My brother’s brother-in-law is an assistant pastor at a Christian church in Minnesota.”
Felipe crossed his arms and reclined in his chair. “And what are you?”
“I’m nothing.”
“Nothing? An atheist, then?”
“No.”
“Agnostic?”
“No. Nothing like that.”
“What then?”
“Nothing. I go to church and all. I’m just not a part of anything.”
“What kind of church is it?”
“I don’t know. It’s just a church.”
“They must believe in something.”
Sanderburg shook his head. “I’m pretty sure they don’t.”
“What do they talk about, then?”
Sanderburg shrugged. “Just stuff—how to live a better life and stuff, I guess.”
“That’s it?”
Sanderburg Nodded. “And we go to shelters and feed the homeless. This year I’m also going to Mexico with the church to build a home for a family.”
“But there’s no Bible or anything like that at the church?”
“It’s there, but we don’t use it.”
“And you’ve been going to the church for how long.”
“About twenty-five years now, I believe.”
“Well it sounds to me like a church that hasn’t come out of the closet.”
Sanderburg was alarmed and sat uncomfortable in his chair looking around the restaurant to make sure no one was listening. “Do you really think that?”
Felipe nodded. “And you’re so close to being a Christian.”
“How close.”
“A prayer away.”
Sanderburg was confused. “You mean all I’d have to do to be a Christian is say a prayer?”
“And mean what you pray.”
“That doesn’t sound so bad—and then I could say I was a Christian, too?”
“You could.”
“I’ll do it.”
Sanderburg, after being led to a prayer to accept Christ, began to weep like the 20-year-old out-of-luck lounge singer who discovered her mother is dying of terminal foot cancer in his latest dramatic tear-jerker feature Foot, Etc.
But Satan’s problems only started there. In the lobby, after his lunch with George Sanderburg, Felipe tripped over Mary Megan Metford, one of his former leading ladies and casual lovers, whom he left for not wanting to experiment in a Ménage A’trois. He turned an awkward encounter to the glory of Christ. In five minutes, he explained to Mary Megan Metford, who had heard of Felipe’s conversion but thought it was just a publicity stunt (like the time Felipe claimed he would make love to a tiger at the L.A. zoo to satisfy a director that he was the right man for the role in a movie) that she needed Christ in her life—that he came for the sins of all and he would take away hers too if she accepted him and believed.
“You’re serious about this then?”
“I am.”
Mary Megan carefully considered what Felipe had said, while scratching nail polish from her thumb.
“What do you say? Do you need Jesus?”
“If something can change you this much, then maybe I should at least try it out.”
“You can always give it up if you don’t like it.”
Mary Megan gave her best Hollywood smile, “Okay then—I’ll try it out.”
Felipe instantly grabbed Mary Megan and attacked her with a Christianly hug.
And if Satan’s problems ended with Mary Megan Metford’s conversion, it would have ticked him off but it probably wouldn’t have ruined his day. He would have done a lot of complaining, but he would have just tempted his next door neighbor to cheat on his wife, and finish the day on a good note. But it didn’t end there.
On his way to his to his car something happened that Felipe Santiago would forever call a direct act of the Holy Spirit. He found Matthew McMillan passing out rosebuds to people passing by the restaurant.
Two years ago, Matthew McMillan was the biggest movie star in the world. His last two pictures made one billion each worldwide. He was such a good actor that he once got the part of the leading lady in a romantic comedy, didn’t bother to dress up like a woman, and became the first man to ever win an Academy Award for best actress. Then McMillan discovered he wasn’t enlightened, shaved his head, converted to Theravada Buddhism, left the film industry, and became a monk. In a rare recent interview, McMillan, who went by the Buddhist name Fen Fin, claimed that he had achieved Nirvana while listening to Nirvana’s greatest hits album in Tibet over the winter but stayed on Earth because he felt called to teach. Which is how Felipe Santiago found him selling blessed rosebuds in front of the restaurant.
Santiago had worked with McMillan in the eighties on a documentary that showed the unfair treatment of dogs in Yemen. Both had been outraged when they heard about a family who had eaten their family dog because they could not afford food and were dying of malnourishment. Santiago and McMillan did everything they could to protect the rights of the dogs and had remained close after the project.
When the two reunited in front of the restaurant, McMillan offered to sell him a rosebud, and Santiago offered to sell him Christ.
“With Christ, everything is about God,” Santiago explained, “it’s no longer about you.”
“But with Buddha it is the same.” Matthew argued.
“But did Buddha die for you’re sins?”
“No—when Buddha received enlightenment, he decided he would rather stay alive and teach, then die. He believed dying would have been the selfish thing to do.”
“With Christ you can live forever.” Felipe pointed out.
“With Buddha life is a cycle.”
“With Christ life is eternal.” Felipe added with more drama in his voice, “You will never die.”
Matthew looked at BMW driving towards them, and by the time the BMW past, he had decided he needed Christ.And that’s how Satan’s afternoon finished off—with McMillan, his biggest defender of all things being about “me,” accepting a doctrine that would make him passionate about witnessing about Christ, exposing the dangers of evil, and caring for the helpless. And that’s how a famous Christian bond established and began between two of the biggest Hollywood actors in the world who could easily change the way films are made.
***
Like sands in an hourglass, so was Satan’s once tranquil life. Harvey Maxwell didn’t have to see Satan’s expression to know what he wanted, when Billy pulled Satan’s beat up ’92 Escort into the parking space in front of his Burbank office.
“Still driving the old Escort I see.” Harvey said greeting Satan in the parking lot, throwing the cigar he had been smoking onto the shoe of a Spanish man who was trimming the plants in front of his office.
Satan nodded, “I don’t get caught up in world pleasures.”
“Of course you don’t,” Harvey smirked. “Shall we go inside?”
Satan nodded and followed Harvey to his office.
Harvey also happened to be a Jew turned Atheist, giving him the proper blend of godless hope that Satan needed to establish the film industry as his biggest evangelical media form.
“It’s about Felipe Santiago, right?” Harvey asked taking a seat behind his desk.
“I want you to offer him a movie deal that he can’t refuse.” Satan said choosing not to sit.
“Something that will keep him distracted for six months, be a sure flop, and ruin his career.”
Harvey nodded and held a bowl towards Satan, “Want a mint?”
“Do I need one?”
“No—of course not.” Harvey lied. Satan had dog breath and always needed one. “So how much money do I have to work with?
“150 million.”
“Done.”
“And what about the others?”
“Felipe’s the root of our problem—get rid of him and you’ve gotten rid of the others.”
So that’s how it happened that Felipe Santiago met with Harvey Maxwell for dinner. They ate at a 11-year-old, pop-sensation, Mikey Mike’s new Rock-N-Roll style restaurant with a sixties rock theme. It went bankrupt as Felipe took a sip of sparkling water.
Harvey had produced several of Felipe’s blockbuster movies and at one time Felipe considered him a close friend. He was even the godfather of one of Harvey’s cocker spaniels. Felipe saw it as a chance to win another believer.
The two sat under a speaker that was hidden in the mouth of a portrait of Jimi Hendrix. It was cheaply blasting out non-stop bubble gum music.
“I have a movie that would be perfect for you—considering your recent conversion.” Harvey shouted over catchy bubble gum lyrics.
“I’m listening.”
Harvey pulled out a piece of paper with the title of the movie in flashy glitter letters with
“Sponsored by Pepsi” typed in boldface on the back, “It’s a remake of Left Behind: The Movie.”
“Left Behind? I heard the last screenwriter who tried to make a workable script out of the book was murdered by the books bad writing.”
A young waitress who had a chain connected to her pierced naval which connected to her pierced nose, which wrapped around her head and connected to her pierced left ear, took their order, and whispered in Harvey’s ear as she left, “I’m an actress and I have a screenplay—my boyfriend wants to be a director.”
Harvey ignored her. “It was a fluke.” Harvey promised.
“Even if someone could write a screenplay from the book and live to tell of the horrible horrors, I don’t think any actor could make that book work. My accountability partner says it was the worse piece of literature ever written—even worse than the poetry of Mehetabel Wright.”
“I’m sure it won’t be that bad.”
“They’re his words, not mine.”
“Well I’ve been authorized to give you 150 million plus options to take on the role.”
“That’s a lot of money for something that will probably not even make a tenth of that.”
“That’s why you should take it—think of all the things you could do with that much money. You could give Bibles to every hungry child in the world.”
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
“Because I believe that that kind of movie would be hurting the name of Christ more than promoting it.”
“That’s ridiculous.” Harvey took a swig of water then promised, “I’ll guarantee it will have nothing to do with the book if that’s what you want—I’ll give you complete creative control.”
Felipe tapped the table lightly then announced, “I just don’t believe a partnership could last between the two of us.”
***
Satan got Harvey Maxwell’s call while he lounged in his pool on an inflatable cushion sipping a virgin margarita reading the latest Michael Crighton novel (which, coincidently, he had just bought the movie rights to). He was suffering from heat stroke and took the bad news pleasantly.
It wasn’t until four aspirin and a bubble bath later that night when he realized he’d have to think of something else quick. But he was all out of ideas and he knew time was running out.
The truth was Satan had not had this much control over the world since before Christ. For a period of 3,000 before Christ, Satan easily controlled the thoughts and rituals of almost every single Jew in Israel through idols. Then came Christ, and suddenly there was a solid commitment to only one God and the days of idol worship seemed gone. But with the capture of Hollywood, Satan was able to bring back the glory days of idol worship. Finally Christian’s, Jew’s, Muslim’s, Hindu’s, Buddhist’s, and even Mormon’s worshiped the same god.
***
Matthew McMillan and Felipe Santiago had an emergency meeting the next day to discuss what they could do to save the decaying Hollywood. They met at Felipe’s hillside Hollywood estate. Each had been up all night with Hollywood on their mind, and they both knew that something had to be done.
Sitting on a balcony overlooking the smog filled city and polluted coastal line, Matthew and Felipe drank nutrition shakes feeling a genuine connection in their mutual commitment to changing things around.
Matthew was very serious about this new Christ thing he had discovered, and he wanted everyone to know. He was even dating Mary Megan Metford for the publicity of it. They went to premieres and award shows last week, and told entertainment reporters all about what it was like to be a Christian Hollywood couple. Both of their publicist were pushing for the two to wed soon, or at least say they were engaged.
“We’re both powerful movie stars.” Matthew reclined in his chair and concluded. “We need to do something.”
“Something for Christ?” Felipe wondered a loud.
“Exactly.”
“Yeah.”
“Something original.” Matthew said standing and beginning to pace.
“Yeah.”
“A movie.”
Felipe excited about seeing Matthew’s vision clearly said, “Exactly.”
“An original Christian movie.”
“Yeah.”
“But what could we do?”
“Something original.”
Matthew scratches his head, “Maybe we could copy a book?”
“But what book would we copy?”
“Something Christian, perhaps.”
“They’re too cheesy—that’s what I hear anyway.”
“Yeah.”
Felipe thinks then says, “How about something with guns—like Christians who go on a killing rampage to make peace. Christians like action.”
“That might be a little too intense.” Matthew points out.
“Probably.”
“It should be inspiring, but also funny—like the story of a clown with terminal cancer.”
“People might laugh so hard they won’t see the message.” Felipe points out.
“Maybe.”
“Yeah.”
Matthew lifts his index finger, “I got it.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah—we could do a Hard Days Night. Only we’d use a Christian boy band.”
“But it’s not original—unless—no it wouldn’t work. It needs to be more original to work.” Felipe concludes.
“Yeah.”
“You know what?”
“What?”
“I have it.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Well let’s hear it.”
Felipe takes a breath then says it, “The Christian Godfather. A frame for frame remake but without the killing and language and a Christian mob boss. And a nice moral message.”
“And an all-star Christian cast?”
“Right!”
“I think we’ve got it.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Felipe hugged Matthew, then turned on the Die Hard DVD to get them in the mood.
***
Just as Satan concluded it was all over for his Hollywood dynasty, MTV, a neutral party in the saga of good versus evil, offered to schedule a live action pay-per-view death match. Satan agreed immediately. MTV had to entice and tempt Felipe an entire afternoon before he agreed on the condition that MTV send out flyers to every Southern California conservative church to promote the event. He also wanted a free, live, webcast on his homepage as a favor to his Webmaster, whom he had broken-up with, but still remained friends with.
All the details had been arranged, but there had been one such detail overlooked. “Who will referee it?” Felipe asked at the official planning session.
“I know a Wicca witch who referees for the WWF on the weekends.” Satan’s assistant Billy said.
“That sounds a little biased.”
“Well what do you suggest?”
“Someone who doesn’t know what to believe when it comes to God.”
“How ‘bout a Hindu?”
“No, they believe God exists, they just get confused on which one of their gods he closest resembles.”
“Then who?”
“An agnostic.”
Everyone look at each other and no one disagrees.
“But where will we find one?
“Why don’t we get someone from Claremont? They’re doing a lecture on the historical Jesus there—there’s bound to be lots of agnostic there.”
“That’s perfect—and they have a big enough gym for a death match.”
So that’s how things got settled. Felipe would fight Satan in a MTV style death match at Claremont. It would be live action with all the proper lighting and glamorized to make it more real, and no one would actually die. The loser would be the one who cried first.
***
So thanks to MTV, the death match took place at Claremont University right after the referee, a renowned professor of Islamic history who was actively involved with the Jesus Seminars, concluded his lecture on the historical Jesus entitled “10 Reason Why Jesus Studied Buddhism With Mohammed in Northern India Before He Was Figuratively Tempted in the Desert.”
The professor, whose name was Dr. Augustine Mohammed Dali, was a frail old man who walked with a limp and admitted openly that he was thoroughly confused in all matters of faith. He also admitted that he knew nothing about wrestling, but also admitted that he knew nothing about genuine Christianity, but had made a career refuting its claims. Satan and Felipe agreed that Dali was the perfect person to fairly referee.
The campus was swarming with celebrities and faithless theologians, each quoting their various reasons for watching the fight. A hearse with monster truck tires waited for the loser, who would be driven outside the Southern California boundaries and banished from the perimeter for good.
Satan wore sweat pants because he didn’t want to be mocked for having hairy white legs. Felipe wore his newly trademarked red death match shorts with sparkling edges. Everything was done in epic Hollywood taste.
Several churches had taken a special offering to be used against Satan in Vegas, which favored them both equally.
When the fight bell finally rang, Mary Megan Metford, who had paid over $2,000 for her front row seat, shouted, “God’s with Felipe!”
Matthew McMilian, who agreed to come as a favor to Mary Megan Metford but was considering breaking their romance off, poked her rib and said, “Be quiet—let him concentrate.”
“Should we pray?”
“Just watch already! There will be plenty of time for that kind of stuff later.”
All hell literally broke out when Felipe Santiago, the star of such action blockbusters as William Shakespeare’s Henry the Fourth: The Musical, Part II, declared, first privately, then openly, that he, once a lover of many women and occasionally men, had accepted the grace of Jesus Christ and become a born again Christian.
Satan was pissed. Big time pissed.
Satan, understand, built his postmodern empire in Hollywood. He cleared the industry of any overt Christian propaganda over the past century, and filled the highest places at production studios with questionable Jews, outcast Catholics, and self-centered spiritualist. He had long since managed to rid the industry of Biblical epics and morality tales. To have one of his highest paid and most known actors openly declare a commitment to Jesus Christ made him feel both angry and threatened.
The tragedy had been in the works for months, but it had gone completely unnoticed until it was too late. Felipe Santiago, it seemed, had fallen in love with the web master of his Internet homepage, who was a Christian and also trying to sell a screenplay, and whom he had never met in person. The two had written hundreds of long, exaggerated emails about love and life in the course of a year. In one email, his Web master directed him to a site offering a cyber look at who Jesus is. He committed his life on that site. The Website was flashy and full of several catchy Christian jingles and rhyming evangelical messages. He was most impressed by a picture of Jesus dressed like the Terminator with a caption that said, “I’ll be back.” But ultimately it was the picture of Jesus dressed like Uncle Sam with a “I want you” caption that made him commit his life to Christ. “Everyone has always wanted me because I can make their film gross fifty million in the first weekend,” he later said in his testimony, “But that picture made me feel wanted because he loved me—I saw it in his cartoonish eyes and his pointy finger.”
