I’ve got this nonsense-to-English translator almost working now, let’s see what we get…

The simple truth is well… simple, some things we will know when we see Him.

War is peace. Freedom is slavery. Simplicity is too complex to understand. Effort is meaningless.

To swill beer then theorize is good, but how many of you folks refine your identity this way?

I’m a teetotaler, but I still practice drunken character assassination.

Not that I am against theological discussion or education, or that I have found fault in your site, but I have begun to wonder what motivates folks who participate in public forums such as yours.

This new-fangled “computer” stuff is all strangeness. In my day it was fashionable to wear a potato on your belt! Of course, your motivations are open to question, while the motivation for me sending this email is self-evident.

When preaching a message the last thing needed is for us to do it to define ourselves.

“The name Sinn Féin (pronounced /ʃɪn feɪn/ in English, [ʃiːɲ fʲeːnʲ] in Irish), which means “ourselves” or “we ourselves,” has been applied to a series of political movements since 1905 in Ireland, each of which claim or claimed sole descent from the original party established by Arthur Griffith in 1905.”

If definition of “ourselves” is not the last thing needed when preaching, it’s certainly pretty low on the list. I’m mentioning preaching here as a random word-association thing, because I figure most of you have heard some preaching before. Also, turnips.

What is it you wish to archive in shaping the motivations of Christians?

[ Note: The Transgarbulator 3.11 beta suggests that “archive” should actually be “achieve,” but it’s only a beta, so I’ve told it to go with the translation as written, without making word-substitutions. ]

You’re Christians—most of you, anyway—and I flatly disbelieve your claims to enjoy conversation with each other, so I’m going to suggest some alternate, more nefarious motives for your ongoing participation in this site (as well as your refusal to properly wear potatoes on your belts). You’re attempting to brainwash Christians by forcing them to load the site, make the commitment to read backwards, memorize the dozen or so active players, and then “educate” them. And you archive it all! Clearly, this is subversive, so what are your demands?

I assume you consider the motivations of commenter’s secondary in preference to the material submitted if it makes for good discussion.

[ Note: The Transgarbulator 3.11 beta suggests that the apostrophe in “commenter’s” is misplaced, and the “secondary” is not actually a possession of a singular “commenter.” Even though it is still a beta, the sentence is completely incomprehensible with the apostrophe in place, so I removed it before feeding it back through the TG 3.11 beta in only moderately incomprehensible form. ]

You allow donkeys to speak truth. You allow people who have matured beyond the point of sending random critical emails to disinterested websites owners to participate in this so-called “discussion” you claim to be having. You allow people with impure hearts, and women, to speak.

Thanks for reading my e-mail.

The nurse is coming with my meds, I’ve got to run!

Good news for all you thinkers out there! Losing weight through exercise is all in your head! Here’s a quote from an article by Los Angeles Times writer Janet Cromley:

“In a novel investigation of the placebo effect and exercise, psychology researchers from Harvard University found that hard-working hotel housekeepers who were tutored on the fitness value of their tasks experienced marked health improvements. Within four weeks of learning that the physical demands of their daily tasks provided good exercise, the 44 room attendants lost an average of 2 pounds, lowered their blood pressure by almost 10 percent and logged statistically meaningful reductions in body mass index, body-fat percentage and waist-to-hip ratio, compared with the 40 housekeepers in the uninformed group.”

So, repeat after me, “typing on a keyboard is taking pounds off of me” and “blogging is lowering my blood pressure”. Feeling better? Me too!

Michael: I am interested in reading the story about protestants converting to EO, but the link isn’t working for me.

Kent: I share your categorical dismay. If you are submitting to the uncategorical categorization, then I will follow you into the categoriless abyss.

BUT I’M GOING DOWN IN A BLAZE OF GLORY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Smile, darn ya, smile…. You know this whole world is a good world after all… Smile, darn ya, smile…. And right away watch lady luck pay you a…

Chick Tract Translation
Well, today, we’re celebrating! And there’s nothing better for celebrating, I say, than what has got to be the single most depressing tract Jack Chick has ever put out. This thing would send the happiest person on Earth into a spiraling frenzy of depression. You should thank God for us at Translation Industries for having the equipment and machinery capable of taking on Four Angels.

Our story opens on a dark country road, where Maw is taking the four brothers somewhere very special… and since they’re in a Chick Tract, I’m assuming “special” means “like those classes that other kids got to take in school while I had to do real homework”. But seriously – Hewey, Dewey, Lewie, and Donald are all packed in the car, and Maw’s headed off to the revival to get ‘em all saved.

Little does Maw know, but there are four visitors with her, and they all have wings. No, M. R. Not Ducks. I know U C M wangs, but trust me… ducks don’t have chins. These guys have wings, chins, and robes. The only thing missing is the harp. At least God didn’t send the little naked baby angels to watch over these kids… although, in reality, apparently only one has been sent to watch over any of them… Henry. Fortunately, our friendly neighborhood angel is quick on the draw, grabbing snakes that are trying to kill Henry while he’s in the bathroom…

Wait a minute… snakes in the bathroom… Man…. change the bathroom to a plane, and get Samuel L. Jackson involved and I think ol’ Jack may be onto something...

Anywho, Lil’ Henry hears music and preaching and is interested. Angel #1 (we’ll call him “Jennifer”) gets a text message from God on his cell phone that Henry’s life will change in 10 minutes. Fortunately, both Jennifer and God are on Verizon’s “In” plan, so they get unlimited texting, so God can keep Jennifer up to date on Hank’s conversion-o-meter. 10 minutes later, lil’ Hanks on his knees joining the Independent Baptists, and so, apparently, are Hewey, Dewey, and Lewey. Finally, the other 3 angels have jobs, and since I’m bad with names and since remembering more names just takes up space in my brain I could reserve for cheat codes for Halo 2, I’m going to call them all “Jennifer”.

If you don’t like it, shut up, Jennifer.

It’s a good thing that the Jennifers are assigned, because the other 3 brothers aren’t exactly in a convertin’ mood. Fast forward exactly one day, and Hewey (aka “Frank”) has already gone through becoming a preacher and giving up the idea, complete with Satan claiming ownership. Jennifer left ol’ bipolar Hewey a long time ago.

Apparently, Jennifer’s not exactly in a fighting mood.

Let’s check in on Dewey. Dewey’s in the business world, and let me tell you, he’s at a top company. He’s the man with the plan. In fact, he’s sacrificed everything to get to the top. When his boss told him to stop being a Christian, Dewey said “Yes Sir” and kept on going to church, faking it, but stopped bein/aojral,gfd…..

