Turn the Other Cheek

Pastor Fester Krueger Bobcat Comments on SpankingBy Patricia Backora

Three thousand church members reluctantly returned as Fester frowned and fiddled with notes. He readjusted his reading glasses, then picked up his teaching material and drawled, “Now for more authority teachin’ from Brother Whipple’s book. Where was I? Here we go. Here’s more pearls of wisdom from this blessed saint of God:

“ ‘The Catholic Pope is held to be infallible by his followers. Whatever he decrees must be done. His decisions are held to be beyond reproach. The father, by virtue of his holy office as priest of his home, IS infallible, just like the Pope. Just as it is a grave sin for a Roman Catholic to argue with the Pope, it’s an even worse sin for a tiny child to ask why he is being paddled, and why his offense is worth all that pain.

‘King Henry VIII of England was the absolute lord of his realm. He held the power of life and death over all his subjects while he sat on the throne. No one had the right to rebuke Henry because he was God’s anointed sovereign. If Henry didn’t like you he could whack your head off with a hatchet. All Henry had to do was accuse you of committing treason, and his definition of treason could change like the wind. Treason was anything the King wanted it to be. ‘Henry wanted to get rid of his second wife, Anne Bullet…er…excuse me… Bo-leen! who couldn’t produce a living male hair for his line of succession. So Anne was accused of having affairs with a string of men, some of whom weren’t even in the vicinity when the alleged love trysts took place. Even if Anne did spend most of her three-year marriage pregnant or recovering from childbirth and miscarriages, she still allegedly had the health and stamina to cheat on Henry with five different men, one of whom was her own brother. ‘Anne’s musician had a confession tortured out of him. As a commoner, this man had no rights to human treatment. This forced confession was treated as solid evidence in Henry’s court. It incriminated Anne and sealed her fate. Anne was not allowed to produce witnesses for her own defense. Because the integrity of the King’s sacred office was at stake, his allegations could never be contradicted. In treason trials, evidence for the defense was inadmissible in the King’s court. The trumped-up evidence against Anne was so ludicrous it was flimsy as fairy dust. But all the lords who judged her case knew they could also get the axe if they dared to defend her. Because she was subordinate to the King, Anne Boleyn bowed to the court’s guilty verdict and meekly submitted to the penalty imposed by the law of the land. ‘The office of King of England had to be held in such reverence that he must never be proven to have borne false witness against the accused. Nor must God’s anointed ruler be accused of hamstringing the court to compel them to reach a guilty verdict. It was a veritable sin against God to question Henry if he thought someone else’s head had to be sacrificed for the good of the realm. It was Anne’s duty to die because Henry desired a younger woman with a healthier reproductive system to manufacture a male heir to continue his kingly line. Individual liberties had to bow to the will of the King. ‘In God’s sight, you, the priestly father of the family, enjoy just much greater honor and majesty in your own home than Henry VIII did during his reign. So in that light, does your child, or even your wife, even have the right to wonder if you’re being unfair? That question should perish on the lips of a Christian child! Scandalous! If you condemn your child to a hard spanking and he dares question your judgment, he could very well forfeit his own salvation, because he’s questioning God’s wisdom, not just yours. Better a blistered bottom in this lifetime than an eternity of regret in a far hotter hell. Now back to

