Christi-ana-Meter

Holy
Brian 'Head' Welch From Korn
Mega-Church
Courting

Back of the Church
Scott Strapp From Creed
Warehouse Church
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Tar & Feather
Bono From U2
Sanctuary
Shagging

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.

Satan's MySpace Page

Originally published in the November/December 2006 (Issue #203) of The Wittenburg Door (http://archives.wittenburgdoor.com/archives/satanmyspace.html)

General: I'm a pretty normal guy. I'm into sodomy, torture, fire, and damnation. I'm also a good listener.

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.

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

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.”

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.”

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.

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.

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.

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.”

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.