Wait a stinkin’ minute. Aren’t there laws against that? Maybe it’s just my youth and inexperience, but in the nearly 20 years I’ve been a part of the workforce, I’ve never once been told, “You know, in order to be a part of the Taco Bell team, you’ve got to give up your religion”.

I dunno. Maybe Dewey works for Burger King. Anywho, Dewey’s Jennifer has hit the road, too, giving further creedence to the holy and sanctified concept of “deserting your post” and “deriliction of duty”.

So we’re off to Lewey… or the Reverend Dr. Lewey H. Duck. He’s a TV minister that looks like the love child of Robert Tilton, Benny Hinn, and Gomez Addams. Where Morticia is, I’ve got no idea, but ol’ Lewey is down wit’ the knowledge. Well, the porno knowledge. Apparently, lookin’ at a copy of “Juggs” was enough to send Lewey’s Jennifer packing.

Apparently, the Kingdom of God in the Chickiverse isn’t a fan of guys who look at porno mags, but Angels who abandon those who need them most is A-OK.

Anywho, so Lewey’s got him a full-scale TV Evangelism thing going on preaching the cosmic gospel of love. He’s pastoring a megachurch and is super-popular with the babes…. must be the ‘fro.

Finally, we have Hank. Hank’s not only grown up to be a preacher, but he’s off preachin’ on the rough side of town. He spends his evenings as any pastor in a low-income area would: bailing bums out of jail and trying to not get stabbed. He takes away income from pimps by preachin’ to hookers. The pimps respond with a strange level of nonagression by simply complaining.

Seriously – I mean, I’ve seen pimps in the movies, and the level of nonagression by these pimps is truly staggering. I mean, in the movies, ol’ Hank would be waking up tied to a chair in a room with the pimp, a guy named Endo, a car battery, a pair of jumper cables, and all the time in the world to learn the lesson “don’t convince the hookers to leave their pimps”. In the Chickiverse, however, pimps are apparently well-behaved enough to limit their complaints to a simple “curses – foiled again”.

Hank gets a phone call in the middle of converting a hooker in a diner, and is invited to the family reunion dinner. He refuses dinner but says he’ll show up later. Later, we find out that the reason he skipped dinner wasn’t because he’d already eaten a big slice of pie at the diner or because he was watching his weight… it was because his brother Lewey is a bit of a slut. Apparently, Hank has no problem sharing a slice of pie with a prostitute, but spending time with his Titlon/Hinn/Addams mutant brother is a bit too much.

Hank decides to witness to his brothers by using the tried-and true method called “Let’s accuse my mutant brother of being the spawn of Satan and see what happens”. Unfortunately for Hewey, Dewey, and Lewey, it’s about as effective as the Jennifers were committed. Before you know it – all 4 are dead and standing before the throne…. and only one of them is Independent Baptist.

Maybe they could’ve used more Jennifers.

He’s a cold hearted snake, girl… look into his eyes… uh-oh, he’s been telling…

The Chick Tract Translator
Greetings and salutations, long-term fans… it’s been a while, and let me tell you – it’s not been the funnest of whiles. Good ol’ Translation Industries has sat idle as much of their usual work was exported to Mexico, thanks to NAFTA. So when the next election comes up, you need to ask youself one simple question: do you want Mexicans translating Chick Tracts? Hmm… come to think on it – it may be an improvement. I’ll have to look into it. In the meantime, I present unto thee The Chaplain, and frankly, it looks like this place could use one.

Our story opens as so many of the great stories do: with three stereotypical vaguely-middle-eastern looking men screaming “death to the infidels” and expressing their faith with rocket-propelled grenades. Apparently, these are highly skilled vaguely-middle-eastern looking men with rocket-propelled grenades, because they’ve got the entire United States Army pinned down, fighting for their lives, only having enough time between reloads and opening fire to scream “Where’s your God now, Preacher Boy”.

Preacher Boy, in case you didn’t know, is the soldier who’s spending the battle on his knees, taking Petra’s “Get on Your Knees And Fight Like a Man” to a level that some may consider a bit irresponsible. Apparently, the United States Army disapproves of this fighting method, as they’d rather you point your gun at the bad guy and shoot them instead. This method of fighting also annoys the French Army, because it’s much harder to raise a white flag from a kneeling position.

Fortunately, God figures he’s tired of listening to the highly skilled vaguely-middle-eastern looking men with rocket-propelled grenades and sends a sandstorm that has the effect of chasing off guys who live in the desert. Let me repeat that so it’ll sink in: THESE GUYS – FROM THE DESERT – ARE SURPRISED THAT SAND CAN GET IN YOUR EYES. Fortunately, either the sandstorm was completely localized over the highly skilled vaguely-middle-eastern looking men with rocket-propelled grenades, or the Americans have some sort of anti-sandstorm device, because they’re just dandy.

Well, almost. See – 40 minutes later, happy-go-lucky Preacher Boy is busy talking to Thundera, Lord of The Rasslin’ Ring when they discover that one of their fellows has been shot. Bad news. Worse news: if they hadn’t waited 40 minutes to remark how bad the storm was, the guy probably would’ve lived. Silly soldiers.

Thor, however, is curious. Will the deceased go to Heaven? Preacher Boy delivers the bad news… nope. Getting shot in the neck was barely the beginning of his troubles as he’s now roasting in the fires of hell, being forced to listen to Robert Schuller’s sermons for eternity.

The horror. The absolute horror.

Well, this opens up the door of opportunity as Preacher Boy explains to Thor, Lord of the Rasslin’ Ring all about Jesus. At the same time, however, Satan has his own plans: he’s sending a new Chaplain – and we all know how evil those chaplains can be. Sadly, however, before Thor, Lord of the Rasslin’ Ring can join up with the Independent Baptists, they’re shipped off to the front lines where Preacher Boy immediately jumps on a live grenade, presumably sent to them by the highly skilled vaguely-middle-eastern looking men with rocket-propelled grenades (and apparently, non-rocket propelled grenades).

He doesn’t die immediately, as, say, anyone else who jumps on an exploding grenade would. Nope. He survives long enough to tell Thor, Lord of the Rasslin Ring, that he’d better get saved, or else.