So now all hell had broken loose. Dark angels, who had been hard at work on scripts for HBO dramas and miniseries, had been recalled to brainstorm. And the stars of NBC’s highest rated situation comedy agreed to stay on one more year just to preserve Satan’s cause, and insure there would still be a plentiful number of films requiring tasteless stars on the lookout for good exposure. But no efforts from Satan’s elite could put him at ease, and he ended up spending the entire night pacing, complaining, and being downright confused. “He can’t be a movie star anymore, that’s for sure.” Satan told his secretary and occasional lover, Billy. “There’s no telling the damage that can do.”
“There’s already an unauthorized biography about his life as a Christian,” Billy pointed out while fixing Satan’s morning cup of tea, “And Felipe Santiago t-shirts, coffee mugs, and inspirational CDs go on sale tomorrow at Christian bookstores around the world.”
“Mugs! Already? And it’s so close to the holidays.”
Billy nodded.
“It’s worse then I thought.”
It was rare for Satan to feel so uneasy. He had led a tranquil life since the start of the Cold War had put renewed interest of carpe diem themes into pop culture. One might even say that Satan was a humble man seeking to capture the essence of the American dream. Recent examinations of Satan’s work have in fact shown that he had become very western. But he still led a simple life. In a recent interview, he had commented, “For the past twenty years I’ve been on a vacation of sorts. There doesn’t seem to be much good in getting all stressed out trying to scheme—humans, especially in recent years, have created quite lovely vices that essentially do my job for me. Post-modernism is a beautiful thing.” Living in semi-retirement, he shared a three bedroom corner track house in Garden Grove with Billy, who on top of be being Satan’s secretary and occasional lover was also his butler and driver. He enjoyed gardening and recently had put up a white picket fence to keep the high school kids from walking on his lawn. Just as a fun job, he commuted to Hollywood once a week to do a voice on two separate animated series. He frequently told friends that he had never been so happy in his entire life.
Not long ago, an actor offered to give Satan his Brentwood estate because he was moving into a larger home in Santa Monica, but Satan declined. Whenever he was in the estate of a Hollywood star, there was always a feeling of detachment. He liked the smell and sense of community he found in Garden Grove; he also made a point of not getting too personal with clients. Satan once shared a condo in Huntington Beach with Dennis Rodman. The whole time they shared the home, Rodman kept pestering Satan to produce his movie, and Satan kept saying no in the name of good taste. It left their friendship shattered, and the two hadn’t talked sinse, although Rodman did send Satan a lovely fruit basket and a fifty-dollar gift card to Ross when he heard about Felipe’s unfortunate conversion.
Meanwhile, in the mist of Satan’s crisis, Felipe Santiago was having the time of his life living the Christian life. His first Christian photo shoot was a success, and photos were available on his Web page for a small, nominal, fee. Sunday, after a meeting with the press at a Irvine mega church, he would go to Sea World for his public baptism. Tickets for the baptism sold out at Ticket Master in fifteen minutes. Later that same day he would go to Tijuana and serve as the U.S. representative for the national cock-fighting tournament. And he was feeling more spiritual and Christian-like every breath he took. He was even thinking about forming a Christian punk rock band. The only problem he had in the past week was really only a small misunderstanding. A pastor caught him dancing inappropriately in an empty park and made a fuss over the immorality in his “loose swinging hips.” But it turned out that Felipe had accidentally lit his pants on fire while trying to burn a trash can full of suggestive books that he had once collected in his personal library, and he was only trying to put out the flames. So everything ended okay, and the confusion was cleared right up.
Satan’s woes, however, did not stop with Felipe Santiago. Felipe was a busy man and learned the power of evangelism quickly and forcefully. A week after Felipe’s spectacle of a conversion, while eating lunch with George Sanderburg, the director of Santiago’s academy award winning film Do They Shoot the Gorillas In China, Santiago became very vocal about his newfound love and Satan’s newfound curse.
“I found Jesus, and I want to tell everyone how wonderful my life is.” He said as Sanderburg licked off the ranch dressing from his salad. “That’s why I asked you to have lunch with me.”
“I’m happy for you. My brother’s brother-in-law is an assistant pastor at a Christian church in Minnesota.”
Felipe crossed his arms and reclined in his chair. “And what are you?”
“I’m nothing.”
“Nothing? An atheist, then?”
“No.”
“Agnostic?”
“No. Nothing like that.”
“What then?”
“Nothing. I go to church and all. I’m just not a part of anything.”
“What kind of church is it?”
“I don’t know. It’s just a church.”
“They must believe in something.”
Sanderburg shook his head. “I’m pretty sure they don’t.”
“What do they talk about, then?”
Sanderburg shrugged. “Just stuff—how to live a better life and stuff, I guess.”
“That’s it?”
Sanderburg Nodded. “And we go to shelters and feed the homeless. This year I’m also going to Mexico with the church to build a home for a family.”
“But there’s no Bible or anything like that at the church?”
“It’s there, but we don’t use it.”
“And you’ve been going to the church for how long.”
“About twenty-five years now, I believe.”
“Well it sounds to me like a church that hasn’t come out of the closet.”
Sanderburg was alarmed and sat uncomfortable in his chair looking around the restaurant to make sure no one was listening. “Do you really think that?”
Felipe nodded. “And you’re so close to being a Christian.”
“How close.”
“A prayer away.”
Sanderburg was confused. “You mean all I’d have to do to be a Christian is say a prayer?”
“And mean what you pray.”
“That doesn’t sound so bad—and then I could say I was a Christian, too?”
“You could.”
“I’ll do it.”
Sanderburg, after being led to a prayer to accept Christ, began to weep like the 20-year-old out-of-luck lounge singer who discovered her mother is dying of terminal foot cancer in his latest dramatic tear-jerker feature Foot, Etc.
But Satan’s problems only started there. In the lobby, after his lunch with George Sanderburg, Felipe tripped over Mary Megan Metford, one of his former leading ladies and casual lovers, whom he left for not wanting to experiment in a Ménage A’trois. He turned an awkward encounter to the glory of Christ. In five minutes, he explained to Mary Megan Metford, who had heard of Felipe’s conversion but thought it was just a publicity stunt (like the time Felipe claimed he would make love to a tiger at the L.A. zoo to satisfy a director that he was the right man for the role in a movie) that she needed Christ in her life—that he came for the sins of all and he would take away hers too if she accepted him and believed.
“You’re serious about this then?”
“I am.”
Mary Megan carefully considered what Felipe had said, while scratching nail polish from her thumb.
“What do you say? Do you need Jesus?”
“If something can change you this much, then maybe I should at least try it out.”
“You can always give it up if you don’t like it.”
Mary Megan gave her best Hollywood smile, “Okay then—I’ll try it out.”
Felipe instantly grabbed Mary Megan and attacked her with a Christianly hug.
And if Satan’s problems ended with Mary Megan Metford’s conversion, it would have ticked him off but it probably wouldn’t have ruined his day. He would have done a lot of complaining, but he would have just tempted his next door neighbor to cheat on his wife, and finish the day on a good note. But it didn’t end there.
On his way to his to his car something happened that Felipe Santiago would forever call a direct act of the Holy Spirit. He found Matthew McMillan passing out rosebuds to people passing by the restaurant.
Two years ago, Matthew McMillan was the biggest movie star in the world. His last two pictures made one billion each worldwide. He was such a good actor that he once got the part of the leading lady in a romantic comedy, didn’t bother to dress up like a woman, and became the first man to ever win an Academy Award for best actress. Then McMillan discovered he wasn’t enlightened, shaved his head, converted to Theravada Buddhism, left the film industry, and became a monk. In a rare recent interview, McMillan, who went by the Buddhist name Fen Fin, claimed that he had achieved Nirvana while listening to Nirvana’s greatest hits album in Tibet over the winter but stayed on Earth because he felt called to teach. Which is how Felipe Santiago found him selling blessed rosebuds in front of the restaurant.
Santiago had worked with McMillan in the eighties on a documentary that showed the unfair treatment of dogs in Yemen. Both had been outraged when they heard about a family who had eaten their family dog because they could not afford food and were dying of malnourishment. Santiago and McMillan did everything they could to protect the rights of the dogs and had remained close after the project.
When the two reunited in front of the restaurant, McMillan offered to sell him a rosebud, and Santiago offered to sell him Christ.
“With Christ, everything is about God,” Santiago explained, “it’s no longer about you.”
“But with Buddha it is the same.” Matthew argued.
“But did Buddha die for you’re sins?”
“No—when Buddha received enlightenment, he decided he would rather stay alive and teach, then die. He believed dying would have been the selfish thing to do.”
“With Christ you can live forever.” Felipe pointed out.
“With Buddha life is a cycle.”
“With Christ life is eternal.” Felipe added with more drama in his voice, “You will never die.”
Matthew looked at BMW driving towards them, and by the time the BMW past, he had decided he needed Christ.And that’s how Satan’s afternoon finished off—with McMillan, his biggest defender of all things being about “me,” accepting a doctrine that would make him passionate about witnessing about Christ, exposing the dangers of evil, and caring for the helpless. And that’s how a famous Christian bond established and began between two of the biggest Hollywood actors in the world who could easily change the way films are made.
***
Like sands in an hourglass, so was Satan’s once tranquil life. Harvey Maxwell didn’t have to see Satan’s expression to know what he wanted, when Billy pulled Satan’s beat up ’92 Escort into the parking space in front of his Burbank office.
“Still driving the old Escort I see.” Harvey said greeting Satan in the parking lot, throwing the cigar he had been smoking onto the shoe of a Spanish man who was trimming the plants in front of his office.
Satan nodded, “I don’t get caught up in world pleasures.”
“Of course you don’t,” Harvey smirked. “Shall we go inside?”
Satan nodded and followed Harvey to his office.
Harvey also happened to be a Jew turned Atheist, giving him the proper blend of godless hope that Satan needed to establish the film industry as his biggest evangelical media form.
“It’s about Felipe Santiago, right?” Harvey asked taking a seat behind his desk.
“I want you to offer him a movie deal that he can’t refuse.” Satan said choosing not to sit.
“Something that will keep him distracted for six months, be a sure flop, and ruin his career.”
Harvey nodded and held a bowl towards Satan, “Want a mint?”
“Do I need one?”
“No—of course not.” Harvey lied. Satan had dog breath and always needed one. “So how much money do I have to work with?
“150 million.”
“Done.”
“And what about the others?”
“Felipe’s the root of our problem—get rid of him and you’ve gotten rid of the others.”
So that’s how it happened that Felipe Santiago met with Harvey Maxwell for dinner. They ate at a 11-year-old, pop-sensation, Mikey Mike’s new Rock-N-Roll style restaurant with a sixties rock theme. It went bankrupt as Felipe took a sip of sparkling water.
Harvey had produced several of Felipe’s blockbuster movies and at one time Felipe considered him a close friend. He was even the godfather of one of Harvey’s cocker spaniels. Felipe saw it as a chance to win another believer.
The two sat under a speaker that was hidden in the mouth of a portrait of Jimi Hendrix. It was cheaply blasting out non-stop bubble gum music.
“I have a movie that would be perfect for you—considering your recent conversion.” Harvey shouted over catchy bubble gum lyrics.
“I’m listening.”
Harvey pulled out a piece of paper with the title of the movie in flashy glitter letters with
“Sponsored by Pepsi” typed in boldface on the back, “It’s a remake of Left Behind: The Movie.”
“Left Behind? I heard the last screenwriter who tried to make a workable script out of the book was murdered by the books bad writing.”
A young waitress who had a chain connected to her pierced naval which connected to her pierced nose, which wrapped around her head and connected to her pierced left ear, took their order, and whispered in Harvey’s ear as she left, “I’m an actress and I have a screenplay—my boyfriend wants to be a director.”
Harvey ignored her. “It was a fluke.” Harvey promised.
“Even if someone could write a screenplay from the book and live to tell of the horrible horrors, I don’t think any actor could make that book work. My accountability partner says it was the worse piece of literature ever written—even worse than the poetry of Mehetabel Wright.”
“I’m sure it won’t be that bad.”
“They’re his words, not mine.”
“Well I’ve been authorized to give you 150 million plus options to take on the role.”
“That’s a lot of money for something that will probably not even make a tenth of that.”
“That’s why you should take it—think of all the things you could do with that much money. You could give Bibles to every hungry child in the world.”
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
“Because I believe that that kind of movie would be hurting the name of Christ more than promoting it.”
“That’s ridiculous.” Harvey took a swig of water then promised, “I’ll guarantee it will have nothing to do with the book if that’s what you want—I’ll give you complete creative control.”
Felipe tapped the table lightly then announced, “I just don’t believe a partnership could last between the two of us.”
***
Satan got Harvey Maxwell’s call while he lounged in his pool on an inflatable cushion sipping a virgin margarita reading the latest Michael Crighton novel (which, coincidently, he had just bought the movie rights to). He was suffering from heat stroke and took the bad news pleasantly.
It wasn’t until four aspirin and a bubble bath later that night when he realized he’d have to think of something else quick. But he was all out of ideas and he knew time was running out.
The truth was Satan had not had this much control over the world since before Christ. For a period of 3,000 before Christ, Satan easily controlled the thoughts and rituals of almost every single Jew in Israel through idols. Then came Christ, and suddenly there was a solid commitment to only one God and the days of idol worship seemed gone. But with the capture of Hollywood, Satan was able to bring back the glory days of idol worship. Finally Christian’s, Jew’s, Muslim’s, Hindu’s, Buddhist’s, and even Mormon’s worshiped the same god.
***
Matthew McMillan and Felipe Santiago had an emergency meeting the next day to discuss what they could do to save the decaying Hollywood. They met at Felipe’s hillside Hollywood estate. Each had been up all night with Hollywood on their mind, and they both knew that something had to be done.
Sitting on a balcony overlooking the smog filled city and polluted coastal line, Matthew and Felipe drank nutrition shakes feeling a genuine connection in their mutual commitment to changing things around.
Matthew was very serious about this new Christ thing he had discovered, and he wanted everyone to know. He was even dating Mary Megan Metford for the publicity of it. They went to premieres and award shows last week, and told entertainment reporters all about what it was like to be a Christian Hollywood couple. Both of their publicist were pushing for the two to wed soon, or at least say they were engaged.
“We’re both powerful movie stars.” Matthew reclined in his chair and concluded. “We need to do something.”
“Something for Christ?” Felipe wondered a loud.
“Exactly.”
“Yeah.”
“Something original.” Matthew said standing and beginning to pace.
“Yeah.”
“A movie.”
Felipe excited about seeing Matthew’s vision clearly said, “Exactly.”
“An original Christian movie.”
“Yeah.”
“But what could we do?”
“Something original.”
Matthew scratches his head, “Maybe we could copy a book?”
“But what book would we copy?”
“Something Christian, perhaps.”
“They’re too cheesy—that’s what I hear anyway.”
“Yeah.”
Felipe thinks then says, “How about something with guns—like Christians who go on a killing rampage to make peace. Christians like action.”
“That might be a little too intense.” Matthew points out.
“Probably.”
“It should be inspiring, but also funny—like the story of a clown with terminal cancer.”
“People might laugh so hard they won’t see the message.” Felipe points out.
“Maybe.”
“Yeah.”
Matthew lifts his index finger, “I got it.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah—we could do a Hard Days Night. Only we’d use a Christian boy band.”
“But it’s not original—unless—no it wouldn’t work. It needs to be more original to work.” Felipe concludes.
“Yeah.”
“You know what?”
“What?”
“I have it.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Well let’s hear it.”
Felipe takes a breath then says it, “The Christian Godfather. A frame for frame remake but without the killing and language and a Christian mob boss. And a nice moral message.”
“And an all-star Christian cast?”
“Right!”
“I think we’ve got it.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Felipe hugged Matthew, then turned on the Die Hard DVD to get them in the mood.
***
Just as Satan concluded it was all over for his Hollywood dynasty, MTV, a neutral party in the saga of good versus evil, offered to schedule a live action pay-per-view death match. Satan agreed immediately. MTV had to entice and tempt Felipe an entire afternoon before he agreed on the condition that MTV send out flyers to every Southern California conservative church to promote the event. He also wanted a free, live, webcast on his homepage as a favor to his Webmaster, whom he had broken-up with, but still remained friends with.
All the details had been arranged, but there had been one such detail overlooked. “Who will referee it?” Felipe asked at the official planning session.
“I know a Wicca witch who referees for the WWF on the weekends.” Satan’s assistant Billy said.
“That sounds a little biased.”
“Well what do you suggest?”
“Someone who doesn’t know what to believe when it comes to God.”
“How ‘bout a Hindu?”
“No, they believe God exists, they just get confused on which one of their gods he closest resembles.”