the question of why it’s inappropriate for a child to beg God for forgiveness until he has paid the very last farthing for his sin. And speaking of ‘farthing’, even if your kid makes lots noise about you being unfair, just lay on the pain till the debt is paid! ‘Even if your child climbs a tree to get away from you and then falls and injures himself, a broken arm’s no substitute for a beating. On the way to the doctor’s office, tell your child his injury is God’s punishment upon him for trying to escape justice. Remind him that Jonah got gobbled up by a whale when he ran away from God’s will. And warn your kid that you’ve kept a faithful record of his sin against you, and the moment he’s all healed up, it’s off to the woodshed with him, where he will finally pay his debt for his dirty deed.. ‘Our God is a God of order. In His Kingdom things get done according to His predetermined timing, and in their correct sequence. Many have the misconception that ‘forgiveness’ means ‘to forego punishment’. But true forgiveness requires strict retribution for wrong-doing. Yes, Jesus did die on the Cross to pay for your sins. But that only takes care of heavenly justice. Earthly justice demands that your child suffer as well. Just as God ordained earthly policemen to punish protesters with army surplus WMD, so has God authorized you, the father of the family, to break your child’s strong will with a holey paddle. Just like you ought to teach your child that a policeman is not someone to run away from but a friend, you should tell him that Woody Woodshed is his friend which helps him stay on the rugged road to heaven. Each and every night your child should include this in his prayers: “And God bless Woody Woodshed”. ‘Wielding your paddle is a very holy aspect of your priestly office. Like a Catholic pope carrying a giant crucifix in a candlelit procession, the exalted emblem of your Parental Priesthood is the paddle, or in some cases, the belt. Reverently you hold up Woody Woodshed as you lead the solemn procession into your basement or den, or whatever serves as your Woodshed Sanctuary for Penitent Souls. Just as a Pope’s ceremonial procession is solemnized by mournful Gregorian chants, your own Punitive Procession is hallowed by the wails of your fearful child. Upon entry, your child should immediately kneel down. Not to pray just yet, but to kiss that Old Wooden Paddle which delivers his soul from hell. ‘Your Designated Woodshed Area is your (bat…COUGH!...excuse me), VATican, where you enforce law and order in your home. It’s your shrine of devotion to God, and the FOCAL POINT of your ministry to your erring child. A hallowed sanctuary where the lengthy process of being reconciled to an offended God is begun in order that it may be finished by appropriating the finished work of Christ, Whose blood atones for every sin. YOU, mister, are the one responsible for making sure your child gets clean enough to come into the Presence of God to receive forgiveness of sins.

‘Imagine a hog farmer who’s been working in the pigpen all day long. His overalls are filthy, saturated with muck and grime. His shoes ooze sewage. The man’s face is caked with crud because a 400-pound hog knocked him down and he got rotten, smelly stuff all over him. The dirt even seeped through his clothes and got down to his skin. This man AND his clothes both need cleansing. But they need at least one quick spitwash outside before they can go inside where the spankin’ clean bathroom and laundry room are. ‘His wife comes out onto the back porch and hollers, “Bubba, you stink to high heaven! Take them filthy rags off at once! We’re throwin’ ‘em out ‘cause I ain’t a-washin’ ‘em!” “But Bubba refuses to throw his dirty duds away. They’re too good for the garbage can. He warns his wife she’d better not soak them in water because they’ll shrink. Bubba just bought those perfectly good bib overalls. He lies and says they can only be dry-cleaned. And worse still, Bubba is too stubborn to take his clothes off and hang them on the line like his wife orders him to do. ‘By the time they finish arguing, the mud on those clothes has dried in the hot sun. Filth is flaking off Bubba’s body. Dust is swirling around him and he’s attracting horse flies from the barn. The very sight of him disgusts his wife. But she is still determined to clean Bubba’s clothes even if he won’t let her wash them. So she decides to dry-clean them. She grabs a broom and beats the dust off Bubba, just like they used to beat a dirty rug before they invented vacuum cleaners. Filth flies everywhere, and boy, does it smart! Bubba isn’t ready to have his remaining impurities cleansed off his body in the spotless bathroom until he’s covered in bruises. ‘This sounds crude but it’s true: Christ did his bit to save your kid, but your belt bails him out of hell. A quicker analogy is the way a dishwasher works better if you first take the time to pre-rinse 98% of the food off under the tap. When you spank your child, you create cleansing tears which make Jesus’ cleaning job much easier when the child finally prays for for His forgiveness. ‘I realize my popularity could hit rock BOTTOM by preaching the hard-to-swallow doctrine of SUPPLEMENTAL SUFFERING SALVATION. But Solomon himself, the wisest, smartest, holiest Christian who ever lived, would back up this vital truth: GOD CANNOT SAVE YOUR CHILD UNLESS YOU BEAT HIS BOTTOM! YOUR BELT IS YOUR KID’S HOTLINE TO HEAVEN! Why do I believe this? In Proverbs 23:14 Solomon wrote: ‘IF you beat your son with the rod you’ll save his soul from hell! The key is that tiny word “if”. The clear inference is that if you punish your kid by grounding him or taking away his skateboard, he’ll split hell wide open and he’ll never see the Pearly Gates. ‘Some infidels dispense with the doctrine of the intermediary priesthood of the father by citing I Tim.2:5, which teaches that there is