4 days later, Preacher Poindexter arrives. When I look at ol’ Poindexter, I suddenly realize why the United States Army in the Chickiverse is so easily defeated by highly skilled vaguely-middle-eastern looking men with rocket-propelled grenades (and apparently, non-rocket propelled grenades) – they’ll take anybody. And by anybody, I mean they’ll take the gangliest, wimpiest, snootiest, weakest kids you ever beat up in junior high. Glasses, Aryan haircut, and a nose that sticks out halfway across the panel. He looks like the love child of Holston Cobblepot IV and Martha Stewart, but without the charming personality.

So Chumsley starts in on his message, which is apparently that all religion is good and all paths lead to the same destination – except the god of those highly skilled vaguely-middle-eastern looking men with rocket-propelled grenades (and apparently, non-rocket propelled grenades). Apparently, he knows this because he graduated from seminary with a degree in “Believe Whatever You Want” and a minor in “Looking Like a Revenge of the Nerds Reject”.

Sadly for Chumsley, Preacher Boy’s already religioned up the platoon, and even Thor, Lord of the Rasslin’ Ring is on his knees asking Jesus into his heart and joining the Second Independent Baptist Church of Tehran. Which is bad news, because we generally knows what happens to people in the Chickiverse who accept Jesus in a situation that could become dangerous in the next, oh, 3 panels.

On the way to the mall, Chumsley’s complaining about how he’s not reaching them. He has his degrees to keep him warm at night, but apparently, respect is a little short in the United States Army for a stuck-up, inbred, know-it-all snob who calls you a “religious terrorist” and refuses to sit next to you. That’s a real picky bunch, that Army.

Sadly, along the way, the highly skilled vaguely-middle-eastern looking men with rocket-propelled grenades (and apparently, non-rocket propelled grenades) have apparently learned a new skill: landmining. Boom. All of the sudden, Thor’s headin’ off to the joy of his Lord, while Chumsley’s off to listen to Robert Schuller for eternity – although word has it that Satan’s trying to work in some Osteen and Hinn for variety.

The horror… The absolute horror…

Michael: Any chance of the Tavern getting a cut of that there fund-raisin’? Seeing as how the old jukebox really needs to be updated, we really ought to buy one of those new-fangled ones that plays CD’s and get rid of this one that plays only 45’s.

Da na na na… Da na na na… Shake yo’…

Chick Tract Translator

That’s right, boys and girls… we here at Translation Industries return today with a brand-spanking new edition of the Chick Tract Translator, and sure to form, Jack has graced us with a brand-new tract called “Something in Common”. Frankly, I hate doing these types of tracts, because they’re actually what Jack Chick does WELL. It’s the simple Gospel, with no global conspiracies involving the Masons and the Catholic Church teaming up with the gays to send you to Hell with Christian rock music. But it’s why I’m here, folks… I’m yer freakin’ clown, here to entertain you.

That’s right. I’m just like Joe Pesci, without the money, talent, filmography, or stunningly good looks.

Our story opens with a few things we all have in common. According to Jack, we all eat, sleep, live somewhere, get sick, and die. On that cheerful note, Jack reminds us that we all have another similarity: we all come from the same parents. Although Jack does take the time to remind us that the parents we come from aren’t Jumbilla and Ook-Ook the orangutan couple, I’d just like to point out that Ook-Ook looks an awful lot like my dad.

But I digress…

We all come from Adam and Eve, but we also all come from Noah, his wife, their 3 boys, and their wives, which means we all came out of the ark. Goody. I can’t wait until Indiana Jones comes and discovers me in that big pit in Egypt with all those snakes and then they drop Karen Allen in on us and then there’s the cool guy who became Gimli.

That’d be cool.

Jack also tells us that we come in a variety of colors, which is kinda odd, because when I look at his comic, everyone’s white. Except the chick in the burka. We don’t know what color she is. Anywho – we also all have emotions. Yay. This is a perfect segue for Jack to ask us why we do bad things. He says it’s because we’re all sinners. Some of us lie. Some of us get angry. Others of us read the NIV. And it’s all Tarzan’s fault.

Yep. Tarzan. Him and Cheetah. Probably Jane and Boy, too. Johnny Weissmuller has led the entire human race to hell in a handbasket.

So Tarzan and Jane gave us all sin by honkin’ down on a couple of what appear to be pears with serious cases of acne. And the bad news is that all us sinners are headed straight to hell. We’re riding a giant arrow over a pit o’ fire… fortunately, there’s a way out. Unfortunately, this is where Jack actually preaches the Gospel, and I just can’t make fun of it.

Jack, ya done good.

Scott’s not the only translator of the Chick.

Bee-na-bow bee-na-bow… getchyachucka… bee-na-bow bee-na-bow…. Getchyachucka…

The Chick Tract Translator
Special Edition, folks… The Chick Tract Translator is back up and running, and all of the old translations are available at good ol’ 5minutewebs.com for your Chicky goodness. In the meantime, we’re going to celebrate with a funky lil’ pile of sexiness from good ol’ Jack T. Chick… “Caught”.

Our story opens in a seedy motel surrounded by demons, angels, and a lot of cars. Lots of cars… It’s like a freakin’ redneck front yard, except none of these cars seem to have cinder blocks supporting the axles. Meh…

Well, Roger and his babe o’ the evening have shown up at Motel Delight to, well… you know. Wink wink, nudge nu… what? You don’t? Oh, come on, man… a sleazy-lookin’ dude and his nervous, slightly cute girlfriend at the sleazy little Hotel DELIGHT. Yeah, I know everybody in town looks like they’ve checked in there, but hey… maybe it’s like, the only sleazy hotel in the Chickiverse. Have you ever thought about that? Huh?

Those poor little Chickians… only one single sleazy motel… You know, you can help them build new sleazy motels. All it costs is your donation of $15 a month. That’s right, for less than a cup of coffee a day, you can help ensure that these poor Chickians have a place to go when they need to get it on…

Anywho, Roger and his “love”, “darling”, or whatever pet name he’s made up for her, have made it to their Chamber O’ Lust for the big event. Unfortunately, they seem to have brought half the population of the Spirit World with them, as there’s four demons, a mangy terrier, and an angel with a Camcorder. That’s right… a camcorder. I guess Heaven’s ready for whenever Johnny Cochrane shows up.

Well, three hours later, Roger and his babe are eating dinner and a gu… wait a minute. They’re eating dinner three hours later? Uh… maybe it’s just me, and every other guy on the face of the earth, but I would think the Hotel Mattress-O-lympics would come AFTER paying for the woman’s meal. I mean, I’m no expert in the matter, but every movie I’ve ever seen on the subject says that gettin’ your groove on doesn’t happen until you’ve gotten your eat on.

I dunno.

