Banishing Bad Hair Days since 1997!™

Does God Have A Comb-Over?

The Quickening

My philosophical journey began at the end of a beer-drenched sugarcoated glossy-eyed coma. After what seemed like hours of late night channel surfing I was arrested from my drunken haze by the harsh bright light of reason—yes, I actually saw the light bulb come on over my head. What sort of vision was it that pulled a sinner such as me from such a sorry state? I’m talkin’ about the world’s oldest profession. No, no, I’m not talkin’ about prostitution—but you’re gettin’ warmer. I’m talkin’ about those speakin’ in tongue, leper healin’, off key singin’ folks of the ALMIGHTY CABLE NETWORK. I’m talkin’ about religion. DO I HEAR AN AMEN? I’m talkin’ about TELEVANGELISM!


My moment of clarity came to me during what appeared to be just another insignificant night of shameless cranial voyeurism. The television was muted, Wagner’s ‘Ride of the Valkyries’ was soaring, I was five Red Stripes into a six-pack, and I was sadly nearing the end of a stale box of Chocolate Pinwheels. OH YEAH! CARPE DIEM, BABY!

And then I saw it . . .

I saw Jan (Tammy Faye on hallucinogenics) Crouch: Environmentalists everywhere rejoice! The spotted owl has a safe haven in Jan’s purple-tinted psychedelic beehive hair—it’s a Barney meets the B52’s kind of thing.

I saw Bob (What in the name of holy dignity is goin’ on with your hairline!) Larson: It kind of makes ya feel all warm and fuzzy inside when you can see a good old fashioned exorcism at three o’clock in the mornin’.

I saw Benny (THE COMB-OVER) Hinn: He may sound like a gangster in a bad B-Movie, but Benny just flat out has the greatest comb-over of all time! Its trance inducing powers are spectacular!


Panic: A sudden, overpowering terror, often affecting many people at once.

My fingers violently punched at the remote’s shrinking buttons. I had to escape the inevitability my grotesque conclusion. The cable news would save me! These channels must be the holy grounds of rationality. But no! The Rev. Al (What would happen if you crossed Don King and James Brown?) Sharpton was on every channel. He leered at me from the screen with a twisted smile. He knew my horror. If James Brown was ‘The Godfather of Soul’ then Al Sharpton was ‘The Godfather of Bad Hair.’ GOD HELP US ALL!


I grabbed onto the couch for dear life and tried to stop the room from spinning. I could no longer evade the ugly truth I had discovered. If God was the ideal and if He created man in His own image, then it would only stand to reason that these chosen mortals would be the closest reflection of His perfection—at least a great deal more than us lesser wretches. Well . . . either somebody’s fibbin’ or the all-knowing all- seeing creator of the universe has some serious fashion issues. I’m talkin’ about a ’come to Jesus’ pompadour, a twenty carat pinkie-ring, a white beaded jumpsuit, pork chop sideburns, and a Buddha midsection that would make even Marlon Brando blush!

Hey, if He drives a Cadillac and eats jelly donuts I’m movin’ to Memphis!


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