only one mediator between God and man, Christ Jesus. Yes, it’s true you grown-ups don’t have to go to some Catholic priest and confess your sins so that priest can help you make your peace with God. But little kids don’t know their right hand from their left foot, so what would they know about the proper way to approach a holy God they’ve offended by breaking a light bulb? They need you to confess their sins to, so you can bridge the gap between them and an angry God. Without you, Christ Jesus cannot reconcile them with the Father in heaven. And you better make darn sure you get to the child’s sin first before God gets the chance to wash it away. If God got rid of the guilt before you beat that guilt out of him, that would be highly improper! ‘One erring brother I knew asked me why any sane Christian would follow Solomon’s spanking advice after he financed the building of child-eating idols like Molech and Chemosh, in order to please his heathen wives. This man cited I Kings 11:7 and he had this to say: “Surely Solomon, the wisest man who ever lived, must have known those idols wouldn’t settle for a dog biscuit. Solomon knew what Molech and Chemosh ate to get their five a day. He knew what got thrown into their blast furnace bellies each and every day. So it follows that King Solomon hated kids too much to be much of a child rearing expert. ‘In all probability Solomon repented in later life. How do I know this? Solomon laments that he didn’t get lasting satisfaction out of all the thrilling things he did with his life. Ever hear that song: “I Can’t Get No Satisfaction”? But I try, and I try and I try, the song goes. Solomon tried his darnedest to find fulfillment in wine, women and song. And Solomon tells you how to beat your kids so they won’t commit the same sins he did. Also, keep in mind that Solomon only commanded Christians to spank their kids, not sacrifice them to idols. Give the poor guy a break. We’re all sinners, and who’s to say you wouldn’t have caved in too if you’d had a thousand heathen wives nagging you night and day for their own designer Molech monster? ‘The proof of any doctrine is in the pudding. Solomon’s son Rehoboam grew up to be a strong, tough king who was man enough to beat his forced laborers with scorpions to increase their productivity. Talk about the Protestant Work Ethic! That’s like some sheriff whipping chain gang convicts with a rattlesnake to teach them obedience. Rehoboam wasn’t a wimpy pantywaist granola junkie who freely forgave everybody without punishment! Even if Rehoboam did cause a civil war in Israel with his draconian domestic policies, his iron will was forged in the furnace of his daddy’s woodshed where Solomon flogged him all the days of his childhood to prove how much he loved him. ‘But what if you accidentally whip a child for something they didn’t do? No sweat. That little booboo gets credited to your child’s SPANKING SPREAD SHEET in heaven. Whenever he does something

bad in the future that you don’t hit him for, those ‘accidental’ swats are deducted from the SPANKING CREDITS your kid’s built up over the years of your imperfect parenting. Heck, just take your son in the kitchen and fix him a great big peanut butter sandwich. Like a loyal pup, he’ll instantly forgive and forget, and that sandwich will soothe his battered bottom. ‘Which reminds me of another book I’m working on, which won’t come out till next year: Beat the Devil out of Your Dog. Grumpy, my 200-pound pit bull, refused to get his lazy caboose off the couch so I could watch a ball game on TV. He thought he’d won, but after I roasted Grumpy’s rump with my very own Darth Vader light saber, he ran away with his stubby tail between his legs. This book is a saga about my lengthy, perilous quest to reform Grumpy’s wayward soul, and oh, yes, dogs go to hell too if they’re bad. Down there they turn into hot dogs! Yum! More on that later. Back to children. ‘In Chapter 53 I’ll cover the subject of baby sins and how to deal with them. Before babies even emerge from the delivery room they’re already plotting ways to rob you of rest and peace. If you have to get up more than three times a night to feed a newborn, that infant is treating you like a slave and deliberately depriving you of sleep just for kicks. Then there are times when you might be kneeling in prayer, only to hear your precious bundle of joy scream to have her diaper changed. You smell something suspicious. Satan made that baby’s bowels move at the wrong time so you’d get distracted from the things of God. You’d just changed a soggy diaper a few minutes ago, but now she’s got an even bigger surprise for you. ‘That child knows you’ve got more spiritual things to do with your life than clean up her dirty work. Satan is definitely behind such a so-called coincidence, for it is his business to distract the saints of God from their religious duties. ‘Later I’ll tell you how to deal with these spiritual attacks, and how I broke my daughter Pansy from a bad habit. Pansy was just 8 months old when satan started attacking us with her pacifier. She’d drop that thing on the dirty floor and laugh like it was a joke. She’d interrupt our Bible study so we’d have to go wash it and give it back to her, just so we wouldn’t have time for the Lord. Folks, I could see satan at work, and I prayed that God would give me the victory over our child’s sinister plot to distract us from the things of God. Well, one day I said, “This is the last straw, kid. You’ve sabotaged my quiet time for the very last time.” I’ll tell you more about how we won this Battle of the Demon-possessed Pacifier in Chapter 54, once you’ve learned the basics of how to correct infantile sins committed by baby brats. But believe me, once I trained Pansy God’s way, that girl never dropped anything on the floor ever again. Pansy learned the lesson so well that when she started crocheting, she was too scared to drop a stitch.