Anywho, sadly for Rog, someone recognizes him at the restaurant and asks where his wife is. The unnamed woman Roger’s been dancing the undercover salsa with is shocked… How could he be married? Wow… it’s like, until this very moment, she didn’t even see the tanned spot where his wedding ring goes, the pictures of the wife and kids in his wallet when he pays for the meals, or the hunched-over dead-eyed acceptance of fate when she takes him shopping. It was right there all this time, and she just didn’t even notice it. So what’s a slutty little mistress to do?

Call up the wife of course.

Ol’ Rog gets a Dear Rog letter from Linda (his wife, not his babe), and Rog is ticked. How dare Linda (the wife) write a letter and tell him that he shouldn’t have bumped uglies with Jessica (the babe). Oh, and apparently, Rog hasn’t heard about birth control, because his next thought is of little Rogers running around getting half of Roger’s paycheck, but living with the babe. Poor Roger. Whatever shall we do to calm his weary, worrying soul?

Lock him in a room with a Fundamentalist, of course.

That’s right, Roger’s cousin Henry sends Rog over to visit the computer, organic-chemistry, and Independent Baptist theology genius that is our good ol’ friend Bob. Bob, of course, takes this as an opportunity to ask Roger what he’s been up to. Rog claims he met the babe at church, but Bob sees right through that, because Roger doesn’t attend the local Independent Baptist congregation. Bob launches into the story about how David screwed up with Bathsheba. Bob tells us about how adulterers are super-evil and will spend eternity in the lake o’ fire, and Rog is one of them. Can Rog escape in time? Will Bob’s super-duper witnessing technique of calling people “SINNER” while running around beating himself on the head with a whiffle bat save Roger from being eternally roasted on a spit over the burning juices of his own lustful desires?

Not bloody likely.

That’s right folks… ol’ Roger tells Bob to stick it where the sun don’t shine. Actually, he tells Bob to go to hell. Bob grins smugly, because he knows that Independent Baptists can’t go to hell… as long as they keep distributing Chick tracts in the bathrooms of truck stops across America. Rog finally tells Bob to drop dead. 8 weeks later, Rog drops dead and goes to Hell.

The morals?

1. Angels use camcorders. Probably nice ones, too, like Sony.
2. In the Chickiverse, dinner comes AFTER the illicit sex.
3. Never tell an Independent Baptist to go to hell, or you’ll die 8 weeks later.

Got it.

It’s Chick Tract time…like you’ve never seen them before! What if Mystery Science Theater 3000 riffed on one? Try this on for size...

...’cause… weeee are the champions, my friends… and weeeee’ll keep on fighting, ‘til the…

Special Welcome Back Chick Chick Tract Translator
That’s right, faithful readers… our new website is built, and all of the former translations done by yours truly are now posted. In fact, if Phillip happens to have a copy of his BVOV translation he did laying around, I’ll be happy to post it. In the meantime, Jack Chick’s been watchin’ the TV, and let me tell ya: that gay people gettin’ married thing just ain’t gonna fly in the Chickiverse. No sir. And no sooner than you could say “I now pronounce you man and man-wife…”, Chick gives us his newest: “Birds and the Bees”.

Our story opens, and good ol’ Ms. Henn from the anti-evolution tract “Apes, Lies, and Ms. Henn” is up to her heathen ways again. Not satisfied to keep the little boys and girls on the greased fire pole to hell through he insidious promotion of the idea that light may have taken more than 6,000 years to travel 14 billion light years… it’s time to make them gay.

Ms. Henn introduces her class to a couple of dentists… Larry, and his wife Charles… I don’t know, guys… you may be dentists, but I think even a first year med-school student would notice the giant cockroaches hanging out of your chest. I mean, it looks kinda painful and stuff. But I digress… Ms. Henn teaches her kids, under the state-approved cirriculum, that Larry and Charles are an ordinary loving family that God has blessed (despite telling Susy in the previous tract that mentioning God in class will get her little butt kicked by men from Tony Soprano’s family). No, kids… these guys are a normal family. Just think of them as 2 heterosexual men who like having sex with other heterosexual men. And great news – these two are adopting a baby next month, they announce as they stick tongues in each other’s ears.

Unfortunately for our happy little state-approved family, Lil’ Frankie has a question… “Are they queers, Ms. Henn?” Ms. Henn gets all a-flustered… How dare Lil’ Frankie call these two guys queers. That’s a derogatory term. Why – she oughta call up the Queer Nation and report him. The Organization for Queer Rights will have a field day with this kid. Ms. Henn forces Lil’ Frankie to apologize, and Larry and Charles accept his apology by telling them their master plan: To get everyone who doesn’t like gay people thrown in prison, where they can experience all the joys of ga…

No. No. No. I am NOT going there.

Fortunately for a few of our kids, they are now disciples of Susy from the previous tract. The Susyites decide to quiz their imperious leader on what they have been exposed to today. Suzy lays down the law, and lays it down hard. Yanks out a KJV and gets all Independent Baptist on they butts… Smacks ‘em down with a few verses from Revelation, and then slaps the taste out they mouth with the story of Sodom and Gammod… Gemmor… the story of Sodom. She warns them, “If anyone tries to make you Gay (capital G), step away from them.”

Remember – whatever you do kids: if you see someone gay, run away. You might catch The Gay. And once you catch The Gay, you’ll become a bearded, limp-wristed political activist with a dentist on your arm. And that’s if you become Lesbian.

Up on 110th street… woman tryin’

The Chick Tract Translator
Whew. It’s been a pretty adventuresome week as we here at Translation Industries, Inc. (“Better Translations for a Better Tomorrow”) took some time off in celebration of Easter. But fear not – the Translation Engine was working hard all that time to produce for you the highest quality translation to date. And if it isn’t, well then Michael Spencer will personally give you doub… no… triple your money back. He’s a teacher AND a preacher, so we know he’s loaded for cash. And if he isn’t, he will be. You know… once his televangelist program takes off…

Just think… hours and hours of SpencerVision®... The Spencer Broadcasting Network®... Spencer Prayer Towels®... Come on people, buy up. He’s got a daughter and son to send to college.

In the meantime, we present this week’s Chick Tract joy… The Bull. Now I don’t know about you, but when I pick up a tract entitled “The Bull”, I’m expecting to see cattle somewhere in there. But Jack Chick just isn’t in a barnyard frame of mind…

Our story opens up in prison, where two gentlemen are having a quiet, meaningful conversation about the state of criminal affairs and how best to rehabilitate the prisoners so that they’ll be functional members of society upon release. During the conversation, ideas are brought up, such as:

1. Education programs so that inmates can get good jobs upon release.
2. Psychological counseling to see if we can understand what drove them to crime in the first place.
3. Threatening to fire the warden.