“Then who?”
“An agnostic.”
Everyone look at each other and no one disagrees.
“But where will we find one?
“Why don’t we get someone from Claremont? They’re doing a lecture on the historical Jesus there—there’s bound to be lots of agnostic there.”
“That’s perfect—and they have a big enough gym for a death match.”
So that’s how things got settled. Felipe would fight Satan in a MTV style death match at Claremont. It would be live action with all the proper lighting and glamorized to make it more real, and no one would actually die. The loser would be the one who cried first.
***
So thanks to MTV, the death match took place at Claremont University right after the referee, a renowned professor of Islamic history who was actively involved with the Jesus Seminars, concluded his lecture on the historical Jesus entitled “10 Reason Why Jesus Studied Buddhism With Mohammed in Northern India Before He Was Figuratively Tempted in the Desert.”
The professor, whose name was Dr. Augustine Mohammed Dali, was a frail old man who walked with a limp and admitted openly that he was thoroughly confused in all matters of faith. He also admitted that he knew nothing about wrestling, but also admitted that he knew nothing about genuine Christianity, but had made a career refuting its claims. Satan and Felipe agreed that Dali was the perfect person to fairly referee.
The campus was swarming with celebrities and faithless theologians, each quoting their various reasons for watching the fight. A hearse with monster truck tires waited for the loser, who would be driven outside the Southern California boundaries and banished from the perimeter for good.
Satan wore sweat pants because he didn’t want to be mocked for having hairy white legs. Felipe wore his newly trademarked red death match shorts with sparkling edges. Everything was done in epic Hollywood taste.
Several churches had taken a special offering to be used against Satan in Vegas, which favored them both equally.
When the fight bell finally rang, Mary Megan Metford, who had paid over $2,000 for her front row seat, shouted, “God’s with Felipe!”
Matthew McMilian, who agreed to come as a favor to Mary Megan Metford but was considering breaking their romance off, poked her rib and said, “Be quiet—let him concentrate.”
“Should we pray?”
“Just watch already! There will be plenty of time for that kind of stuff later.”
Saturday, December 08, 2007
Satan’s Hollywood Fiasco - 6/6
So thanks to MTV, the death match took place at Claremont University right after the referee, a renowned professor of Islamic history who was actively involved with the Jesus Seminars, concluded his lecture on the historical Jesus entitled “10 Reason Why Jesus Studied Buddhism With Mohammed in Northern India Before He Was Figuratively Tempted in the Desert.”
The professor, whose name was Dr. Augustine Mohammed Dali, was a frail old man who walked with a limp and admitted openly that he was thoroughly confused in all matters of faith. He also admitted that he knew nothing about wrestling, but also admitted that he knew nothing about genuine Christianity, but had made a career refuting its claims. Satan and Felipe agreed that Dali was the perfect person to fairly referee.
The campus was swarming with celebrities and faithless theologians, each quoting their various reasons for watching the fight. A hearse with monster truck tires waited for the loser, who would be driven outside the Southern California boundaries and banished from the perimeter for good.
Satan wore sweat pants because he didn’t want to be mocked for having hairy white legs. Felipe wore his newly trademarked red death match shorts with sparkling edges. Everything was done in epic Hollywood taste.
Several churches had taken a special offering to be used against Satan in Vegas, which favored them both equally.
When the fight bell finally rang, Mary Megan Metford, who had paid over $2,000 for her front row seat, shouted, “God’s with Felipe!”
Matthew McMilian, who agreed to come as a favor to Mary Megan Metford but was considering breaking their romance off, poked her rib and said, “Be quiet—let him concentrate.”
“Should we pray?”
“Just watch already! There will be plenty of time for that kind of stuff later.”
The professor, whose name was Dr. Augustine Mohammed Dali, was a frail old man who walked with a limp and admitted openly that he was thoroughly confused in all matters of faith. He also admitted that he knew nothing about wrestling, but also admitted that he knew nothing about genuine Christianity, but had made a career refuting its claims. Satan and Felipe agreed that Dali was the perfect person to fairly referee.
The campus was swarming with celebrities and faithless theologians, each quoting their various reasons for watching the fight. A hearse with monster truck tires waited for the loser, who would be driven outside the Southern California boundaries and banished from the perimeter for good.
Satan wore sweat pants because he didn’t want to be mocked for having hairy white legs. Felipe wore his newly trademarked red death match shorts with sparkling edges. Everything was done in epic Hollywood taste.
Several churches had taken a special offering to be used against Satan in Vegas, which favored them both equally.
When the fight bell finally rang, Mary Megan Metford, who had paid over $2,000 for her front row seat, shouted, “God’s with Felipe!”
Matthew McMilian, who agreed to come as a favor to Mary Megan Metford but was considering breaking their romance off, poked her rib and said, “Be quiet—let him concentrate.”
“Should we pray?”
“Just watch already! There will be plenty of time for that kind of stuff later.”
Friday, December 07, 2007
Satan’s Hollywood Fiasco - 5/6
Just as Satan concluded it was all over for his Hollywood dynasty, MTV, a neutral party in the saga of good versus evil, offered to schedule a live action pay-per-view death match. Satan agreed immediately. MTV had to entice and tempt Felipe an entire afternoon before he agreed on the condition that MTV send out flyers to every Southern California conservative church to promote the event. He also wanted a free, live, webcast on his homepage as a favor to his Webmaster, whom he had broken-up with, but still remained friends with.
All the details had been arranged, but there had been one such detail overlooked. “Who will referee it?” Felipe asked at the official planning session.
“I know a Wicca witch who referees for the WWF on the weekends.” Satan’s assistant Billy said.
“That sounds a little biased.”
“Well what do you suggest?”
“Someone who doesn’t know what to believe when it comes to God.”
“How ‘bout a Hindu?”
“No, they believe God exists, they just get confused on which one of their gods he closest resembles.”
“Then who?”
“An agnostic.”
Everyone look at each other and no one disagrees.
“But where will we find one?
“Why don’t we get someone from Claremont? They’re doing a lecture on the historical Jesus there—there’s bound to be lots of agnostic there.”
“That’s perfect—and they have a big enough gym for a death match.”
So that’s how things got settled. Felipe would fight Satan in a MTV style death match at Claremont. It would be live action with all the proper lighting and glamorized to make it more real, and no one would actually die. The loser would be the one who cried first.
All the details had been arranged, but there had been one such detail overlooked. “Who will referee it?” Felipe asked at the official planning session.
“I know a Wicca witch who referees for the WWF on the weekends.” Satan’s assistant Billy said.
“That sounds a little biased.”
“Well what do you suggest?”
“Someone who doesn’t know what to believe when it comes to God.”
“How ‘bout a Hindu?”
“No, they believe God exists, they just get confused on which one of their gods he closest resembles.”
“Then who?”
“An agnostic.”
Everyone look at each other and no one disagrees.
“But where will we find one?
“Why don’t we get someone from Claremont? They’re doing a lecture on the historical Jesus there—there’s bound to be lots of agnostic there.”
“That’s perfect—and they have a big enough gym for a death match.”
So that’s how things got settled. Felipe would fight Satan in a MTV style death match at Claremont. It would be live action with all the proper lighting and glamorized to make it more real, and no one would actually die. The loser would be the one who cried first.
Thursday, December 06, 2007
Satan’s Hollywood Fiasco - 4/6
Matthew McMillan and Felipe Santiago had an emergency meeting the next day to discuss what they could do to save the decaying Hollywood. They met at Felipe’s hillside Hollywood estate. Each had been up all night with Hollywood on their mind, and they both knew that something had to be done.
Sitting on a balcony overlooking the smog filled city and polluted coastal line, Matthew and Felipe drank nutrition shakes feeling a genuine connection in their mutual commitment to changing things around.
Matthew was very serious about this new Christ thing he had discovered, and he wanted everyone to know. He was even dating Mary Megan Metford for the publicity of it. They went to premieres and award shows last week, and told entertainment reporters all about what it was like to be a Christian Hollywood couple. Both of their publicist were pushing for the two to wed soon, or at least say they were engaged.
“We’re both powerful movie stars.” Matthew reclined in his chair and concluded. “We need to do something.”
“Something for Christ?” Felipe wondered a loud.
“Exactly.”
“Yeah.”
“Something original.” Matthew said standing and beginning to pace.
“Yeah.”
“A movie.”
Felipe excited about seeing Matthew’s vision clearly said, “Exactly.”
“An original Christian movie.”
“Yeah.”
“But what could we do?”
“Something original.”
Matthew scratches his head, “Maybe we could copy a book?”
“But what book would we copy?”
“Something Christian, perhaps.”
“They’re too cheesy—that’s what I hear anyway.”
“Yeah.”
Felipe thinks then says, “How about something with guns—like Christians who go on a killing rampage to make peace. Christians like action.”
“That might be a little too intense.” Matthew points out.
“Probably.”
“It should be inspiring, but also funny—like the story of a clown with terminal cancer.”
“People might laugh so hard they won’t see the message.” Felipe points out.
“Maybe.”
“Yeah.”
Matthew lifts his index finger, “I got it.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah—we could do a Hard Days Night. Only we’d use a Christian boy band.”
“But it’s not original—unless—no it wouldn’t work. It needs to be more original to work.” Felipe concludes.
“Yeah.”
“You know what?”
“What?”
“I have it.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Well let’s hear it.”
Felipe takes a breath then says it, “The Christian Godfather. A frame for frame remake but without the killing and language and a Christian mob boss. And a nice moral message.”
“And an all-star Christian cast?”
“Right!”
“I think we’ve got it.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Felipe hugged Matthew, then turned on the Die Hard DVD to get them in the mood.
Sitting on a balcony overlooking the smog filled city and polluted coastal line, Matthew and Felipe drank nutrition shakes feeling a genuine connection in their mutual commitment to changing things around.
Matthew was very serious about this new Christ thing he had discovered, and he wanted everyone to know. He was even dating Mary Megan Metford for the publicity of it. They went to premieres and award shows last week, and told entertainment reporters all about what it was like to be a Christian Hollywood couple. Both of their publicist were pushing for the two to wed soon, or at least say they were engaged.
“We’re both powerful movie stars.” Matthew reclined in his chair and concluded. “We need to do something.”
“Something for Christ?” Felipe wondered a loud.
“Exactly.”
“Yeah.”
“Something original.” Matthew said standing and beginning to pace.
“Yeah.”
“A movie.”
Felipe excited about seeing Matthew’s vision clearly said, “Exactly.”
“An original Christian movie.”
“Yeah.”
“But what could we do?”
“Something original.”
Matthew scratches his head, “Maybe we could copy a book?”
“But what book would we copy?”
“Something Christian, perhaps.”
“They’re too cheesy—that’s what I hear anyway.”
“Yeah.”
Felipe thinks then says, “How about something with guns—like Christians who go on a killing rampage to make peace. Christians like action.”
“That might be a little too intense.” Matthew points out.
“Probably.”
“It should be inspiring, but also funny—like the story of a clown with terminal cancer.”
“People might laugh so hard they won’t see the message.” Felipe points out.
“Maybe.”
“Yeah.”
Matthew lifts his index finger, “I got it.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah—we could do a Hard Days Night. Only we’d use a Christian boy band.”
“But it’s not original—unless—no it wouldn’t work. It needs to be more original to work.” Felipe concludes.
“Yeah.”
“You know what?”
“What?”
“I have it.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Well let’s hear it.”
Felipe takes a breath then says it, “The Christian Godfather. A frame for frame remake but without the killing and language and a Christian mob boss. And a nice moral message.”
“And an all-star Christian cast?”
“Right!”
“I think we’ve got it.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Felipe hugged Matthew, then turned on the Die Hard DVD to get them in the mood.
Wednesday, December 05, 2007
Satan’s Hollywood Fiasco - 3/6
Satan got Harvey Maxwell’s call while he lounged in his pool on an inflatable cushion sipping a virgin margarita reading the latest Michael Crighton novel (which, coincidently, he had just bought the movie rights to). He was suffering from heat stroke and took the bad news pleasantly.
It wasn’t until four aspirin and a bubble bath later that night when he realized he’d have to think of something else quick. But he was all out of ideas and he knew time was running out.
The truth was Satan had not had this much control over the world since before Christ. For a period of 3,000 before Christ, Satan easily controlled the thoughts and rituals of almost every single Jew in Israel through idols. Then came Christ, and suddenly there was a solid commitment to only one God and the days of idol worship seemed gone. But with the capture of Hollywood, Satan was able to bring back the glory days of idol worship. Finally Christian’s, Jew’s, Muslim’s, Hindu’s, Buddhist’s, and even Mormon’s worshiped the same god.
It wasn’t until four aspirin and a bubble bath later that night when he realized he’d have to think of something else quick. But he was all out of ideas and he knew time was running out.
The truth was Satan had not had this much control over the world since before Christ. For a period of 3,000 before Christ, Satan easily controlled the thoughts and rituals of almost every single Jew in Israel through idols. Then came Christ, and suddenly there was a solid commitment to only one God and the days of idol worship seemed gone. But with the capture of Hollywood, Satan was able to bring back the glory days of idol worship. Finally Christian’s, Jew’s, Muslim’s, Hindu’s, Buddhist’s, and even Mormon’s worshiped the same god.
Tuesday, December 04, 2007
Satan’s Hollywood Fiasco - 2/6
Like sands in an hourglass, so was Satan’s once tranquil life. Harvey Maxwell didn’t have to see Satan’s expression to know what he wanted, when Billy pulled Satan’s beat up ’92 Escort into the parking space in front of his Burbank office.
“Still driving the old Escort I see.” Harvey said greeting Satan in the parking lot, throwing the cigar he had been smoking onto the shoe of a Spanish man who was trimming the plants in front of his office.
Satan nodded, “I don’t get caught up in world pleasures.”
“Of course you don’t,” Harvey smirked. “Shall we go inside?”
Satan nodded and followed Harvey to his office.
Harvey also happened to be a Jew turned Atheist, giving him the proper blend of godless hope that Satan needed to establish the film industry as his biggest evangelical media form.
“It’s about Felipe Santiago, right?” Harvey asked taking a seat behind his desk.
“I want you to offer him a movie deal that he can’t refuse.” Satan said choosing not to sit.
“Something that will keep him distracted for six months, be a sure flop, and ruin his career.”
Harvey nodded and held a bowl towards Satan, “Want a mint?”
“Do I need one?”
“No—of course not.” Harvey lied. Satan had dog breath and always needed one. “So how much money do I have to work with?
“150 million.”
“Done.”
“And what about the others?”
“Felipe’s the root of our problem—get rid of him and you’ve gotten rid of the others.”
So that’s how it happened that Felipe Santiago met with Harvey Maxwell for dinner. They ate at a 11-year-old, pop-sensation, Mikey Mike’s new Rock-N-Roll style restaurant with a sixties rock theme. It went bankrupt as Felipe took a sip of sparkling water.
Harvey had produced several of Felipe’s blockbuster movies and at one time Felipe considered him a close friend. He was even the godfather of one of Harvey’s cocker spaniels. Felipe saw it as a chance to win another believer.
The two sat under a speaker that was hidden in the mouth of a portrait of Jimi Hendrix. It was cheaply blasting out non-stop bubble gum music.
“I have a movie that would be perfect for you—considering your recent conversion.” Harvey shouted over catchy bubble gum lyrics.
“I’m listening.”
Harvey pulled out a piece of paper with the title of the movie in flashy glitter letters with
“Sponsored by Pepsi” typed in boldface on the back, “It’s a remake of Left Behind: The Movie.”
“Left Behind? I heard the last screenwriter who tried to make a workable script out of the book was murdered by the books bad writing.”
A young waitress who had a chain connected to her pierced naval which connected to her pierced nose, which wrapped around her head and connected to her pierced left ear, took their order, and whispered in Harvey’s ear as she left, “I’m an actress and I have a screenplay—my boyfriend wants to be a director.”
Harvey ignored her. “It was a fluke.” Harvey promised.
“Even if someone could write a screenplay from the book and live to tell of the horrible horrors, I don’t think any actor could make that book work. My accountability partner says it was the worse piece of literature ever written—even worse than the poetry of Mehetabel Wright.”
“I’m sure it won’t be that bad.”
“They’re his words, not mine.”
“Well I’ve been authorized to give you 150 million plus options to take on the role.”
“That’s a lot of money for something that will probably not even make a tenth of that.”
“That’s why you should take it—think of all the things you could do with that much money. You could give Bibles to every hungry child in the world.”