‘Here are some song lyrics I wrote, which I sing to the tune of an old hymn:

O Paddle DivineO Paddle Divine

You’re faithful to keep my family in line.I bow at thy shrine

You make children mindYou wonderful Paddle Divine.

‘Oh those precious rapturous joys you and your child will forever share together in eternity as you remember those holy hours in the woodshed, where you, as the exalted Paddle Priest of your home, led your weeping, penitent child into the Presence of Almighty God. The spiritual high both of you will take away from this experience will soothe away the bitter pain of chastisement like honey soothes sunburn. As your child spiritually transcends his posterior pain, he will awaken to paradise in the pleasure zone of the soul. As he bows to your belt in deepest humility, your child’s soul will fly on angel wings to touch the face of God. Thus, even a child’s naughty pranks can be the catalyst through which he enters into deeper dimensions in his Christian experience. His sweetly submissive response to the pain itself incites an inner ecstasy which transports his soul to heavenly realms where he can hear the angels sing. This is much like the spiritual ecstasies experienced by Catholic hermits who habitually whip their filthy fallen flesh and wear scratchy scapulars to immerse their innermost being into the glory of God. ‘Talk about the Agony and the Ecstasy! The sweetness of the joy which springs from submission to your priestly ministry of chastisement will overwhelm the child so much he can barely contain it. Instead of tears of pain, you’ll see tears of indescribable heavenly delight seeping from his eyes. He will feel an afterglow so powerful, so profound, the agonies of earth will grow strangely dim in his sight. All because you, the priestly father of the family, whipped Woody Woodshed out of the closet and merged the power of the paddle with the power of prayer to cure the cancer of sin in your child’s heart.’ Brother Bobcat closed the book and held it reverently. “What a wonderful example of godliness Brother Whipple was, and still is. That’s the way I diz’plined my own kids. But they don’t hate me for rearing ‘em that way ‘cause all that misery is BEHIND them, no pun intended. “One smart guy came up to me when the ushers weren’t around and asked, ‘Brother Bobcat, why do you urge parents to hit their kids for itty-bitty sins but you ditched your first wife to marry a younger woman? Don’t you need a spanking too? Especially since Solomon also said fools who git led astray by wily women should git locked up in a

stockade, and Jesus Himself said in Matthew 5:32 that if you divorce a woman who hasn’t committed adultery against you yet, you’re guilty of a terrible sin if you marry somebody else? Blah, blah, blah. “The two-bit worm!” Fester fulminated. “What right’s he got to rebuke a famous preacher every decent Christian in America and around the world looks up to? Solomon also said a parable don’t mean nothin’ if it comes out of a fool’s mouth.” Fester made a face. “Stupid moron. Everybody knows spanking’s the only Proverb that’s still binding under the New Covenant, ‘cause Jesus did away with the rest of the Law, except for tithin’, of course. The good Lord knows we can’t run our homes without punishin’ our kids the only way that works. Adults have got rights, ‘cause they’re bigger and smarter than kids, so spanking’s just for kids. “Besides, sin is harder to define once you grow up. Proverbs 31 says it’s wise for preachers to go lookin’ for a virtual woman to compliment their ministry. A virtual woman is worth more than rubies, it teaches. But what do you do when wife number one ain’t even worth a sack of marbles? You need to move onto greener pastures to look for virtual women after the old one dries up. And I found that kind of lady when Sugar showed up at this church. So if that dumb donkey who criticized me for my first divorce had any idea what hell I went through watchin’ Minerva pack on the pounds after she had four kids in three years, he wouldn’t’a dared say that to me. If my ushers hadn’t been dozin’ on the job, they’d’a taken their belts to that bum! “It’s all Minerva’s fault!” Fester roared. “Wouldn’t dye her gray hair to look younger for me. She wouldn’t wear war paint, not even on her saggy legs to hide her bellicose veins. Jesus understands why I couldn’t stay faithful to that old gray mare. Stayin’ with Minerva would’a been worse than any spanking I could’a got for adulterating on her. I never did git no satisfaction outa her, except for the joys of teachin’ her kids the fear of God. “Some other dipstick dope disagreed with my spanking position. He said Jesus threatens to tie a grindstone around somebody’s neck if they offend any little child. But Jesus wasn’t tryin’ to protect little cabooses in that verse, just their souls. That persnickety jerk failed to mention that ‘offend’ in that context don’t even mean what it does today. Jesus meant if you cause that child to sin you’re in big trouble, and that’s perzactly what you do if you don’t wear him out every now and then. You make him grow up to be a bank robber. Solomon said so! He was the wisest man that ever lived, and all 1,000 of his nagging wives would say amen! “Man, when I was a kid I got more whuppin’s than Planter’s got peanuts. Whenever I’d hear my daddy holler all three of my names ‘Fester Krueger Bobcat!’ I knew my sin had found me out and I was in for a good ol’ fashioned Dr. SHOCK treatment that would heat my seat for a week.