That’s right… and not just any warden… this is WARDEN BLUE BAKER.

Blue.

The guy’s name… is “Blue”. Isn’t that an Ox’s name? Hey – maybe we will see some neat-o animals in this tract. I hope there are ducks. I like ducks. I wouldn’t name a duck “blue”. I’d name it “Donald” or “Daffy” or “L’orange”.

Segue to another prison, where apparently, there are bad things happening. Apparently, someone put “The Bull” in solitary confinement… cattle in solitary? Hmm… and as a result, an entire prison is destroyed. Wow. That’s pretty impressive. Most of the time, when I’ve seen cattle in solitary confinement, it hasn’t been in prison. It’s been in a barn, and the barn never got destroyed. The bull just kinda sat around and ate hay and pooped and mooed and swatted flies and then pooped some more. Lots of poop.

Since the prison is destroyed, you gotta have some place to keep the barnyard animals, so the bull has to be transferred to another prison… man. That’s a waste. Why don’t they just put him in a barn? Saying you’re transferring him to another prison makes it sound like the bull is actually the name of some stereotypical big, bald, muscular guy who’s the evil sinner who gets turned around by a tract in a Jack Chick com…

Aw crap.

Sure enough… “The Bull” gets transferred to Blue Baker’s prison (right as ol’ Blue’s havin’ himself a major coronary episode), and as soon as he gets there, guards are cowering before his bald might. He’s running around the prison, tossing the skinny prisoner who previous ruled the population off of the third floor tier. I’m not exactly sure how a skinny, lanky guy with a big nose could end up as the big guy in a prison population… maybe everyone else is on Weight Watchers.

But not ol’ Bull. He’s really let himself go since he was on “Night Court”. He’s gotten fat. And… according to him… “This is my prison” – apparently it changed ownership upon his transfer. He also hates everybody… which is sad, cuz we like him soooooo much. He loves to hear men scream in pain, too…

I, on the other hand, like ducks.

Meanwhile, judges are sending people to Blue Bake… oops. Sorry. Forgot about the change in ownership… Bull’s prison, and let me tell ya – they ain’t loving it. Apparently, spending the next 6-10 years under the command of a guy who could get his career going after spending 10 years saying, “All rise” for Harry Anderson doesn’t appeal to them. Maybe it’s the random tossings off the 3rd tier that’s bothering them. Meh.

Well, it’s about that time that the warden shows back up… and finds out that the prison ownership has changed hands. Naughty, naughty Bull. Just for that, the warden reclaims ownership of the prison and sends the Bull off to the Hole. Which isn’t quite as nice as it sounds. Ol’ Bull spends the next 2 hours in the hole reading “Somebody Loves Me”... 2 hours? To read that thing? I mean… have you seen it? The thing has a total of 7 words in the whole tract… Poor Bull. Apparently, he’s spent too many years near Dan Fielding.

The Bull immediately converts to Independent Baptistism, and calls up the chaplain, warden, etc. Before you know it, he’s forced Independent Baptistism on the whole prison, and people are begging to be sent there, because they’re tired of being bank robbers, murderers, rapists, and Methodists…

Just another example about how having a former TV-star gain a bunch of weight and get thrown in prison where it takes him 2 hours to read 7 words can change everything for the better. Yay!

In further news, today President Bush announced that Dick Cheney would be replaced by Barney Frank on the GOP ticket as the party scrambled to release…

The April Fool’s Edition of the Chick Tract Translator
We’re coming up on our one year anniversery ladies and gents, and let me tell ya… it’s about time. This week’s installment is, frankly, an uninteresting piece of Chick Tract called The Fool.

Our story opens with a king. King sits around all day on his throne and smiles a lot. Good for him. Unfortunately, this is the Chickiverse, and we all know that people in the Chickiverse who have prominent facial hair or long hair are intrensically evil. Well, guess what?

Yeah… I’ll save the surprise.

Anywho, King’s all happy and stuff… he likes the people in his court, including the big fat guy with a sword in his hand and a flower on his chest. A pre-hippy irony. He likes his subjects, who all seem quite content to live on the Sarengeti. Seriously, Jack… what are these people doing being under an obviously European king, and living in what looks like either a N’walbaku Mud Hut or something from the Apache? Context, man. Context.

But the king loved one person more than any other… he loved… his fool. His court jester. More than anyone else in his kingdom. Screw his wife. Screw his kids. No, this guy’s best buddies with his court idiot. Why, you may ask, would the leader of a people and the sovereign of a nation love his official kingdom moron more than anyone else? Because he makes him laugh. Hey – that’s a great reason. That’s kinda like President Clinton back in 1994 going to see “Ace Ventura” and saying, “You know – that guy Ace’d be a great advisor.”

Ace Ventura: Secretary of Keepin’ it Real.

Well, one day, the king has an idea. Which is good. Kings should have at least one idea in their reign. Tends to help their people. Unfortunately, this king’s idea revolves around his fool. So he calls the fool to the chambers and gives him a glowing stick, and tells the fool to find a bigger fool than he. Maybe he should think about giving the “golden wand” to whoever told the king that growing out his nasal hair would be stylish. Even better – maybe he should give the wand to some idiot who thinks that it’s a good idea to give a glowing stick to a court idiot to find someone who can do a better job than he does.

But that would be bad form. So the fool heads out to find a bigger idiot than himself. Lo and get hold: there ain’t none. Back at the castle, tho, the king suddenly gets sick. The court idiot returns to the castle and finds out that the king hasn’t joined the Independent Baptists yet. Sure enough, he hands the wand back to the king and tells the king that he’s a bigger fool than he.

Maybe not the best career move. But it does let Jack warn us on the last page that the fool may give us a glowing stick if we don’t join the Independent Baptists. Personally, if some guy comes up to me and says, “Hey – you’re an idiot, have a stick…” I may just take that stick. And then poke him in the eye with it. And then give his stick back to him, since anyone who’d insult me and then give me an instrument with which I could poke their eyes is obviously a bigger idiot than me.

Ugh… me Tarzan… you…

The Chick Tract Translator
Welcome back, boys and girls, to the Chick Tract Translator. While we’ve been off performing upgrades to our system – installing the latest version of Translator Industries Translate-O-Matic v. 4.38 Service Release 4b®, we know you’ve been waiting with baited breath for the next installment. Fortunately, Ol’ Jack Chick was kind enough to provide us with a brand-spanking-new tract to translate called “Apes, Lies, and Ms. Henn”.