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
“Because I believe that that kind of movie would be hurting the name of Christ more than promoting it.”
“That’s ridiculous.” Harvey took a swig of water then promised, “I’ll guarantee it will have nothing to do with the book if that’s what you want—I’ll give you complete creative control.”
Felipe tapped the table lightly then announced, “I just don’t believe a partnership could last between the two of us.”
“Still driving the old Escort I see.” Harvey said greeting Satan in the parking lot, throwing the cigar he had been smoking onto the shoe of a Spanish man who was trimming the plants in front of his office.
Satan nodded, “I don’t get caught up in world pleasures.”
“Of course you don’t,” Harvey smirked. “Shall we go inside?”
Satan nodded and followed Harvey to his office.
Harvey also happened to be a Jew turned Atheist, giving him the proper blend of godless hope that Satan needed to establish the film industry as his biggest evangelical media form.
“It’s about Felipe Santiago, right?” Harvey asked taking a seat behind his desk.
“I want you to offer him a movie deal that he can’t refuse.” Satan said choosing not to sit.
“Something that will keep him distracted for six months, be a sure flop, and ruin his career.”
Harvey nodded and held a bowl towards Satan, “Want a mint?”
“Do I need one?”
“No—of course not.” Harvey lied. Satan had dog breath and always needed one. “So how much money do I have to work with?
“150 million.”
“Done.”
“And what about the others?”
“Felipe’s the root of our problem—get rid of him and you’ve gotten rid of the others.”
So that’s how it happened that Felipe Santiago met with Harvey Maxwell for dinner. They ate at a 11-year-old, pop-sensation, Mikey Mike’s new Rock-N-Roll style restaurant with a sixties rock theme. It went bankrupt as Felipe took a sip of sparkling water.
Harvey had produced several of Felipe’s blockbuster movies and at one time Felipe considered him a close friend. He was even the godfather of one of Harvey’s cocker spaniels. Felipe saw it as a chance to win another believer.
The two sat under a speaker that was hidden in the mouth of a portrait of Jimi Hendrix. It was cheaply blasting out non-stop bubble gum music.
“I have a movie that would be perfect for you—considering your recent conversion.” Harvey shouted over catchy bubble gum lyrics.
“I’m listening.”
Harvey pulled out a piece of paper with the title of the movie in flashy glitter letters with
“Sponsored by Pepsi” typed in boldface on the back, “It’s a remake of Left Behind: The Movie.”
“Left Behind? I heard the last screenwriter who tried to make a workable script out of the book was murdered by the books bad writing.”
A young waitress who had a chain connected to her pierced naval which connected to her pierced nose, which wrapped around her head and connected to her pierced left ear, took their order, and whispered in Harvey’s ear as she left, “I’m an actress and I have a screenplay—my boyfriend wants to be a director.”
Harvey ignored her. “It was a fluke.” Harvey promised.
“Even if someone could write a screenplay from the book and live to tell of the horrible horrors, I don’t think any actor could make that book work. My accountability partner says it was the worse piece of literature ever written—even worse than the poetry of Mehetabel Wright.”
“I’m sure it won’t be that bad.”
“They’re his words, not mine.”
“Well I’ve been authorized to give you 150 million plus options to take on the role.”
“That’s a lot of money for something that will probably not even make a tenth of that.”
“That’s why you should take it—think of all the things you could do with that much money. You could give Bibles to every hungry child in the world.”
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
“Because I believe that that kind of movie would be hurting the name of Christ more than promoting it.”
“That’s ridiculous.” Harvey took a swig of water then promised, “I’ll guarantee it will have nothing to do with the book if that’s what you want—I’ll give you complete creative control.”
Felipe tapped the table lightly then announced, “I just don’t believe a partnership could last between the two of us.”
Monday, December 03, 2007
Satan’s Hollywood Fiasco - 1/6
For the next six days, I will be posting an original piece of fiction. Enjoy
All hell literally broke out when Felipe Santiago, the star of such action blockbusters as William Shakespeare’s Henry the Fourth: The Musical, Part II, declared, first privately, then openly, that he, once a lover of many women and occasionally men, had accepted the grace of Jesus Christ and become a born again Christian.
Satan was pissed. Big time pissed.
Satan, understand, built his postmodern empire in Hollywood. He cleared the industry of any overt Christian propaganda over the past century, and filled the highest places at production studios with questionable Jews, outcast Catholics, and self-centered spiritualist. He had long since managed to rid the industry of Biblical epics and morality tales. To have one of his highest paid and most known actors openly declare a commitment to Jesus Christ made him feel both angry and threatened.
The tragedy had been in the works for months, but it had gone completely unnoticed until it was too late. Felipe Santiago, it seemed, had fallen in love with the web master of his Internet homepage, who was a Christian and also trying to sell a screenplay, and whom he had never met in person. The two had written hundreds of long, exaggerated emails about love and life in the course of a year. In one email, his Web master directed him to a site offering a cyber look at who Jesus is. He committed his life on that site. The Website was flashy and full of several catchy Christian jingles and rhyming evangelical messages. He was most impressed by a picture of Jesus dressed like the Terminator with a caption that said, “I’ll be back.” But ultimately it was the picture of Jesus dressed like Uncle Sam with a “I want you” caption that made him commit his life to Christ. “Everyone has always wanted me because I can make their film gross fifty million in the first weekend,” he later said in his testimony, “But that picture made me feel wanted because he loved me—I saw it in his cartoonish eyes and his pointy finger.”
So now all hell had broken loose. Dark angels, who had been hard at work on scripts for HBO dramas and miniseries, had been recalled to brainstorm. And the stars of NBC’s highest rated situation comedy agreed to stay on one more year just to preserve Satan’s cause, and insure there would still be a plentiful number of films requiring tasteless stars on the lookout for good exposure. But no efforts from Satan’s elite could put him at ease, and he ended up spending the entire night pacing, complaining, and being downright confused. “He can’t be a movie star anymore, that’s for sure.” Satan told his secretary and occasional lover, Billy. “There’s no telling the damage that can do.”
“There’s already an unauthorized biography about his life as a Christian,” Billy pointed out while fixing Satan’s morning cup of tea, “And Felipe Santiago t-shirts, coffee mugs, and inspirational CDs go on sale tomorrow at Christian bookstores around the world.”
“Mugs! Already? And it’s so close to the holidays.”
Billy nodded.
“It’s worse then I thought.”
It was rare for Satan to feel so uneasy. He had led a tranquil life since the start of the Cold War had put renewed interest of carpe diem themes into pop culture. One might even say that Satan was a humble man seeking to capture the essence of the American dream. Recent examinations of Satan’s work have in fact shown that he had become very western. But he still led a simple life. In a recent interview, he had commented, “For the past twenty years I’ve been on a vacation of sorts. There doesn’t seem to be much good in getting all stressed out trying to scheme—humans, especially in recent years, have created quite lovely vices that essentially do my job for me. Post-modernism is a beautiful thing.” Living in semi-retirement, he shared a three bedroom corner track house in Garden Grove with Billy, who on top of be being Satan’s secretary and occasional lover was also his butler and driver. He enjoyed gardening and recently had put up a white picket fence to keep the high school kids from walking on his lawn. Just as a fun job, he commuted to Hollywood once a week to do a voice on two separate animated series. He frequently told friends that he had never been so happy in his entire life.
Not long ago, an actor offered to give Satan his Brentwood estate because he was moving into a larger home in Santa Monica, but Satan declined. Whenever he was in the estate of a Hollywood star, there was always a feeling of detachment. He liked the smell and sense of community he found in Garden Grove; he also made a point of not getting too personal with clients. Satan once shared a condo in Huntington Beach with Dennis Rodman. The whole time they shared the home, Rodman kept pestering Satan to produce his movie, and Satan kept saying no in the name of good taste. It left their friendship shattered, and the two hadn’t talked sinse, although Rodman did send Satan a lovely fruit basket and a fifty-dollar gift card to Ross when he heard about Felipe’s unfortunate conversion.
Meanwhile, in the mist of Satan’s crisis, Felipe Santiago was having the time of his life living the Christian life. His first Christian photo shoot was a success, and photos were available on his Web page for a small, nominal, fee. Sunday, after a meeting with the press at a Irvine mega church, he would go to Sea World for his public baptism. Tickets for the baptism sold out at Ticket Master in fifteen minutes. Later that same day he would go to Tijuana and serve as the U.S. representative for the national cock-fighting tournament. And he was feeling more spiritual and Christian-like every breath he took. He was even thinking about forming a Christian punk rock band. The only problem he had in the past week was really only a small misunderstanding. A pastor caught him dancing inappropriately in an empty park and made a fuss over the immorality in his “loose swinging hips.” But it turned out that Felipe had accidentally lit his pants on fire while trying to burn a trash can full of suggestive books that he had once collected in his personal library, and he was only trying to put out the flames. So everything ended okay, and the confusion was cleared right up.
Satan’s woes, however, did not stop with Felipe Santiago. Felipe was a busy man and learned the power of evangelism quickly and forcefully. A week after Felipe’s spectacle of a conversion, while eating lunch with George Sanderburg, the director of Santiago’s academy award winning film Do They Shoot the Gorillas In China, Santiago became very vocal about his newfound love and Satan’s newfound curse.
“I found Jesus, and I want to tell everyone how wonderful my life is.” He said as Sanderburg licked off the ranch dressing from his salad. “That’s why I asked you to have lunch with me.”
“I’m happy for you. My brother’s brother-in-law is an assistant pastor at a Christian church in Minnesota.”
Felipe crossed his arms and reclined in his chair. “And what are you?”
“I’m nothing.”
“Nothing? An atheist, then?”
“No.”
“Agnostic?”
“No. Nothing like that.”
“What then?”
“Nothing. I go to church and all. I’m just not a part of anything.”
“What kind of church is it?”
“I don’t know. It’s just a church.”
“They must believe in something.”
Sanderburg shook his head. “I’m pretty sure they don’t.”
“What do they talk about, then?”
Sanderburg shrugged. “Just stuff—how to live a better life and stuff, I guess.”
“That’s it?”
Sanderburg Nodded. “And we go to shelters and feed the homeless. This year I’m also going to Mexico with the church to build a home for a family.”
“But there’s no Bible or anything like that at the church?”
“It’s there, but we don’t use it.”
“And you’ve been going to the church for how long.”
“About twenty-five years now, I believe.”
“Well it sounds to me like a church that hasn’t come out of the closet.”
Sanderburg was alarmed and sat uncomfortable in his chair looking around the restaurant to make sure no one was listening. “Do you really think that?”
Felipe nodded. “And you’re so close to being a Christian.”
“How close.”
“A prayer away.”
Sanderburg was confused. “You mean all I’d have to do to be a Christian is say a prayer?”
“And mean what you pray.”
“That doesn’t sound so bad—and then I could say I was a Christian, too?”
“You could.”
“I’ll do it.”
Sanderburg, after being led to a prayer to accept Christ, began to weep like the 20-year-old out-of-luck lounge singer who discovered her mother is dying of terminal foot cancer in his latest dramatic tear-jerker feature Foot, Etc.
But Satan’s problems only started there. In the lobby, after his lunch with George Sanderburg, Felipe tripped over Mary Megan Metford, one of his former leading ladies and casual lovers, whom he left for not wanting to experiment in a Ménage A’trois. He turned an awkward encounter to the glory of Christ. In five minutes, he explained to Mary Megan Metford, who had heard of Felipe’s conversion but thought it was just a publicity stunt (like the time Felipe claimed he would make love to a tiger at the L.A. zoo to satisfy a director that he was the right man for the role in a movie) that she needed Christ in her life—that he came for the sins of all and he would take away hers too if she accepted him and believed.
“You’re serious about this then?”
“I am.”
Mary Megan carefully considered what Felipe had said, while scratching nail polish from her thumb.
“What do you say? Do you need Jesus?”
“If something can change you this much, then maybe I should at least try it out.”
“You can always give it up if you don’t like it.”
Mary Megan gave her best Hollywood smile, “Okay then—I’ll try it out.”
Felipe instantly grabbed Mary Megan and attacked her with a Christianly hug.
And if Satan’s problems ended with Mary Megan Metford’s conversion, it would have ticked him off but it probably wouldn’t have ruined his day. He would have done a lot of complaining, but he would have just tempted his next door neighbor to cheat on his wife, and finish the day on a good note. But it didn’t end there.
On his way to his to his car something happened that Felipe Santiago would forever call a direct act of the Holy Spirit. He found Matthew McMillan passing out rosebuds to people passing by the restaurant.
Two years ago, Matthew McMillan was the biggest movie star in the world. His last two pictures made one billion each worldwide. He was such a good actor that he once got the part of the leading lady in a romantic comedy, didn’t bother to dress up like a woman, and became the first man to ever win an Academy Award for best actress. Then McMillan discovered he wasn’t enlightened, shaved his head, converted to Theravada Buddhism, left the film industry, and became a monk. In a rare recent interview, McMillan, who went by the Buddhist name Fen Fin, claimed that he had achieved Nirvana while listening to Nirvana’s greatest hits album in Tibet over the winter but stayed on Earth because he felt called to teach. Which is how Felipe Santiago found him selling blessed rosebuds in front of the restaurant.
Santiago had worked with McMillan in the eighties on a documentary that showed the unfair treatment of dogs in Yemen. Both had been outraged when they heard about a family who had eaten their family dog because they could not afford food and were dying of malnourishment. Santiago and McMillan did everything they could to protect the rights of the dogs and had remained close after the project.
When the two reunited in front of the restaurant, McMillan offered to sell him a rosebud, and Santiago offered to sell him Christ.
“With Christ, everything is about God,” Santiago explained, “it’s no longer about you.”
“But with Buddha it is the same.” Matthew argued.
“But did Buddha die for you’re sins?”
“No—when Buddha received enlightenment, he decided he would rather stay alive and teach, then die. He believed dying would have been the selfish thing to do.”
“With Christ you can live forever.” Felipe pointed out.
“With Buddha life is a cycle.”
“With Christ life is eternal.” Felipe added with more drama in his voice, “You will never die.”
Matthew looked at BMW driving towards them, and by the time the BMW past, he had decided he needed Christ.And that’s how Satan’s afternoon finished off—with McMillan, his biggest defender of all things being about “me,” accepting a doctrine that would make him passionate about witnessing about Christ, exposing the dangers of evil, and caring for the helpless. And that’s how a famous Christian bond established and began between two of the biggest Hollywood actors in the world who could easily change the way films are made.
All hell literally broke out when Felipe Santiago, the star of such action blockbusters as William Shakespeare’s Henry the Fourth: The Musical, Part II, declared, first privately, then openly, that he, once a lover of many women and occasionally men, had accepted the grace of Jesus Christ and become a born again Christian.
Satan was pissed. Big time pissed.
Satan, understand, built his postmodern empire in Hollywood. He cleared the industry of any overt Christian propaganda over the past century, and filled the highest places at production studios with questionable Jews, outcast Catholics, and self-centered spiritualist. He had long since managed to rid the industry of Biblical epics and morality tales. To have one of his highest paid and most known actors openly declare a commitment to Jesus Christ made him feel both angry and threatened.
The tragedy had been in the works for months, but it had gone completely unnoticed until it was too late. Felipe Santiago, it seemed, had fallen in love with the web master of his Internet homepage, who was a Christian and also trying to sell a screenplay, and whom he had never met in person. The two had written hundreds of long, exaggerated emails about love and life in the course of a year. In one email, his Web master directed him to a site offering a cyber look at who Jesus is. He committed his life on that site. The Website was flashy and full of several catchy Christian jingles and rhyming evangelical messages. He was most impressed by a picture of Jesus dressed like the Terminator with a caption that said, “I’ll be back.” But ultimately it was the picture of Jesus dressed like Uncle Sam with a “I want you” caption that made him commit his life to Christ. “Everyone has always wanted me because I can make their film gross fifty million in the first weekend,” he later said in his testimony, “But that picture made me feel wanted because he loved me—I saw it in his cartoonish eyes and his pointy finger.”
So now all hell had broken loose. Dark angels, who had been hard at work on scripts for HBO dramas and miniseries, had been recalled to brainstorm. And the stars of NBC’s highest rated situation comedy agreed to stay on one more year just to preserve Satan’s cause, and insure there would still be a plentiful number of films requiring tasteless stars on the lookout for good exposure. But no efforts from Satan’s elite could put him at ease, and he ended up spending the entire night pacing, complaining, and being downright confused. “He can’t be a movie star anymore, that’s for sure.” Satan told his secretary and occasional lover, Billy. “There’s no telling the damage that can do.”