“I’ll never forget one incident that happened when I was about nine years old. Sister Minnie, this old maid missionary lady, well, she’d been invited to eat supper with us, though we were dirt poor and even the chickens out in the barnyard flew the coop to go live with richer families to stay alive. Me and my brother Jonas, well, we knew Sister Minnie would choose the best piece of chicken before the plate got passed around to us. “As usual, Mama cut up the chicken like this: the best part of the bird, the white meat, well, that was cut up into two portions. That left two shriveled drumsticks, two skinny thighs, the withered wishbone, two bony wings, a petrified back, a gristly neck, a pile of innards and the Pope’s nose, which we usually threw out to the dog. That is, unless we had visitors and that was all that was left on the plate when it finally reached us kids. If that happened, our mutt would just wander the neighborhood and dig his dinner out of other people’s trash cans. “Mama, she’d always triple coat the chicken pieces with so much buttermilk batter you’d never know a big family had only one scrawny bird to eat. Once Mama fried it all up, she laid the pieces out on a big platter, where she also heaped high with these little golden brown corn muffins she loved to bake, which helped keep me from starvin’ to death when I was a kid. Then she heard my sister yellin’ that the baby threw up all over himself. Mama turned off the stove and ran to go clean the mess up. My daddy, well, he was out on the front porch a-yakkin’ with Sister Minnie so he didn’t have a clue what was up. “Me and Jonas snuck in from the back porch and stuffed those two pieces of tender, juicy white meat in our britches, we were so tired of bein’ hungry all the time. Just so Mama wouldn’t notice the missing pieces, we took extra muffins out of the oven and put ‘em on the plate with the rest of the chicken. We was gonna run out to Daddy’s tool shed where nobody but God could see us, and eat there. We’d already dug the food out of our pockets when Daddy came in the kitchen for a drink of water and called for us to come in, before we got halfway to the shed. All we could do was stick the chicken back in our pockets. Our pants were baggy, we’d both lost so much weight, so you didn’t notice any lumps in our pockets. Good thing they were black pants, or Daddy would’a seen the grease stains on ‘em right away. “Once we were all assembled around the table, Daddy told all of us to join hands while he thanked the good Lord for the food, and prayed for Sister Minnie’s work in Africa. Well, my daddy could be long-winded, and in the meantime old Smokey, our bird dog, snuck in through the screen door, which somebody’d left open. And, you guessed it! While everybody’s eyes were shut during that long prayer, old Smokey crawled underneath the table and sniffed around my pants lookin’ for something to eat. I couldn’t yank my hands away from the folks next to me or open my eyes. I couldn’t even say one word while Daddy thanked Jesus for every African soul who’d ever been blessed by Sister