Our story opens in a classroom filled with young skulls full o’ mush. The kids are in the midst of learning that their regular teacher, Mrs. Tucker, has just had twins, and they’re getting a replacement. Good Lord. Either the school system is REALLY slack in replacing pregnant teachers, or Mrs. Tucker must’ve given birth in the school hall about 15 minutes ago. Either way, the kids are fine, and you should make sure to send Mrs. Tucker a card. Make sure to include a Chick Tract in it, just in case Mrs. Tucker’s a heathen, lesbian, or Catholic.

Unfortunately for our classroom full of eager young minds, Mrs. Tucker has been replaced by Ms. Henn. Immediately, we know exactly how eeeeeeeevil Ms. Henn is because she either refuses to put an “r” in between the M and s in Ms., or refuses to acknowledge her worthlessness as a human being by calling herself Miss. Just like any good fundy. Nope. Mizz Henn is no fundy. Indeed… she’s… (Shock!) an evolutionist!

That’s right, gentle readers. Jack Chick has apparently decided that the 37 tracts and one comic book he’s already done on the subject of evolution weren’t quite enough to drive the point home… so, it’s time for a new one. One staring an evolutionist chick who looks like she’s in the midst of a serious attack of Taco-Bell® related flatuence.

Run for the Border, children… run for the border.

So, Mizz Henn begins her educational career by dancing through the tulips while explaining that one day, people will live in space. Silly woman. Doesn’t she know that humans couldn’t possibly live in space! What a maroon. You might as well say that one day we’ll land a pair of rovers on Mars that’ll take pictures of rocks and find signs of water and stuff. Silly twit. Especially silly since she takes this opportunity to indoctrinate the theory of modern-man-came-from-monkey-people. Doesn’t she know that we didn’t come from no damn dirty apes?

Fortunately, Suzy Barnes flies to the rescue. First, this little 8-year-old powerhouse of scientific knowledge demonstrates in great detail how her teacher is a liar. This, of course, sends Mizz Henn into yet another Burrito-Supreme® related “incident”... Literally shaking in her… well, since she’s evil and an evolutionist, she’s probably a lesbian, too, so… shaking in her combat boots, Mizz Henn accuses Suzy of breaking the cardinal rule of the school: “Thou Shalt Not Embarrass Thy Heathen, Lesbian, Flatulent, Monkey-Woman Teacher”. Suzy is instructed to “go back in there and keep your mouth shut – or else”, and being the good little girl, she complies.

Which is sad. Now Suzy’s probably headed to hell, because good fundies are supposed to point out how stupid evolution is at every opportunity. It’s in the Bible. Somewhere. Anywho… Mizz Henn puts on her best face, which she apparently stole from The Joker, and tells the class that everything is dandy in Heathenland.

But all is not dandy in Heathenland. All is not dandy indeed. Suzy’s rarin’ to tell her classmate Timmy that their teacher is nothing more than a big-fat-Chilito®-eatin liar. Suzy pulls out her copy of “Cosmological Thermodynamics and Quantum Theory” out of her Pokémon backpack and starts explaining to Timmy how evolution is wrong. This, of course, nicely segues into telling Timmy how his 8-year-old butt’s isn’t headed to the big 3rd-grade classroom in the sky… it’s headed for the big evolutionist-convention in the ground.

Yep. Suzy even explains to Timmy that he’s a big, fat sinner, because, and I quote, “Sin is when people do bad things”.

Let’s all wait a few minutes for Jim N. to jump in and lay some non-fundy theology on Suzy. We’ll wait, Jim… go ahead… (sips root beer… nibbles a pretzel…) Man, can you guys believe Duke is at the top of the South in the NCAAs? They had a worse record than the number 2! I call shennanigans. Duke is the single most overrated basketball team in the history of time. Mike Kysn.. Mike Chechef… The coach with the rug has got to be the whiniest little… Oh? Hi Jim. You’re done? OK. Thanks.

Suzy continues telling Timmy how he’s gonna die and burn in hell with Mizz Henn if he doesn’t join the Independent Baptists. Right Now. Cuz, you know, you could get run over by a bus on the way home… God will protect the roads on the way to the Local Independent Baptist Church, tho. Unless you’re gay… then, God can’t guarantee your safety. So, real quick so he doesn’t die and have to spend eternity with Mizz “I Love Big Beef Meximelts®” Henn, Timmy is on his knees joining the Independent Baptists. And it’s only then that Suzy explains why she didn’t lay out her Fundy-Fu on Mizz Henn. See, you’ve got to respect your teacher. Apparently by calling her a liar in front of the class and telling her she’s a-headed to hell.

if you’ll excuse me now, I’ve got to go respect a guy that cut me off in traffic…

In brightest day, in blackest night, no evil shall escape my sight, let those who worship evil’s might, beware my power…

The Chick Tract Translator – Special Super Happy-Family Fun-Joy “Passion” Edition
Gather my children, and you shall hear, of the midnight ride of Mel revered, and how he made a movie bold, but evangelicals made it cold. Missed the point, though some could say, that it all fell down on opening day, when right ‘fore their eyes, lookie, lookie, Mel Gibson sent us all The Death Cookie.

Wasn’t that nifty? It rhymed and stuff.

Our story begins in the midst of ol’ times, where Satan himself is offering advice, kinda like Oprah, but without the annoying bald guy. Homeboy’s wondering to himself… self, I sure would like to set myself up as the leader and ruler of all these idiot people, but I lack power, money, charm, good looks, and the general enthusiasm required for running for office… How, oh, how can I convince these suckers into following the great and all-powerful Guy With A Bad 5 O’Clock Shadow? Fortunately, Satan’s got an idea: forumulate a religion. Just convince them that you have the power to cast them into Hell, and they’ll follow you.

Satan’s even nice enough to show Mr. O’Clock Shadow how to do it, step by step. And now, for the first time in history, Translation Industries is proud to present The Satan Method to Success®:

Step 1. Appear very holy. According to Satan, speaking through Jack Chick’s tract, you can accomplish this by praying, being mysterious and different, saying things no one understands, and burning lots of candles.

Step 2. Build a holy work. Get a bunch of people to pretend that only you and them have these magical powers that can do cool things. This, according to Jack, will get you incredible power and riches. Not sure how “The Amazing Johnathan” got left out of this loop, but hey…

Step 3. Get the people to look to you for spiritual guidance. Be their pop. They’ll be your kids. Jack’s not saying it, but I think the best way to accomplish this is by giving them curfews and occasionally grounding them.