“There’s already an unauthorized biography about his life as a Christian,” Billy pointed out while fixing Satan’s morning cup of tea, “And Felipe Santiago t-shirts, coffee mugs, and inspirational CDs go on sale tomorrow at Christian bookstores around the world.”
“Mugs! Already? And it’s so close to the holidays.”
Billy nodded.
“It’s worse then I thought.”
It was rare for Satan to feel so uneasy. He had led a tranquil life since the start of the Cold War had put renewed interest of carpe diem themes into pop culture. One might even say that Satan was a humble man seeking to capture the essence of the American dream. Recent examinations of Satan’s work have in fact shown that he had become very western. But he still led a simple life. In a recent interview, he had commented, “For the past twenty years I’ve been on a vacation of sorts. There doesn’t seem to be much good in getting all stressed out trying to scheme—humans, especially in recent years, have created quite lovely vices that essentially do my job for me. Post-modernism is a beautiful thing.” Living in semi-retirement, he shared a three bedroom corner track house in Garden Grove with Billy, who on top of be being Satan’s secretary and occasional lover was also his butler and driver. He enjoyed gardening and recently had put up a white picket fence to keep the high school kids from walking on his lawn. Just as a fun job, he commuted to Hollywood once a week to do a voice on two separate animated series. He frequently told friends that he had never been so happy in his entire life.
Not long ago, an actor offered to give Satan his Brentwood estate because he was moving into a larger home in Santa Monica, but Satan declined. Whenever he was in the estate of a Hollywood star, there was always a feeling of detachment. He liked the smell and sense of community he found in Garden Grove; he also made a point of not getting too personal with clients. Satan once shared a condo in Huntington Beach with Dennis Rodman. The whole time they shared the home, Rodman kept pestering Satan to produce his movie, and Satan kept saying no in the name of good taste. It left their friendship shattered, and the two hadn’t talked sinse, although Rodman did send Satan a lovely fruit basket and a fifty-dollar gift card to Ross when he heard about Felipe’s unfortunate conversion.
Meanwhile, in the mist of Satan’s crisis, Felipe Santiago was having the time of his life living the Christian life. His first Christian photo shoot was a success, and photos were available on his Web page for a small, nominal, fee. Sunday, after a meeting with the press at a Irvine mega church, he would go to Sea World for his public baptism. Tickets for the baptism sold out at Ticket Master in fifteen minutes. Later that same day he would go to Tijuana and serve as the U.S. representative for the national cock-fighting tournament. And he was feeling more spiritual and Christian-like every breath he took. He was even thinking about forming a Christian punk rock band. The only problem he had in the past week was really only a small misunderstanding. A pastor caught him dancing inappropriately in an empty park and made a fuss over the immorality in his “loose swinging hips.” But it turned out that Felipe had accidentally lit his pants on fire while trying to burn a trash can full of suggestive books that he had once collected in his personal library, and he was only trying to put out the flames. So everything ended okay, and the confusion was cleared right up.
Satan’s woes, however, did not stop with Felipe Santiago. Felipe was a busy man and learned the power of evangelism quickly and forcefully. A week after Felipe’s spectacle of a conversion, while eating lunch with George Sanderburg, the director of Santiago’s academy award winning film Do They Shoot the Gorillas In China, Santiago became very vocal about his newfound love and Satan’s newfound curse.
“I found Jesus, and I want to tell everyone how wonderful my life is.” He said as Sanderburg licked off the ranch dressing from his salad. “That’s why I asked you to have lunch with me.”
“I’m happy for you. My brother’s brother-in-law is an assistant pastor at a Christian church in Minnesota.”
Felipe crossed his arms and reclined in his chair. “And what are you?”
“I’m nothing.”
“Nothing? An atheist, then?”
“No.”
“Agnostic?”
“No. Nothing like that.”
“What then?”
“Nothing. I go to church and all. I’m just not a part of anything.”
“What kind of church is it?”
“I don’t know. It’s just a church.”
“They must believe in something.”
Sanderburg shook his head. “I’m pretty sure they don’t.”
“What do they talk about, then?”
Sanderburg shrugged. “Just stuff—how to live a better life and stuff, I guess.”
“That’s it?”
Sanderburg Nodded. “And we go to shelters and feed the homeless. This year I’m also going to Mexico with the church to build a home for a family.”
“But there’s no Bible or anything like that at the church?”
“It’s there, but we don’t use it.”
“And you’ve been going to the church for how long.”
“About twenty-five years now, I believe.”
“Well it sounds to me like a church that hasn’t come out of the closet.”
Sanderburg was alarmed and sat uncomfortable in his chair looking around the restaurant to make sure no one was listening. “Do you really think that?”
Felipe nodded. “And you’re so close to being a Christian.”
“How close.”
“A prayer away.”
Sanderburg was confused. “You mean all I’d have to do to be a Christian is say a prayer?”
“And mean what you pray.”
“That doesn’t sound so bad—and then I could say I was a Christian, too?”
“You could.”
“I’ll do it.”
Sanderburg, after being led to a prayer to accept Christ, began to weep like the 20-year-old out-of-luck lounge singer who discovered her mother is dying of terminal foot cancer in his latest dramatic tear-jerker feature Foot, Etc.
But Satan’s problems only started there. In the lobby, after his lunch with George Sanderburg, Felipe tripped over Mary Megan Metford, one of his former leading ladies and casual lovers, whom he left for not wanting to experiment in a Ménage A’trois. He turned an awkward encounter to the glory of Christ. In five minutes, he explained to Mary Megan Metford, who had heard of Felipe’s conversion but thought it was just a publicity stunt (like the time Felipe claimed he would make love to a tiger at the L.A. zoo to satisfy a director that he was the right man for the role in a movie) that she needed Christ in her life—that he came for the sins of all and he would take away hers too if she accepted him and believed.
“You’re serious about this then?”
“I am.”
Mary Megan carefully considered what Felipe had said, while scratching nail polish from her thumb.
“What do you say? Do you need Jesus?”
“If something can change you this much, then maybe I should at least try it out.”
“You can always give it up if you don’t like it.”
Mary Megan gave her best Hollywood smile, “Okay then—I’ll try it out.”
Felipe instantly grabbed Mary Megan and attacked her with a Christianly hug.
And if Satan’s problems ended with Mary Megan Metford’s conversion, it would have ticked him off but it probably wouldn’t have ruined his day. He would have done a lot of complaining, but he would have just tempted his next door neighbor to cheat on his wife, and finish the day on a good note. But it didn’t end there.
On his way to his to his car something happened that Felipe Santiago would forever call a direct act of the Holy Spirit. He found Matthew McMillan passing out rosebuds to people passing by the restaurant.
Two years ago, Matthew McMillan was the biggest movie star in the world. His last two pictures made one billion each worldwide. He was such a good actor that he once got the part of the leading lady in a romantic comedy, didn’t bother to dress up like a woman, and became the first man to ever win an Academy Award for best actress. Then McMillan discovered he wasn’t enlightened, shaved his head, converted to Theravada Buddhism, left the film industry, and became a monk. In a rare recent interview, McMillan, who went by the Buddhist name Fen Fin, claimed that he had achieved Nirvana while listening to Nirvana’s greatest hits album in Tibet over the winter but stayed on Earth because he felt called to teach. Which is how Felipe Santiago found him selling blessed rosebuds in front of the restaurant.
Santiago had worked with McMillan in the eighties on a documentary that showed the unfair treatment of dogs in Yemen. Both had been outraged when they heard about a family who had eaten their family dog because they could not afford food and were dying of malnourishment. Santiago and McMillan did everything they could to protect the rights of the dogs and had remained close after the project.
When the two reunited in front of the restaurant, McMillan offered to sell him a rosebud, and Santiago offered to sell him Christ.
“With Christ, everything is about God,” Santiago explained, “it’s no longer about you.”
“But with Buddha it is the same.” Matthew argued.
“But did Buddha die for you’re sins?”
“No—when Buddha received enlightenment, he decided he would rather stay alive and teach, then die. He believed dying would have been the selfish thing to do.”
“With Christ you can live forever.” Felipe pointed out.
“With Buddha life is a cycle.”
“With Christ life is eternal.” Felipe added with more drama in his voice, “You will never die.”
Matthew looked at BMW driving towards them, and by the time the BMW past, he had decided he needed Christ.And that’s how Satan’s afternoon finished off—with McMillan, his biggest defender of all things being about “me,” accepting a doctrine that would make him passionate about witnessing about Christ, exposing the dangers of evil, and caring for the helpless. And that’s how a famous Christian bond established and began between two of the biggest Hollywood actors in the world who could easily change the way films are made.
Friday, November 30, 2007
Christian Humor News
This isn't exactly weird news, but it is interesting news (if you like puns you may even say it's Good News). Follow the link below for an oldie, but goodie, about how the Bible business works, and why publishers can't get enough of it.
http://www.newyorker.com/archive/2006/12/18/061218fa_fact1
http://www.newyorker.com/archive/2006/12/18/061218fa_fact1
Sunday, November 25, 2007
Christi-ana-Meter
Holy
Colorado Springs As the Conservative Hot Spot
SpongeBob – America’s Favorite Kiddie Queer to Hate
Born Again Virgin
Sermons On the End Times
Back of the Church
Orange County As the Conservative Hot Spot
TeleTubbies – America’s Favorite Kiddie Queer to Hate
No Sex Before Marriage
Sermons On the End Times
Tar & Feather
London As the Conservative Hot Spot
Barney – America’s Favorite Kiddie Queer to Hate
No Kissing Before Marriage
Sermons On the End Times
Colorado Springs As the Conservative Hot Spot
SpongeBob – America’s Favorite Kiddie Queer to Hate
Born Again Virgin
Sermons On the End Times
Back of the Church
Orange County As the Conservative Hot Spot
TeleTubbies – America’s Favorite Kiddie Queer to Hate
No Sex Before Marriage
Sermons On the End Times
Tar & Feather
London As the Conservative Hot Spot
Barney – America’s Favorite Kiddie Queer to Hate
No Kissing Before Marriage
Sermons On the End Times
Thursday, November 22, 2007
Pirate's of the Caribbean Commentary Track, with Jerry Falwell, Tim LaHaye, and Pat Robertson
Originally published in the September/October 2005 (Issue #201) of The Wittenburg Door (http://archives.wittenburgdoor.com/archives/pirates.html)
FALWELL: Cool beans! Fog. That's a creepy way to start a movie.
LAHAYE: It's very end times-ish. Not bad for a secular film.
ROBERTSON: I heard that one of the assistants to the Director of Photography was a Christian.
FALWELL: That sounds like gossip.
LAHAYE: I agree with Jer on that one ... we better stick to facts.
ROBERTSON: (Snickers) Oh, like you stuck with "the facts" in the Left Behind books...
FALWELL: That song she's singing is very enchanting.
ROBERTSON: I think it's too scary for children under 12. Teens could handle it though—if they're with their parents, of course.
FALWELL: Of course.
ROBERTSON: I never let my children listen to songs with words. Except for John Denver.
FALWELL: John Denver was a very good singer. Of course, he's burning in hell.
LAHAYE: Of course.
ROBERTSON: You know I'm not too sure about this film. It almost seems like that girl is thinking positively about pirates.
LAHAYE: Kids are so wicked today. It's a sign that the end is near.
FALWELL: If it wasn't for those queer little Teletubbies, our kids would be a lot better off.
ROBERTSON: Oh brother—here comes another one of Jer's Telly rants.
LAHAYE: Both of you shut your traps and let's watch the movie.
FALWELL: I'm just saying that kids were a lot less wicked when we didn't have those freaky little puppet fags singing to them.
LAHAYE: And I say drop it. Let's watch the movie.
ROBERTSON: Oh my—now that's definitely not good!
LAHAYE: What? What'd I miss? Darn it Falwell, you made me miss something.
ROBERTSON: That girl—the one that acts like a demon—she just stole the demon necklace that guy was wearing that they pulled out of the water.
FALWELL: They pulled someone from the water?
ROBERTSON: For Pete's sake Jer, keep up—you're so impossible to watch a movie with!
LAHAYE: She definitely stole it all right. Stealing is so wrong. A lot of people don't know that it is, but it is.
FALWELL: This movie reminds me of The Shaggy Dog.
ROBERTSON: The Shaggy Dog?!
FALWELL: You know about the girl who goes to Vegas and becomes a stripper?
LAHAYE: Showgirls?
FALWELL: That's the one. I thought it was The Shaggy Dog.
ROBERTSON: You saw Showgirls?
FALWELL: I had to be able to tell my congregation why it was evil to see it.
LAHAYE: Why didn't you just say it was a porno?
FALWELL: I guess I just didn't.
LAHAYE: Oh no, this looks scandalous. That girl's in bed.
ROBERTSON: Relax, she's fully covered.
LAHAYE: Well, I hardly think we should be imagining any girl but our wives in pajamas.
FALWELL: He's got you there, Patty-boy.
ROBERTSON: I'm not even listening to you. I can't believe you saw Showgirls.
LAHAYE: You know, the girl's dad is wearing a really nice wig.
FALWELL: I had a wig like that once. I read a passage in the Bible that I misinterpreted as saying only bald men will go to heaven, so I cut off all my hair. Then I wore that kind of wig when I figured out that hair was okay with God.
LAHAYE: I can't believe they're showing the girl putting on her dress. Scandalous!
FALWELL: It looks innocent to me.
ROBERTSON: Compared to Showgirls I'm sure it is.
LAHAYE: I suppose since they're not showing anything it's okay for married couples to see. It's better than her prancing around in those pajamas.
ROBERTSON: And it is one of those nice Victorian dresses.
FALWELL: I sure wish women still wore those.
LAHAYE: Now they walk around half-naked in their tight jeans and loose fitting t-shirts. It's a sign of the end. Not that I look at them, of course.
FALWELL : (Giggles) Of course.
ROBERTSON: My son told me a lot of this movie is taken straight from the ride. I'm not seeing it, though.
FALWELL: Ride? There's a ride about this?
LAHAYE: At Disneyland—surely even you must have known.
FALWELL: Disneyland? Do you mean to say that this is a Disney movie?
ROBERTSON: Didn't you see the logo at the start of the movie?
FALWELL: I was making the popcorn. Why didn't you tell me? I can't watch this. I'm supposed to be boycotting Disney movies.
LAHAYE: Roberston and I were talking about that while you were popping the kernels. We thought you lifted the boycott to focus more attention on homosexual awareness of Spongebob.
FALWELL: I did no such thing, and I can watch no more of this.
ROBERTSON: Hey Timmy, ain't that the elf guy from Lord of the Rings?
LAHAYE: Like I'd know. That movie was based on a book by a Catholic.
ROBERTSON: A Catholic? I didn't know that.
LAHAYE: How could you not? All fantasy books are written by either Catholics or witches.
ROBERTSON: He's carrying a sword—this must be why it got the PG-13 rating.
LAHAYE: PG-13? I can only watch G or PG.
ROBERTSON: Wasn't Left Behind: The Movie PG-13?
LAHAYE: I watched the censored version.
ROBERTSON: Well, how about if I just tell you to close your eyes during the bad parts?
LAHAYE: I still have ears.
ROBERTSON: How about you cover your eyes, and I'll cover your ears.
LAHAYE: And what if the world ends while you're doing this? God might mistake that as some kind of homosexual ritual and send us both to hell.
ROBERTSON: Point taken. I'll tell you how the rest of the movie turns out.
LAHAYE: I wish I could have at least seen a few pirates.
ROBERTSON: There's pirates in this movie?
LAHAYE: That's what the title says.
ROBERTSON: I'll have no part in that. Pirates are sinners!
LAHAYE: Arrgh, matey! (Snickers.)
FALWELL: Cool beans! Fog. That's a creepy way to start a movie.
LAHAYE: It's very end times-ish. Not bad for a secular film.
ROBERTSON: I heard that one of the assistants to the Director of Photography was a Christian.
FALWELL: That sounds like gossip.
LAHAYE: I agree with Jer on that one ... we better stick to facts.
ROBERTSON: (Snickers) Oh, like you stuck with "the facts" in the Left Behind books...
FALWELL: That song she's singing is very enchanting.
ROBERTSON: I think it's too scary for children under 12. Teens could handle it though—if they're with their parents, of course.
FALWELL: Of course.
ROBERTSON: I never let my children listen to songs with words. Except for John Denver.
FALWELL: John Denver was a very good singer. Of course, he's burning in hell.
LAHAYE: Of course.