Minnie. But Smokey jabbed his paw at my pocket, then pinched the chicken out. Then he did the same to my brother. “Funny thing, once Daddy stopped prayin’, he didn’t notice the dog under the table, just passed the chicken plate to Sister Minnie, our honored guest. “Now Sister Minnie, she was a little lady but she could eat like a truck driver, and she was an expert on fried chicken, like most church workers are. She poked and dug through that plate of chicken and made a funny face, shook her head, then she got up to leave. “ ‘I’m sorry, Eileen’, she said to my mother. ‘I just remembered, Sally Parsons is sick and I need to go pray for her. She goes to bed early so I better be on my way.’ “Well, I’d just been over to the Parsons, and I knew everybody there was feelin’ fine, and Sister Minnie was just tellin’ Mama a story. And I just happened to know the Parsons were havin’ pot roast for supper. But I kept quiet till old Smokey sprung out from underneath the table, carryin’ two chicken rib cages. “ ‘No, no, boy!’ I yelled. ‘Git outa here!’ “ ‘That dog ate my breast!’ Sister Minnie hollered, without thinkin’. But when she realized what she’d just said, and saw how scandalized Daddy looked, she flew out that door like the devil himself was a-chasin’ her with a pitchfork. “My daddy, he got mad as a hornet. He whipped off his big belt and threatened the dog with it. Then old Smokey ran up to me and sniffed around my pants pocket before goin’ over and smellin’ Jonas’s. Daddy came up and took a closer look. Lo and behold, there were big grease stains on our pockets. Daddy apologized to Smokey. Then he took us outside and wore us out real good for feedin’ Sister Minnie’s breast to the dog. As he pounded satan out of our backside, Daddy chewed us out for leadin’ that dumb dog into temptation, and puttin’ him in danger of goin’ to torment. “Instead of mashed spuds and cornbread, me and my brother got a mashed butt and early bed. “And that wasn’t the end of the mischief we got into. One time when the church bowed their heads for prayer, it was a-stormin’ outside but the thunder came from our pew. And since nobody would fess up to the abomination, Daddy dragged all us kids outside and skinned us alive with his cowhide belt, while the rain was a-pourin’ down. While the lightning flashed the sparks flew. Before we went back in, the preacher dismissed the service early. Children should be seen and not heard. “Nowadays kids don’t mind, ‘cause their so-called parents give ‘em candy instead of correction, like the Bible commands. Turn with me to Proverbs 20:30. It says that the blueness of a wound cleanses away evil, and stripes clean out your belly. Just like yore body’s septic tank gits all clogged up and it needs an enemy…uh, enema, to wash it out.

That tells me that if your kid’s blessed assurance ain’t black and blue and stripey when you’re done beatin’ the fear of god into ‘em, it won’t do no good. By the time my daddy finished learnin’ me how to mind, I looked like I’d been Kung-Fu-chopped by a sumo rassler.” “I liked Brother Whipple’s teachin’ on Henry VIII, But that guy wasn’t nothin’ compared to what Fester the First is gonna do y’all if yore tithing don’t improve! In fact, I’m the first and the last in the chain of author-ity here! Whipple’s a stupid…uh…STUPENDOUS! author, but his book ain’t nothin’ compared to my book, Tithe or You’ll Fry in Hell! And since that one’s a brand new book hot off the press, it sells for $12.37, to help defray costs of publication. Fester’s face darkened into an avenging storm. He slammed his King James Bible so hard on the pulpit two loose pages flew out of it. An usher scrambled to scoop them up. Craig’s head bobbed. He rubbed the crick in his neck. He was so tired his ears were ringing. It was already past his bedtime. He jerked upright. “Pastor never preached this long before,” he moaned to Wanda. Pul-eeze, Fester, stop the whipping so we can go home. Some of us have to get up in the morning.” “All right!” Brother Bobcat barked. “I’ve done my bit. I’ve spent nigh unto two hours breakin’ the bread of life to y’all. I’ve worked overtime tonight and read to y’all like little kids git read to at bedtime by their mama. So we’re runnin’ mighty late and y’all need to git home to yore lazy hot tub lifestyles while I struggle on and on and on tryin’ to hold this ministry together with Elmer’s Glue and baling wire, ‘cause you don’t pay me enough money to keep my massive ministry alive! But we’ll close with a sober ammunition: As yore spiritual dad, I’ve got the power to call down God’s curses on y’all for robbin’ the Lord! Whatsoever I bind on earth is bound in heaven, so I’m invested with arthority to shut the gates of heaven against anybody that sins against me! This whole congregation can roast in hell and shovel coal for all I care, if y’all don’t tithe! Cry out unto the Lord to forgive you for withholdin’ yore tithes, or the day you drop dead and meet St. Peter at the Pearly Gates, he’ll tell you to go south to spend eternity with evil sinners like the Devilcrats, Judas Ass Chariot, and all the liberal lefties that are ruinin’ this country! Down there you’ll scream and mash yore teeth in pitch black darkness!”

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Watch my video satires on the subject:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6JhGeuZLyzEhttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xRcCriVp8Gg