Step 4. The final and most critical step: give them a god they can pray to, touch, and see… like, say… a cookie.

A cookie… The Death Cookie… see the connection? Yep, Satan ain’t peddlin’ no wimpy Little Debbies® here: he’s peddlin’ a true Cookie of Death, straight out of a recipe from ancient Egypt. Make sure to use a lot of Latin-sounding words… oh, and make sure to tell them that if they don’t eat the cookie, they go to hell…

Yep. That’s Satan’s big plan o’ death for the human race. And you’ll never guess who he’s going to use to push it… no… really… guess… Aaaaahhhh… but master storyteller that he is, Jack ain’t spillin’ the beans just yet. He gives you more clues, like how “Mama Church” sets up a bunch of Jesuses… in a manger… on a crucif… I mean, cross… up in Heaven waiting to strike us dead if not for the intervention of his mama…

But the most dangerous Jesus… the absolute horror upon horrors… the one you should fear above all others… the Jesus that’s gonna come and kick your butt straight into hell if you don’t believe… is none other than…

The cookie. The Holy Oreo. The Sacred Nutter Butter.

Now it’s time for Jack to spill the beans… this story is really about… those darned Catholics. See… I told you that you’d never guess. You probably thought that a bunch of gay people were going to try to give you The Gay by forcing massive quantities of Snickerdoodles down your stomach. Nope… not The Gay this time. This time, the villian is that founder of Communism, Nazism, Islam, the Masons, the Illuminati, and the Rosicrucians AND the ones who were most directly responsible for the assassination of Abraham Lincoln: The Catholics.

Silly Catholics. Don’t they know that the Santified Chips Ahoy! can’t save them? Well, fortunately, Jack Chick’s here to remind us that salvation doesn’t come through a comination of flour, sugar, eggs, salt, maltodextrin, assorted nuts and chips… oh, and peanut butter…. Nope. Salvation don’t come through no dessert. It comes through the Independent Baptists.

Kinda puts Cookie Monster into a whole new perspective, doesn’t it?

“C” is for Catholic…

Just a reminder: If you need any other good reason to avoid watching “The Passion”, just remember that Mel Gibson is a Catholic and Wants You to Fry in Hell.

Oooohhhh…. can’t get enough of your…

Special Valentine’s Day Edition of the Chick Tract Translator
Heyhowdy, ya’ll! In celebration of that most wonderf… uh… fabuloo… uh… OK. I hate Valentine’s Day. I can’t even bring myself to call it anything positive. To me, February 14th is like Benny Hinn’s armpits – without the sweat. Or the stains on his shirt. But still… and in honor of this occasion, I can’t think of anything better than a good, old-fashioned “This is what love does to ya” story to get you out of the mood. So today’s special occasion Translation is of the special-order only tract “The Royal Affair”.

This little tale of love, romance, and good ol’-fashioned gettin’ it on begins as many Harlequin romance novels do: in a Congressional sexual harrassment investigation of some pompous Senator that looks like the love child of Colonel Sanders and Boss Hogg. Apparently, there’s secret videotape of him harrassin’ her, and sho’nuff… there it be. I mean, dang… when your own lawyer questions your integrity and calls you a dirty old man, you know you’re screwed. And it’s even worse when you go home to your wife “poopsy” and she’s got her own lawyer waiting.

Poopsy. Good Lord, who comes up with these pet names. Why would you call your loving beautiful wife the same thing you tell a 2-week old baby that he just made?

Anywho, Chick’s ready to rock on this one… we get a nice segue into… a Bible story.

Hey, remember when Israel was being terrorized by Goliath? Sure do remember that… that was what? June of 94? All the TV coverage – right before the OJ Simpson thing. You know, Jack… it’d probably be easier to tell us that “Back in the Old Testament Goliath terrorized Israel”, instead of trying to force the unbelievers who come across your tract to rack their brains thinking, “Hey – when was the last time Goliath was in the news? Wasn’t that the truck that went up against KITT on Knight Rider?”

Anywho… Goliath gets killed by David. David gets made King o’ Israel, complete with… dum dee dum dum… facial hair! OK – pop quiz, hot shots. What does facial hair signify in the Chickiverse? If someone has a goatee with no horns, are they pure evil, or just mildly evil and ultimately good? Right. So… one day, Dave’s armies are off fighting for him, while he keeps his lazy butt at home. He goes and stakes out a good spot at the starrin’ window and, lo, what should his eyes behold, but Elizabeth Taylor, circa 1959, and she’s taking a bath. Naked. “GASP!” David said out loud. He calls his servant and says, “Go get Liz”. “But she’s married,” the servant protests as he goes ahead and sets up Dave’s booty call. Liz walks in… Dave says, “I’d hit it,” and he does.

Jack, being real quick to spot a commandment breaker, immediately identifies three commandments Dave breaks by dinkin’ Uriah’s babe: he coveted her, he boinked her, and he stole her. Uh – stole, Jack? Doesn’t that imply that she didn’t want to go along? Last I checked, Liz… ahem. Bathsheba wasn’t exactly screaming for help, getting dragged up the stairs. Dave’s already ticked off God with this – I’m not sure God needs your commandment countdown for all the details.

Anywho… after knockin’ dem boots, a couple of weeks later, Dave’s weak-willed lily-livered servant comes in with some great news… they’re building a new McDonald’s… oh – and it’s gonna have a PlayPlace…. which is perfect, cuz guess what, Dave? You’re gonna need it. That’s right – Dave apparently skipped out on the widely available methods of birth control in the Middle East, which included condoms, pessiaries, medicines, and not screwing your best warrior’s wife, and now Dave’s gonna be a dad. Uh-oh…

“Gasp!” David says.

Dave puts two and two together and figures out that if Lizsheba’s hubby comes home and finds her on the 9-month weight gain and loss program, and then discovers a baby that strangely looks like his potentate… yeah, something’s up. So Dave makes his brilliant plan… send to the front lines. Go get your best warrior from the front lines – the army doesn’t need him – and drag his butt back here and force him to screw his wife. I mean – hey – what could go wrong?

“Hey – Uriah – great job on the war and all… to celebrate, I’m going to let you go home and sleep with your wife… heh heh,” says King Davey. “I mean, I could give you a medal, or promote you, or get you a nice new sword or something, but I’d rather hook you up with some sex, just like any other king would do.”

Uriah, however, refuses. “No, thanks, Dave. Nice of ya, but I’d rather not.”