ROBERTSON: You know I'm not too sure about this film. It almost seems like that girl is thinking positively about pirates.
LAHAYE: Kids are so wicked today. It's a sign that the end is near.
FALWELL: If it wasn't for those queer little Teletubbies, our kids would be a lot better off.
ROBERTSON: Oh brother—here comes another one of Jer's Telly rants.
LAHAYE: Both of you shut your traps and let's watch the movie.
FALWELL: I'm just saying that kids were a lot less wicked when we didn't have those freaky little puppet fags singing to them.
LAHAYE: And I say drop it. Let's watch the movie.
ROBERTSON: Oh my—now that's definitely not good!
LAHAYE: What? What'd I miss? Darn it Falwell, you made me miss something.
ROBERTSON: That girl—the one that acts like a demon—she just stole the demon necklace that guy was wearing that they pulled out of the water.
FALWELL: They pulled someone from the water?
ROBERTSON: For Pete's sake Jer, keep up—you're so impossible to watch a movie with!
LAHAYE: She definitely stole it all right. Stealing is so wrong. A lot of people don't know that it is, but it is.
FALWELL: This movie reminds me of The Shaggy Dog.
ROBERTSON: The Shaggy Dog?!
FALWELL: You know about the girl who goes to Vegas and becomes a stripper?
LAHAYE: Showgirls?
FALWELL: That's the one. I thought it was The Shaggy Dog.
ROBERTSON: You saw Showgirls?
FALWELL: I had to be able to tell my congregation why it was evil to see it.
LAHAYE: Why didn't you just say it was a porno?
FALWELL: I guess I just didn't.
LAHAYE: Oh no, this looks scandalous. That girl's in bed.
ROBERTSON: Relax, she's fully covered.
LAHAYE: Well, I hardly think we should be imagining any girl but our wives in pajamas.
FALWELL: He's got you there, Patty-boy.
ROBERTSON: I'm not even listening to you. I can't believe you saw Showgirls.
LAHAYE: You know, the girl's dad is wearing a really nice wig.
FALWELL: I had a wig like that once. I read a passage in the Bible that I misinterpreted as saying only bald men will go to heaven, so I cut off all my hair. Then I wore that kind of wig when I figured out that hair was okay with God.
LAHAYE: I can't believe they're showing the girl putting on her dress. Scandalous!
FALWELL: It looks innocent to me.
ROBERTSON: Compared to Showgirls I'm sure it is.
LAHAYE: I suppose since they're not showing anything it's okay for married couples to see. It's better than her prancing around in those pajamas.
ROBERTSON: And it is one of those nice Victorian dresses.
FALWELL: I sure wish women still wore those.
LAHAYE: Now they walk around half-naked in their tight jeans and loose fitting t-shirts. It's a sign of the end. Not that I look at them, of course.
FALWELL : (Giggles) Of course.
ROBERTSON: My son told me a lot of this movie is taken straight from the ride. I'm not seeing it, though.
FALWELL: Ride? There's a ride about this?
LAHAYE: At Disneyland—surely even you must have known.
FALWELL: Disneyland? Do you mean to say that this is a Disney movie?
ROBERTSON: Didn't you see the logo at the start of the movie?
FALWELL: I was making the popcorn. Why didn't you tell me? I can't watch this. I'm supposed to be boycotting Disney movies.
LAHAYE: Roberston and I were talking about that while you were popping the kernels. We thought you lifted the boycott to focus more attention on homosexual awareness of Spongebob.
FALWELL: I did no such thing, and I can watch no more of this.
ROBERTSON: Hey Timmy, ain't that the elf guy from Lord of the Rings?
LAHAYE: Like I'd know. That movie was based on a book by a Catholic.
ROBERTSON: A Catholic? I didn't know that.
LAHAYE: How could you not? All fantasy books are written by either Catholics or witches.
ROBERTSON: He's carrying a sword—this must be why it got the PG-13 rating.
LAHAYE: PG-13? I can only watch G or PG.
ROBERTSON: Wasn't Left Behind: The Movie PG-13?
LAHAYE: I watched the censored version.
ROBERTSON: Well, how about if I just tell you to close your eyes during the bad parts?
LAHAYE: I still have ears.
ROBERTSON: How about you cover your eyes, and I'll cover your ears.
LAHAYE: And what if the world ends while you're doing this? God might mistake that as some kind of homosexual ritual and send us both to hell.
ROBERTSON: Point taken. I'll tell you how the rest of the movie turns out.
LAHAYE: I wish I could have at least seen a few pirates.
ROBERTSON: There's pirates in this movie?
LAHAYE: That's what the title says.
ROBERTSON: I'll have no part in that. Pirates are sinners!
LAHAYE: Arrgh, matey! (Snickers.)
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
Darling Jehovah
Darling Jehovah
Prince shocked the world last week by announcing he would once more sing Darling Nikki with changed lyrics and title. The new song, Darling Jehovah follows below:
I know a guy named Jehovah
I guess u could say he was a spiritual friend of mine.
I met him in a hotel lobby
Congregating with a group of people
He said how’d u like 2 waste some time
And I could not resist when I saw little Jehovah smile
He took me 2 his kingdom
And I just couldn’t believe my eyes
He had so many cool things
But nothing the money could by
He said sign your name on the dotted line
The lights went bright
And Jehovah started to condemn
Jehovah
The kingdom started spinning
Or maybe it was my enlightened brain
I can’t tell u what he did
Except that there were lasers
And he killed those sinners good
Oh, he’ll show u no mercy
Unless you tu’nuff tu’nuff turn from your evil ways
Darlin’ Jehovah
Woke up the next morning
Jehovah wasn’t there
I looked all over and all I found
Was a phone number on the stairs
It said hope u had a real fun time
Call me up whenever u want 2 watch me condemn
Oh, Jehovah, ohhhh
Forgive them Jehovah, Forgive them
They’re dirty little princes
Who only wanna grind.
Prince shocked the world last week by announcing he would once more sing Darling Nikki with changed lyrics and title. The new song, Darling Jehovah follows below:
I know a guy named Jehovah
I guess u could say he was a spiritual friend of mine.
I met him in a hotel lobby
Congregating with a group of people
He said how’d u like 2 waste some time
And I could not resist when I saw little Jehovah smile
He took me 2 his kingdom
And I just couldn’t believe my eyes
He had so many cool things
But nothing the money could by
He said sign your name on the dotted line
The lights went bright
And Jehovah started to condemn
Jehovah
The kingdom started spinning
Or maybe it was my enlightened brain
I can’t tell u what he did
Except that there were lasers
And he killed those sinners good
Oh, he’ll show u no mercy
Unless you tu’nuff tu’nuff turn from your evil ways
Darlin’ Jehovah
Woke up the next morning
Jehovah wasn’t there
I looked all over and all I found
Was a phone number on the stairs
It said hope u had a real fun time
Call me up whenever u want 2 watch me condemn
Oh, Jehovah, ohhhh
Forgive them Jehovah, Forgive them
They’re dirty little princes
Who only wanna grind.
Sunday, November 18, 2007
Harry Meets Jesus: Harry Potter 10 Years Later
Child witch turned adult film star, Harry Potter, announced today in dramatic style that he has had yet another change of heart and become a born again Christian. His decision came after having a heart to heart with another bad boy turned good, Eminem (who himself became a Christian after his mother shot him in the chest at a Tokyo concert last year, and he reevaluated his life).
As a child, Harry was best known for his witchcraft. Life changed for Harry, however, on his 17th birthday when his witchcraft turned sour and Harry’s face became deformed while trying to make a potion for the ultimate zit cream. Harry went soul searching after the mishap, and ended up in Los Angeles with no money, no friends and no future.
In Los Angeles, unable to find work elsewhere, Harry answered the personal ad of an adult film director in search of a body double. Harry lied about his age and was hired by the director, and made his first appearance as a body double in the film Order of the Gigolo.
It was on the set of the movie that Harry met former United States President Bill Clinton, who himself had become an adult film star to meet unattractive women. Clinton turned Harry onto alcohol, and the two of them would spend long hours talking about how screwed up their lives were.
One night, while both Harry and Clinton were drunk, Clinton asked Harry, “Do you know what it’s like to have a wife for President? The press calls me the First Lady!” Harry, for reasons that he does not even know, said that he did no what it was like and the two got in a fight and never talked again (though Harry did work as Clintons body double for two films).
Not long after Harry’s shattered friendship with Clinton, Harry realized he had a drinking problem and entered a North Hollywood rehab clinic. On Harry’s second day at the clinic, Harry met Eminem in the reflection garden. Eminem was sitting Indian style next to the rose garden rapping to himself about a butterfly. Harry took a seat not far from the rapper and sighed loudly. Eminem, realizing immediately the troubles of Potter, sat next to Harry, put his arm around him, and said, “Friend, Jesus loves you.” Harry laughed and then turned to see that the person who had said this was his favorite rapper as a child. According to Potter’s telling of the story, he immediately said, “You’re the real slim shady!”
To which Eminem shook his head no, “I used to call myself that, but then I realized I was a fake. My wife left me, my mama tried to kill me, drugs wouldn’t help me, and then I found Jesus and I finally found life.” Harry asked Eminem to explain. When he did, Harry knew that he wanted Christ as well.
A new friendship blossomed between Eminem and Harry Potter. Harry cites him for beating the odds and finding his life again, and Eminem is now Harry’s accountability partner, and he is helping Harry make a new roadmap for his life.
Harry has asked Ticketmaster to sell tickets to his public baptism at Sea World early next week, and is also signing a deal to let Fox have the broadcasting rights. Harry says he wants to write the screenplay to his life, get E to do his true life Hollywood story, and then attend a Christian college and become a youth pastor or possibly a lead vocalist for a Christian punk rock group.
As a child, Harry was best known for his witchcraft. Life changed for Harry, however, on his 17th birthday when his witchcraft turned sour and Harry’s face became deformed while trying to make a potion for the ultimate zit cream. Harry went soul searching after the mishap, and ended up in Los Angeles with no money, no friends and no future.
In Los Angeles, unable to find work elsewhere, Harry answered the personal ad of an adult film director in search of a body double. Harry lied about his age and was hired by the director, and made his first appearance as a body double in the film Order of the Gigolo.
It was on the set of the movie that Harry met former United States President Bill Clinton, who himself had become an adult film star to meet unattractive women. Clinton turned Harry onto alcohol, and the two of them would spend long hours talking about how screwed up their lives were.
One night, while both Harry and Clinton were drunk, Clinton asked Harry, “Do you know what it’s like to have a wife for President? The press calls me the First Lady!” Harry, for reasons that he does not even know, said that he did no what it was like and the two got in a fight and never talked again (though Harry did work as Clintons body double for two films).
Not long after Harry’s shattered friendship with Clinton, Harry realized he had a drinking problem and entered a North Hollywood rehab clinic. On Harry’s second day at the clinic, Harry met Eminem in the reflection garden. Eminem was sitting Indian style next to the rose garden rapping to himself about a butterfly. Harry took a seat not far from the rapper and sighed loudly. Eminem, realizing immediately the troubles of Potter, sat next to Harry, put his arm around him, and said, “Friend, Jesus loves you.” Harry laughed and then turned to see that the person who had said this was his favorite rapper as a child. According to Potter’s telling of the story, he immediately said, “You’re the real slim shady!”
To which Eminem shook his head no, “I used to call myself that, but then I realized I was a fake. My wife left me, my mama tried to kill me, drugs wouldn’t help me, and then I found Jesus and I finally found life.” Harry asked Eminem to explain. When he did, Harry knew that he wanted Christ as well.
A new friendship blossomed between Eminem and Harry Potter. Harry cites him for beating the odds and finding his life again, and Eminem is now Harry’s accountability partner, and he is helping Harry make a new roadmap for his life.
Harry has asked Ticketmaster to sell tickets to his public baptism at Sea World early next week, and is also signing a deal to let Fox have the broadcasting rights. Harry says he wants to write the screenplay to his life, get E to do his true life Hollywood story, and then attend a Christian college and become a youth pastor or possibly a lead vocalist for a Christian punk rock group.
Saturday, November 10, 2007
Shameless Door Promotion
I have had several religion humor stories in the Door magazine over the years, and I have now recieved word that I can start republishing some of them online. So, beginning next week you will start seeing these stories appear from time to time.
It will of course be free to read here, but I still encourage you to buy or subscribe to the magazine. It really is one of the best parody magazines out there...actually it's one of the only parody magazines out there!
They also have a few true interviews in each issue. One thing I've always loved about them is their small, and many notable people have been pretty revealing in their interviews, because they know not that many people will read what they say.
Check them out at: www.thedoormagazine.com. They are redoing their website and will have a lot more material online soon.
And come back next week to see some refurbished material from the Door.
It will of course be free to read here, but I still encourage you to buy or subscribe to the magazine. It really is one of the best parody magazines out there...actually it's one of the only parody magazines out there!
They also have a few true interviews in each issue. One thing I've always loved about them is their small, and many notable people have been pretty revealing in their interviews, because they know not that many people will read what they say.
Check them out at: www.thedoormagazine.com. They are redoing their website and will have a lot more material online soon.
And come back next week to see some refurbished material from the Door.
Friday, November 09, 2007
Christian Humor News - Heritage USA
I'm always surprised to here how many people have never heard about Heritage USA. Back in the 80's is was the most visited vacation resort in the nation right behind Disneyland and Disney World; over 6,000,000 people visited annually. It was 2,300 acres (just to give you an idea of how massive this is...when Walt Disney bought land for Disneyland he bought just over 150 acres)
So if park is so grand and mighty, then what happened to it? Two words (actually a name): Jim Bakker. In case you have never heard that name, I'll give you his life in a nutshell: televangelist, did shady things, got caught by the IRS, went to jail.
For a great history of this park (along with some wonderful shots of an abandoned park) visit: http://illicitohio.com/SBNO/heritage/heritage01.html
So if park is so grand and mighty, then what happened to it? Two words (actually a name): Jim Bakker. In case you have never heard that name, I'll give you his life in a nutshell: televangelist, did shady things, got caught by the IRS, went to jail.
For a great history of this park (along with some wonderful shots of an abandoned park) visit: http://illicitohio.com/SBNO/heritage/heritage01.html
Wednesday, November 07, 2007
Christi-ana-Meter
Holy
Internet Ministry
Da Vinci Code
“Excuse You” When You Sneeze
Back of the Church
College Ministry
Q Source
“Bless You” When You Sneeze
Tar & Feather
Prison Ministry
Gospel of Thomas
“God Bless You” When You Sneeze
Internet Ministry
Da Vinci Code
“Excuse You” When You Sneeze
Back of the Church
College Ministry
Q Source
“Bless You” When You Sneeze
Tar & Feather
Prison Ministry
Gospel of Thomas
“God Bless You” When You Sneeze
Monday, November 05, 2007
The Lost Headlines of the Spin off National Enquirer Publication: The Christian Enquirer
Chariot of Fire used for Elijah Found on the Moon
The chariot of fire which, according to 2 Kings 2:11, took Elijah into heaven has been found on the moon. The chariot was found five feet in the ground, right underneath a World War II bomber. NASA quickly denied any rumors that Elijah was the mysterious man in the moon or that heaven was the moon. Biblical scholars believe that the chariot to heaven and then was flung into the moon. NASA who has been secretly going to the moon for twenty years with the Russians, dug up the chariot early this year, but have kept it quiet until now.
Man Dies After Discovering the Sin Unto Death
A Virginian man died last month after he, as authorities have now discovered, "committed the sin unto death." The sin, which is mentioned but not explained in 1 John 5:16, has been a mystery to scholars for thousands of years. The man, William Crawford of Claremont, was a self-proclaimed Biblical scholar who had told a friend the night before that he intended to find out what the sin that led to death was. Authorities concluded that the man had died of the sin that leads to death, after finding several of the man's fragmented notes. Crawford died before he was able to write down his findings, and it hence remains a mystery what the sin is.
Baby Born With Tattoo of Stephen
A baby was born an India last week with a tattoo on his right butt cheek that illustrates the stoning of Stephen. Doctors were baffled by the tattoos and do not know how it was possible for the tattoo got there. The parents, both Hindu's, did not know what the tattoo was of until a missionary doctor said, 'hey, that sure looks like the stoning of Stephen.' The parents, when asked what they thought of the tattoo, say it's "bad karma."
Satan Sells His Soul to Devil
Satan, who has had a run of bad luck in recent years, has been forced into selling his soul to the Devil to repay unpaid incurred dept acquired on bad business ventures. Satan, in a statement to the associated press, said that "he didn't use it anyway." Sources close to the fallen angel say he had been considering the move ever sense he produced the mega box office bomb Glitter and Gigli. Accountants say the move should help get Satan back on his feet and profitable by years end.
Elvis's Corpse Found in Noah's Ark
Experts say the remains of a man inside a large ark now being called Noah's Ark, are that of Elvis Presley. It is not known how Elvis got to the Ark, but experts believe that Elvis always had a desire to research Biblical archeology, but he knew he could never pursue this dream with so many fans distracting him, so he faked his own death. Noah's Ark is the greatest known discovery of the late legend. Authorities now believe it was also Presley who discovered The Dead Sea Scrolls to which it is believed inspired several of his songs (including Pink Cadillac).
2-Year-Old Preaches First Sermon
Tommy Tucker, a two-year-old, who only recently learned how to speak, preached his first sermon to a crowd of three hundred on Sunday. The boy, who says he is still decided what denomination of Protestantism that he identifies with, preached a sermon on loving the children. While the child is the youngest to preach a sermon in the history of Christianity, he says he still hasn't decided if this is his chosen career path; last week he wanted to be a fireman, this week he wanted to be a dog. The proud parents of the boy say he's wanted to preach since he was a child.
Organization Sends Missionaries to the Mars
After a report that there may be life on the Mars, organizers for several mission agencies have decided that they would have missionaries on Mars by 2015. The missionaries, now being hailed misstronauts, will be selected based on their desire to translate the Bible to aliens and ability their to fly a space shuttle. Once on the red planet, missionaries will have to determine what species should get to here the gospel; many conservative scholars believe the gospel was only intended for human life forms, while many conservative critics have argued that the gospel is for all species—including parasitic life. A separate missions agency, Operation Galaxy Quest, began earlier this year claiming to be the only first extraterrestrial missions agency in existence.
Prostitute to Have Virgin Child
God has immaculately impregnated an Asian hooker known to clients as, "The Sunset Whore." The woman who goes by the name Star says God impregnated her in a gutter while she was recovering from a hangover. She says she will name the child Momo-Tick-Tock, which she says is street talk for, "God be playing games with me." Star's Sugar Daddy claims she has not been with a man in over a month, and that her claims are real; despite the holiness of the child, he is encouraging her to abort the baby or risk losing her job. Friends of the woman were not surprised by the announcement because she's, "a good girl—very spiritual outside the bedroom."
86 Year-Old-Man Excretes Scroll
An 86-year-old Kansas farmer excreted the remains of ancient scroll at his ranch last month. The remains, known as the "smelly scroll," contain what Jews and Christians both consider apocryphal text of the New Testament. The man's claims that all he had for breakfast was ham and eggs. The scroll will be on display at museums early next year.
The chariot of fire which, according to 2 Kings 2:11, took Elijah into heaven has been found on the moon. The chariot was found five feet in the ground, right underneath a World War II bomber. NASA quickly denied any rumors that Elijah was the mysterious man in the moon or that heaven was the moon. Biblical scholars believe that the chariot to heaven and then was flung into the moon. NASA who has been secretly going to the moon for twenty years with the Russians, dug up the chariot early this year, but have kept it quiet until now.
Man Dies After Discovering the Sin Unto Death
A Virginian man died last month after he, as authorities have now discovered, "committed the sin unto death." The sin, which is mentioned but not explained in 1 John 5:16, has been a mystery to scholars for thousands of years. The man, William Crawford of Claremont, was a self-proclaimed Biblical scholar who had told a friend the night before that he intended to find out what the sin that led to death was. Authorities concluded that the man had died of the sin that leads to death, after finding several of the man's fragmented notes. Crawford died before he was able to write down his findings, and it hence remains a mystery what the sin is.
Baby Born With Tattoo of Stephen
A baby was born an India last week with a tattoo on his right butt cheek that illustrates the stoning of Stephen. Doctors were baffled by the tattoos and do not know how it was possible for the tattoo got there. The parents, both Hindu's, did not know what the tattoo was of until a missionary doctor said, 'hey, that sure looks like the stoning of Stephen.' The parents, when asked what they thought of the tattoo, say it's "bad karma."
Satan Sells His Soul to Devil
Satan, who has had a run of bad luck in recent years, has been forced into selling his soul to the Devil to repay unpaid incurred dept acquired on bad business ventures. Satan, in a statement to the associated press, said that "he didn't use it anyway." Sources close to the fallen angel say he had been considering the move ever sense he produced the mega box office bomb Glitter and Gigli. Accountants say the move should help get Satan back on his feet and profitable by years end.
Elvis's Corpse Found in Noah's Ark
Experts say the remains of a man inside a large ark now being called Noah's Ark, are that of Elvis Presley. It is not known how Elvis got to the Ark, but experts believe that Elvis always had a desire to research Biblical archeology, but he knew he could never pursue this dream with so many fans distracting him, so he faked his own death. Noah's Ark is the greatest known discovery of the late legend. Authorities now believe it was also Presley who discovered The Dead Sea Scrolls to which it is believed inspired several of his songs (including Pink Cadillac).
2-Year-Old Preaches First Sermon
Tommy Tucker, a two-year-old, who only recently learned how to speak, preached his first sermon to a crowd of three hundred on Sunday. The boy, who says he is still decided what denomination of Protestantism that he identifies with, preached a sermon on loving the children. While the child is the youngest to preach a sermon in the history of Christianity, he says he still hasn't decided if this is his chosen career path; last week he wanted to be a fireman, this week he wanted to be a dog. The proud parents of the boy say he's wanted to preach since he was a child.
Organization Sends Missionaries to the Mars
After a report that there may be life on the Mars, organizers for several mission agencies have decided that they would have missionaries on Mars by 2015. The missionaries, now being hailed misstronauts, will be selected based on their desire to translate the Bible to aliens and ability their to fly a space shuttle. Once on the red planet, missionaries will have to determine what species should get to here the gospel; many conservative scholars believe the gospel was only intended for human life forms, while many conservative critics have argued that the gospel is for all species—including parasitic life. A separate missions agency, Operation Galaxy Quest, began earlier this year claiming to be the only first extraterrestrial missions agency in existence.
Prostitute to Have Virgin Child
God has immaculately impregnated an Asian hooker known to clients as, "The Sunset Whore." The woman who goes by the name Star says God impregnated her in a gutter while she was recovering from a hangover. She says she will name the child Momo-Tick-Tock, which she says is street talk for, "God be playing games with me." Star's Sugar Daddy claims she has not been with a man in over a month, and that her claims are real; despite the holiness of the child, he is encouraging her to abort the baby or risk losing her job. Friends of the woman were not surprised by the announcement because she's, "a good girl—very spiritual outside the bedroom."
86 Year-Old-Man Excretes Scroll
An 86-year-old Kansas farmer excreted the remains of ancient scroll at his ranch last month. The remains, known as the "smelly scroll," contain what Jews and Christians both consider apocryphal text of the New Testament. The man's claims that all he had for breakfast was ham and eggs. The scroll will be on display at museums early next year.
Friday, November 02, 2007
Christian Humor News
Yesterday, I started what, for the several weeks, will be a regular feature here on the ChristianHumorist; today I will start one more: Christian Humor News. Each week I'll bring you weird stories, weird facts, and just plain weird stuff in Christian news.
I will still update this site with original material, but it's fun not to be original every now and again.
So with that...Weird Al. What's Weird Al doing on a Christian humor blog you may ask? Well, I'll tell you. Weird Al it seems has a new competitor in the world of parody music, and their name is ApologetiX. The band started a few years back, but are apparently becoming the talk of the Christian town. They have several CDs out and make fun of everyone from Linkin Park to Queen. You can even download them on iTunes!
I listened to samples of a few of there songs, and they're not bad; they're not great either. The only thing funny about them is how few of there songs are actually funny. For a parody band they seemed to take themself very seriously. They kind of remind me of that South Park episode where one of the kids starts a Christian band.
The band is currently on tour on the East Coast. For more information check out: http://www.apologetix.com/
I will still update this site with original material, but it's fun not to be original every now and again.
So with that...Weird Al. What's Weird Al doing on a Christian humor blog you may ask? Well, I'll tell you. Weird Al it seems has a new competitor in the world of parody music, and their name is ApologetiX. The band started a few years back, but are apparently becoming the talk of the Christian town. They have several CDs out and make fun of everyone from Linkin Park to Queen. You can even download them on iTunes!
I listened to samples of a few of there songs, and they're not bad; they're not great either. The only thing funny about them is how few of there songs are actually funny. For a parody band they seemed to take themself very seriously. They kind of remind me of that South Park episode where one of the kids starts a Christian band.
The band is currently on tour on the East Coast. For more information check out: http://www.apologetix.com/
Thursday, November 01, 2007
Christi-ana-Meter
Holy
Chronicles of Narnia
Purpose Driven Life
Spoiled Person At Church BBQ
Condemning the Da Vinci Code
Back of the Church
Lord of the Rings
Case for Christ
Spoiled Beef At Church BBQ
Condemning Harry Potter
Tar & Feather
Left Behind: The Movie
Prayer of Jabez
Spoiled Potato Salad At Church BBQ
Condemning Charlotte’s Web
Chronicles of Narnia
Purpose Driven Life
Spoiled Person At Church BBQ
Condemning the Da Vinci Code
Back of the Church
Lord of the Rings
Case for Christ
Spoiled Beef At Church BBQ
Condemning Harry Potter
Tar & Feather
Left Behind: The Movie
Prayer of Jabez
Spoiled Potato Salad At Church BBQ
Condemning Charlotte’s Web
Christi-ana-Meter
I love lists. If you do to, then I hope you enjoy "Christi-ana-Meter." I'll will be posting one of these a week for the next few weeks. In case your confused by what this is, let me make it simple: it's a list of what is hot, what was hot, and what hasn't be hot for quite sometime...enjoy!
Christians Are Slobs…and It May Be Biblical
Not to long ago, Thomas Kimble, a co-worker and self proclaimed Baptist invited me to his home for lunch. I had never been there before, but he was always describing it along with all the improvements he had did or was planning on doing to it, and shared boastful pictures of how great it looked now that he fixed it up.
The home seemed normal from the outside, when I came to lunch that day—much as it had looked in the pictures he had shown me.. It looked well kept. The roof, windows and paint all seemed to be new; the lawn and flowerbed were bright and inviting. Then I went inside.
I was appalled at the mere sight of the inside from the moment that Thomas cheerfully opened the door and welcomed me to his home with a firm handshake. I realized that sometimes people run short on time and don’t have time to clean—that’s all perfectly understandable—but Thomas’s house was…uncalled for.
The carpet, which had to have been installed sometime before Nixon was elected into office, was stained in several places; there was a hole in one of the walls big enough to stick my head into; the dinning room table was covered with dirty dishes, and the couch was missing a cushion. And worse was the smell of mildew that hit you like a gush of wind when you entered the house.
Then Thomas spoke. I expected him to say something along the lines of, “You know how I told you I had no kids? I lied. I actually have fourteen of them—fifteen if you count the ape that frequently visits the place.” But instead he said, completely unashamed of his lifestyle, “Welcome to my humble home.”
I didn’t speak for several seconds, being still stunned by the overt crudeness of the home. I felt embarrassed for him. Had I known that this was the way he lived, I would have offered we eat at a restaurant. Then I remembered that he had offered this, and Thomas insisted that we go to this place to eat—he was proud of it for reason only insanity can explain. Finally I said, “This is…this is quite some home you have, Thomas.”
He smiled widely, “It’s not much, but it gives us shelter.” He looked at the kitchen and smiled, “Well how about some lunch?”
I could hardly imagine where we might eat, but did my best to hide my astonishment. “I’m starved.”
Thomas’s lunch could have passed for something straight out of a gourmet restaurant. He said it had taken him all morning to make, and I believed him. The food on the plate looked like Thomas believed that serving food was a form of artwork. There was chicken glazed in a homemade orange marmalade sauce, a white custard, and assorted fruits; each were proportionally organized on the plate. I was surprised that someone would spend so much time on cooking and so little time keeping the house up. After seeing the house, I half expected to have barbeque rats for lunch.
Thomas led me outside after lunch to his patio, which seemed a haven for bird crap. The entire patio seemed to be a collection of unfinished projects: a half-finished rock pathway that stopped in the middle of dirt, weeds that went past my ankles, a half built firepit, a un-built swing set, a four foot hole in the middle of the yard, and two tree stumps with poles sticking out. It was not a pretty sight, but at least the mildew smell was gone.
As we ate, I heard the front door open and close and Thomas said in a tone that I think was supposed to impress me, “That must be the housecleaner?” “The housecleaner?” I tried not to sound too surprised. I wanted to laugh and mockingly say, “My goodness, Thomas—what on Earth does the woman clean?”
“My wife just doesn’t have time to do it herself. We have a little deal, she can have a housecleaner once a week if I can have a gardener to mow the lawn.”
I watched the housecleaner curiously, trying to understand what her job tasks were. I watched as she dusted, moved the plates from the table to the sink, vacuumed, and wash the windows. I wondered if she knew it would take days to make a single dent in the house.
I wanted badly for Thomas to say something about the disarray of the house. Something to say he at least acknowledged it and felt some remorse that he had let it get this out of hand. Instead he did the complete opposite. He bragged about it. “It’s funny,” Thomas explained, “I used to be a complete neat freak until I became a Baptist.”
“Is that so?” He nodded. “After I became a member, a friend of mine—another Baptist—told me at a little get together we had at our house that him and his wife had been in a Bible study and someone read off a verse that proved Christians didn’t have to clean.”
“Where does it say it?”
“I don’t know, but a few weeks later my pastor quoted it as well. I think he most have been quoting from Jesus.”
“And it’s in the Bible?”
“Honest to God it is—I’m sure it must be a gospel.”
“Really.” I wasn’t a Bible scholar, but I thought my four years studying comparative religion had prepared me for at least some of the insanity that religion tends to throw out. This was complete news to me. I suppose I didn’t really care if it was Biblical or not. If he said it was, then it must be. It sounded like it could be, and he probably knew more about the stuff then me, so I left it at that.
Mom has always been a neat freak. If company was coming over, then not only did the living room and kitchen have to be cleared, but also the bedrooms, the garage, and the attic. There would always be the evil glance if the bed wasn’t made five minutes before the company was slated to arrive. I was always a little disappoint that the company didn’t inspect the bedrooms and garage or even the attic. All the hard work for nothing.
Mom is a Christian, and I always imagined that part of the reason the house was always so neat was because this is what a good Christian wife was supposed to do. Growing up most of my friends were not Christian and I always wrongly assumed had I had a Christian friend their house would be neat, and had I ventured into the attic it would be neat also. I was wrong—dead wrong.
I became ever more curious about the interior design of Christian homes when I left Thomas’s house. I began making a point of making conversation with Christians, and making excuses to visit their homes. “You have a patio room? I’ve been considering putting one in my home for quite sometime—I don’t suppose you’d let me take a peak?” “You had a new kitchen countertop put in? I don’t suppose you’d let me come over and see it’s fine craftsmanship?” “You had your bathroom redone? I just have to see it—how’s Thursday at 3:00 sound?” Some Christians I knew had Bible studies at their house, and I began attending just to get a look inside.
There was Ron Heller, the Methodist, whose home was surprisingly well kept, but at closer look had more dust than a house in the Sahara that had just had a sandstorm come in the front door and leave the back. His wife, Sue, walked around the house with watery eyes and a stuffed up nose complaining about how her “allergies had been so bad lately.” The thought of the collected dust as a reason for this didn’t seem to cross her mind.
There was Linda and Larry Henderson, the Greek Orthodox couple, who decorated every square inch of their walls with file cabinets, bookcases, chairs and plants. I was pretty certain that their walls were painted a pastel color, but this fact could not be verified, as their walls could only be seen in one or two places.
There was Christine Tyler, who went to a non-denominational church twice a week, who seemed confused about colors. Two of the walls in the living room were different colors; the bathroom wall was bright purple, and the bedroom walls had had all the paint scraped off because she was “planning to paint it sometime next year.” Her carpet was no better; it was stained all over and in one place it had actually been lifted up and removed because, “I was thinking of putting in a new carpet, but then changed my mind.”
And of course there was the Baptist, Thomas Kimble. Baptist, I have learned, are the most untidy of them all.
The common theme in most of these homes was the “unfinished project”—the spa in the bathroom that had been put in, but not had the plumbing installed to it; the whole in the ground that was dug out for a pond that had never been put in; the flowerbed with no flowers.
The more homes I visited, the more I started to see trends—not just in Christian homes. It was more specific than that. Different denominations had different degrees of messiness. I got to the point were I could tell what denomination a person was by the mere disarray of their homes. Lutheran’s were pretty neat, but decorated their houses oddly. Episcopalians have lots of clutter; there homes tend to have papers spread out in very odd places (on top of fish tanks, in dog bowls, pretty much everywhere); they also had boxes, shelves, books, magazine, accompanying every spare place on the wall. It seemed the more evangelical a person was, the more messy their house became.
What has kept mom neat even though she remains Christian? I’ve wondered that quite a bit lately, and have come to only one conclusion: no one ever told mom she was allowed to be messy—it is Biblical. She’s one of those rare breeds that never quite fit in. She’s been to messy Christian homes in the past, but I don’t believe she ever put two and two together.
The home seemed normal from the outside, when I came to lunch that day—much as it had looked in the pictures he had shown me.. It looked well kept. The roof, windows and paint all seemed to be new; the lawn and flowerbed were bright and inviting. Then I went inside.
I was appalled at the mere sight of the inside from the moment that Thomas cheerfully opened the door and welcomed me to his home with a firm handshake. I realized that sometimes people run short on time and don’t have time to clean—that’s all perfectly understandable—but Thomas’s house was…uncalled for.
The carpet, which had to have been installed sometime before Nixon was elected into office, was stained in several places; there was a hole in one of the walls big enough to stick my head into; the dinning room table was covered with dirty dishes, and the couch was missing a cushion. And worse was the smell of mildew that hit you like a gush of wind when you entered the house.
Then Thomas spoke. I expected him to say something along the lines of, “You know how I told you I had no kids? I lied. I actually have fourteen of them—fifteen if you count the ape that frequently visits the place.” But instead he said, completely unashamed of his lifestyle, “Welcome to my humble home.”
I didn’t speak for several seconds, being still stunned by the overt crudeness of the home. I felt embarrassed for him. Had I known that this was the way he lived, I would have offered we eat at a restaurant. Then I remembered that he had offered this, and Thomas insisted that we go to this place to eat—he was proud of it for reason only insanity can explain. Finally I said, “This is…this is quite some home you have, Thomas.”
He smiled widely, “It’s not much, but it gives us shelter.” He looked at the kitchen and smiled, “Well how about some lunch?”
I could hardly imagine where we might eat, but did my best to hide my astonishment. “I’m starved.”
Thomas’s lunch could have passed for something straight out of a gourmet restaurant. He said it had taken him all morning to make, and I believed him. The food on the plate looked like Thomas believed that serving food was a form of artwork. There was chicken glazed in a homemade orange marmalade sauce, a white custard, and assorted fruits; each were proportionally organized on the plate. I was surprised that someone would spend so much time on cooking and so little time keeping the house up. After seeing the house, I half expected to have barbeque rats for lunch.
Thomas led me outside after lunch to his patio, which seemed a haven for bird crap. The entire patio seemed to be a collection of unfinished projects: a half-finished rock pathway that stopped in the middle of dirt, weeds that went past my ankles, a half built firepit, a un-built swing set, a four foot hole in the middle of the yard, and two tree stumps with poles sticking out. It was not a pretty sight, but at least the mildew smell was gone.
As we ate, I heard the front door open and close and Thomas said in a tone that I think was supposed to impress me, “That must be the housecleaner?” “The housecleaner?” I tried not to sound too surprised. I wanted to laugh and mockingly say, “My goodness, Thomas—what on Earth does the woman clean?”
“My wife just doesn’t have time to do it herself. We have a little deal, she can have a housecleaner once a week if I can have a gardener to mow the lawn.”
I watched the housecleaner curiously, trying to understand what her job tasks were. I watched as she dusted, moved the plates from the table to the sink, vacuumed, and wash the windows. I wondered if she knew it would take days to make a single dent in the house.
I wanted badly for Thomas to say something about the disarray of the house. Something to say he at least acknowledged it and felt some remorse that he had let it get this out of hand. Instead he did the complete opposite. He bragged about it. “It’s funny,” Thomas explained, “I used to be a complete neat freak until I became a Baptist.”
“Is that so?” He nodded. “After I became a member, a friend of mine—another Baptist—told me at a little get together we had at our house that him and his wife had been in a Bible study and someone read off a verse that proved Christians didn’t have to clean.”
“Where does it say it?”
“I don’t know, but a few weeks later my pastor quoted it as well. I think he most have been quoting from Jesus.”
“And it’s in the Bible?”
“Honest to God it is—I’m sure it must be a gospel.”
“Really.” I wasn’t a Bible scholar, but I thought my four years studying comparative religion had prepared me for at least some of the insanity that religion tends to throw out. This was complete news to me. I suppose I didn’t really care if it was Biblical or not. If he said it was, then it must be. It sounded like it could be, and he probably knew more about the stuff then me, so I left it at that.
Mom has always been a neat freak. If company was coming over, then not only did the living room and kitchen have to be cleared, but also the bedrooms, the garage, and the attic. There would always be the evil glance if the bed wasn’t made five minutes before the company was slated to arrive. I was always a little disappoint that the company didn’t inspect the bedrooms and garage or even the attic. All the hard work for nothing.
Mom is a Christian, and I always imagined that part of the reason the house was always so neat was because this is what a good Christian wife was supposed to do. Growing up most of my friends were not Christian and I always wrongly assumed had I had a Christian friend their house would be neat, and had I ventured into the attic it would be neat also. I was wrong—dead wrong.
I became ever more curious about the interior design of Christian homes when I left Thomas’s house. I began making a point of making conversation with Christians, and making excuses to visit their homes. “You have a patio room? I’ve been considering putting one in my home for quite sometime—I don’t suppose you’d let me take a peak?” “You had a new kitchen countertop put in? I don’t suppose you’d let me come over and see it’s fine craftsmanship?” “You had your bathroom redone? I just have to see it—how’s Thursday at 3:00 sound?” Some Christians I knew had Bible studies at their house, and I began attending just to get a look inside.
There was Ron Heller, the Methodist, whose home was surprisingly well kept, but at closer look had more dust than a house in the Sahara that had just had a sandstorm come in the front door and leave the back. His wife, Sue, walked around the house with watery eyes and a stuffed up nose complaining about how her “allergies had been so bad lately.” The thought of the collected dust as a reason for this didn’t seem to cross her mind.
There was Linda and Larry Henderson, the Greek Orthodox couple, who decorated every square inch of their walls with file cabinets, bookcases, chairs and plants. I was pretty certain that their walls were painted a pastel color, but this fact could not be verified, as their walls could only be seen in one or two places.
There was Christine Tyler, who went to a non-denominational church twice a week, who seemed confused about colors. Two of the walls in the living room were different colors; the bathroom wall was bright purple, and the bedroom walls had had all the paint scraped off because she was “planning to paint it sometime next year.” Her carpet was no better; it was stained all over and in one place it had actually been lifted up and removed because, “I was thinking of putting in a new carpet, but then changed my mind.”
And of course there was the Baptist, Thomas Kimble. Baptist, I have learned, are the most untidy of them all.
The common theme in most of these homes was the “unfinished project”—the spa in the bathroom that had been put in, but not had the plumbing installed to it; the whole in the ground that was dug out for a pond that had never been put in; the flowerbed with no flowers.
The more homes I visited, the more I started to see trends—not just in Christian homes. It was more specific than that. Different denominations had different degrees of messiness. I got to the point were I could tell what denomination a person was by the mere disarray of their homes. Lutheran’s were pretty neat, but decorated their houses oddly. Episcopalians have lots of clutter; there homes tend to have papers spread out in very odd places (on top of fish tanks, in dog bowls, pretty much everywhere); they also had boxes, shelves, books, magazine, accompanying every spare place on the wall. It seemed the more evangelical a person was, the more messy their house became.
What has kept mom neat even though she remains Christian? I’ve wondered that quite a bit lately, and have come to only one conclusion: no one ever told mom she was allowed to be messy—it is Biblical. She’s one of those rare breeds that never quite fit in. She’s been to messy Christian homes in the past, but I don’t believe she ever put two and two together.
Monday, October 29, 2007
But I'm Still Hungry...
Timmy DeSota, a nine-year-old boy from St. Paul Minnesota, admitted to his mom that he left church still feeling hungry even after eating two communion wafers in church. DeSota, no stranger to communion, further admitted that he had never felt so unsatisfied in his life, and that the church should consider switching to a bread that contains more fiber.
His mother, Nancy DeSota, is a former third grade Sunday school teacher, and was no stranger to the theological questions that her son's unsatisfactory feelings imposed. She explained to Timmy that the bread was symbolic for Christ's body and should never be taken to satisfy a physical hunger, rather only to satisfy a spiritual hunger.
Timmy was not happy with this answer, and went to great measures to change the system. After a meeting with the pastor, Timmy was able to convince him that the church indeed was not satisfying the hunger of their congregates, and that they should therefore switch to a multi-grain communion bread.
In a telephone interview, the pastor of the church Charles Webber, acknowledge that a hungry church was less likely to listen in church, and thus would not be fed spiritually.
His mother, Nancy DeSota, is a former third grade Sunday school teacher, and was no stranger to the theological questions that her son's unsatisfactory feelings imposed. She explained to Timmy that the bread was symbolic for Christ's body and should never be taken to satisfy a physical hunger, rather only to satisfy a spiritual hunger.
Timmy was not happy with this answer, and went to great measures to change the system. After a meeting with the pastor, Timmy was able to convince him that the church indeed was not satisfying the hunger of their congregates, and that they should therefore switch to a multi-grain communion bread.
In a telephone interview, the pastor of the church Charles Webber, acknowledge that a hungry church was less likely to listen in church, and thus would not be fed spiritually.
Wednesday, February 28, 2007
Pat Robertson’s The Third Testament: An Interview
What can you tell us about the NIRP Bible, which you have commissioned?
NIRP stands for my name, The New International Pat Robertson Bible. Basically, I thought it up while staring at a copy of the King James Version of the Bible. I always figured that it was some sort of witchcraft book, and I never opened. One day I asked my wife, why we had a witchy book in our library. She explained how King James was a king and he hired a bunch of people to write a new version of the Bible and put his name on it. So I says to her, I says, “I should do that. So that’s what I did.”
Why your name in title?
Because I’m the one who has commissioned it. It just seemed like the proper thing to do. I didn’t want my name on it.
Who will edit the new Bible?
Really smart people. People with all kinds of fancy degrees from fancy schools. People like my good friend Billy Graham. People like my good friend Tim LaHaye. People like my good friend Rick Warren.
Are you saying ‘people like them’ will edit the book or are you saying those are the people who will actually write the book are those people?
People like them. If I had those actual people working on it, then I think we’d all be fighting for power.
Why do we need a new translation of the Bible? There are so many already?
All those other translation didn’t account for the War on Terror that we’ve been facing all these years. We need a translation that understands the needs of America. A Biblical work that gets down and holy about what to do about terrorism.
What’s in the Bible that you can use to emphasize terrorism?
That’s were my esteemed editors will work on. They are coming up with a third testament.
A Third Testament?
Exactly. It’s been years since we have had a new addition to the Bible. In fact hundreds of years. Hundreds of years and no one has written a new testament to account for those years. I think it’s about time.
Exactly will be in this Third Testament? Letters, Gospels?
Letters? Gospels? Heavens no. What do those have to do with terrorism? It’s going to be full of apocryphal work—stuff on the end times. White horses. Demons. The antichrist. Exciting stuff!
Why?
The Bible is a good book, but it’s a horrible script for a movie. It’s so long. How do you make a movie out of it? Sure you can break it up, but people just don’t go for epics anymore. They want one movie. The Third Testament could easily be turned into one movie. And it has plenty of action, special effects, and a ‘terrorist are bad’ kind of message.
If there’s a movie, who would you like to direct?
I like Steven Spielberg. Did you see E.T.? Great stuff.
Steven Spielberg is Jewish.
What do I look like? Hitler? I like Jews. Jews are nice people—quote me on that. I have nothing against them making movies.
I’m sure you don’t, but why would a Jew want to make a movie about something that more relates to Christians?
Who said anything about the Third Testament being a Christian work.
I guess I just sort of assumed.
People are always twisting my words like that. I talk very simple so people will understand. I guess no one talks simpleton anymore. Like that whole Katrina mess. Everyone quoted me as saying something like, “All those Katrina folks deserved what they got because New Orleans is such a sinful place to live.”
So that’s not what you said?
It was only part of it. After I said, “All those Katrina folks deserved what they got because New Orleans is such a sinful place to live,” I said, “But it’s not to late to repent so you don’t have to burn in hell like your dead relatives who died in the hurricane.”
So if the Third Testament isn’t Christian, then what is it?
Hin-Ju-Mus-Hristian
Hin-Ju-Mus-Hristian?
That’s all the religions, right?
All the major ones.
Good.
Does this mean your abandoning your conservative faith for a more universal one? Something that pleases all the religions?
Absolutely not. I just want to leave a legacy. Something that will make people forget about all the other things I did. I mean who remembers all the bad things King James did? All they remember is the Bible named after him. That’s what I want.
NIRP stands for my name, The New International Pat Robertson Bible. Basically, I thought it up while staring at a copy of the King James Version of the Bible. I always figured that it was some sort of witchcraft book, and I never opened. One day I asked my wife, why we had a witchy book in our library. She explained how King James was a king and he hired a bunch of people to write a new version of the Bible and put his name on it. So I says to her, I says, “I should do that. So that’s what I did.”
Why your name in title?
Because I’m the one who has commissioned it. It just seemed like the proper thing to do. I didn’t want my name on it.
Who will edit the new Bible?
Really smart people. People with all kinds of fancy degrees from fancy schools. People like my good friend Billy Graham. People like my good friend Tim LaHaye. People like my good friend Rick Warren.
Are you saying ‘people like them’ will edit the book or are you saying those are the people who will actually write the book are those people?
People like them. If I had those actual people working on it, then I think we’d all be fighting for power.
Why do we need a new translation of the Bible? There are so many already?
All those other translation didn’t account for the War on Terror that we’ve been facing all these years. We need a translation that understands the needs of America. A Biblical work that gets down and holy about what to do about terrorism.
What’s in the Bible that you can use to emphasize terrorism?
That’s were my esteemed editors will work on. They are coming up with a third testament.
A Third Testament?
Exactly. It’s been years since we have had a new addition to the Bible. In fact hundreds of years. Hundreds of years and no one has written a new testament to account for those years. I think it’s about time.
Exactly will be in this Third Testament? Letters, Gospels?
Letters? Gospels? Heavens no. What do those have to do with terrorism? It’s going to be full of apocryphal work—stuff on the end times. White horses. Demons. The antichrist. Exciting stuff!
Why?
The Bible is a good book, but it’s a horrible script for a movie. It’s so long. How do you make a movie out of it? Sure you can break it up, but people just don’t go for epics anymore. They want one movie. The Third Testament could easily be turned into one movie. And it has plenty of action, special effects, and a ‘terrorist are bad’ kind of message.
If there’s a movie, who would you like to direct?
I like Steven Spielberg. Did you see E.T.? Great stuff.
Steven Spielberg is Jewish.
What do I look like? Hitler? I like Jews. Jews are nice people—quote me on that. I have nothing against them making movies.
I’m sure you don’t, but why would a Jew want to make a movie about something that more relates to Christians?
Who said anything about the Third Testament being a Christian work.
I guess I just sort of assumed.
People are always twisting my words like that. I talk very simple so people will understand. I guess no one talks simpleton anymore. Like that whole Katrina mess. Everyone quoted me as saying something like, “All those Katrina folks deserved what they got because New Orleans is such a sinful place to live.”
So that’s not what you said?
It was only part of it. After I said, “All those Katrina folks deserved what they got because New Orleans is such a sinful place to live,” I said, “But it’s not to late to repent so you don’t have to burn in hell like your dead relatives who died in the hurricane.”
So if the Third Testament isn’t Christian, then what is it?
Hin-Ju-Mus-Hristian
Hin-Ju-Mus-Hristian?
That’s all the religions, right?
All the major ones.
Good.
Does this mean your abandoning your conservative faith for a more universal one? Something that pleases all the religions?
Absolutely not. I just want to leave a legacy. Something that will make people forget about all the other things I did. I mean who remembers all the bad things King James did? All they remember is the Bible named after him. That’s what I want.
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