Darn.

Next day, David decides to try one more time. Using the old, “Let’s get Uriah (who looks strangely like Cary Grant in the 40’s – what is it with Chick and the Golden Age of Hollywood, anyway) poopfaced and get him some sex.” Hey – it worked in “Porky’s” – it should work here. So after a couple of bottles of Mad Dog and Thunderbird, Uriah’s “HIC”ing all over the place, Dave says, “Seriously – Uriah… go get some, boy.”

“Heh heh… thanks, King, but I’d rather not.”

Dave looks shocked. “Uh… wha? Dude – I am your king, and I’m ordering you to go dance the bedsheet mambo with your wife…. THAT’S AN ORDER!”

Uriah, however, behaves like the prior incarnation of Al Bundy that he is, and completely avoids sex with Peg… I mean Liz… I mean… dangit.

So Dave’s out of options. Either Uriah comes home to discover that his wife’s been the box springs for the king, or we have to get him really drunk so he doesn’t remember anything and just stick him in the bed – oh, and do the hand in a bowl of water thing… that’s funny. But not Dave, no… he’s not quite up to the creative peak he was at when he wrote the Psalms. So instead of trying to come up with a really interesting method that doesn’t involve actually killing someone to cover it up… Dave chooses to kill Uriah to cover it up.

Uriah’s off to the front, and sure enough, he gets air conditioned quicker than a fat man’s house on the Fourth of July. David, being the cool cat that he was, decided that there was nothing better to do at a funeral than pick up chicks, and our newly-widowed Bathsheba be ripe fo’ da pickin’. Picks her up. Marries her. Everyone suspects that David has super-sperm because she’s immediately a month and a half pregnant. Everything kosher.

Uh-oh.

That’s right… God’s been watching. Just like that secret videotape that the Senator got hit with, God’s got a Sony Handicam and He’s not afraid to use it. God sends Nathan to tell David a little story about a shepherd and his sheep… “Fluffy”.

You. Have. Got. To. Be. Kidding. Jack.

Fluffy? You mean you couldn’t have named him something a little less conspicuous? Like “Sheep”? Or “This is the Poor Guy’s Lamb”? Come on, Jack… you can do better than this…

Anywho… Nathan basically shows David that God knew about the sexin’ it with Lizsheba all along, and David repents, loses a child, and everyone’s happy. Of course, Jack Chick takes a moment to remind us that if you, too like looking out your window at naked chicks and getting your servant to hook you up and then getting her pregnant and then sending her husband off to die because he won’t do the nasty – you’re gonna go to hell, unless you join the Independent Baptists right now.

Now, dangit.

Oooooooohhhh…. Mine eyes have seen the coming of the glory of the Lord… He is trampling out the…

60 Minutes Article Translator
Good morning, boys and girls. Please take out one-half sheet of paper, we’re going to take a short quiz. Today’s subject will be called “What Happens When You Let the Same Idiots That Thought Exposing Janet Jackson’s Booby Was A Good Idea Create an Article on a TV News Magazine Show About Evangelicalism”. That’s right – per the request of the board, today’s Translation Industries product is based on the article on 60 Minutes on 2/8/2004 called “Rise of The Righteous Army”.

Our article opens with Morley Safer reporting, and let me tell you – I feel Safer for Morley just being there. I mean, who else will warn us about the big, bad evangelical movement? And remember boys and girls – if they’re not a liberal professor from Harvard or Catholic, they’re all the same… they’re all just like…

Tim LaHaye. That’s right… the first victi… interviewee is that pope of modern Christianity, Tim LaHaye (oddly pictured right next to a picture of Kermit the frog getting kicked in the hemmerhoids that looks remarkably like Gary Bauer). He’s very confident that many people have come to faith in Christ and are on the way to Heaven. That’s great, Tim. And how do we know this? Is it because there’s a great revival in the land and people are falling to their knees in repentance? Is there a great desire to give to the poor and help the sick? Are people packing out churches for sermons on the nature of grace in salvation? Or – are you basing this on the fact that your books are selling well?

“Left Behind” sales figures – the Spiritual Barometer of our times.

And of course, in the LaHayeiverse, America is the central focus. Screw the Middle East. Screw the Mediterranian. Australia? Screw them too. The Book of Revelation is all about how America has been raised up to fight Satan. That’s right, gents… Satan vs. Uncle Sam in the title bout… Tough call… Uncle Sam’s tough and lanky, but Satan’s got the horns…

On and on the article goes… Now we’re up to talking about the rapture and how it’s going to happen. “BANG.” Like that, says Thomas Ice. Apparently, dispy pre-tribbers are pretty sure it’s going to happen, but they’re having a lot of debate as to whether artificial add-ons to the body will be permitted to leave Planet Earth in the rapture. Will Bob be in Heaven with his artificial arm? What’ll happen to it? Will the planet be littered with sinners, fillings, and artificial appendages?

And it’s bad news for you who don’t believe… to quote Mr. Ice: ”“That’s what the Bible teaches.”

Where?

“There are gonna be many Southern Baptists, for example, or many Presbyterians, or many Catholics, or people who are a part of Christendom,” says Ice. “But if they haven’t personally trusted Jesus Christ as their savior, even if they … a lifelong member of a church, you know, then they will be damned.” Let me translate this for you all out in Catholicville, Presbyterianland, and SouthernBaptistOpolis: You’re going to hell, because only people who believe in the Dispy stuff will go to heaven, where Terry Jenkins, Tim LaHaye, Gary Bauer, and Benny Hinn will all sit on the right hand of Jesus.

I wonder if Benny’s hair will be raptured…

Rev. Todd Wagner of the Watermark Community Church in Dallas confirms the damnation angle. So, just to confirm that this crap is what all Real Christians® believe – they interview the most highly recommended, intensely trained and screened Christian educators they can find, which includes an oil executive and three other unidentified people who we can assume are a pastor, a professor, and a lady that works the unmentionables counter at Macy’s.

But they’re sure of one thing: The rapture is in the book of Revelation. They saw it in there once. Really. No kidding. They’re positive. Absolutely. It couldn’t have been something created in the 1800’s. If it was, then God withheld that revelation from man for just a time as… well, the 1800’s, but certainly today. I mean, you never know when a plane’s gonna crash cuz the pilot and co-pilot got Raptured and stuff…

On and on they go, and somehow, the geniuses at CBS news somehow figure this into a way to connect it to President Bush. Apparently, President Bush is a dispy nutball, too, and he’s been called to invade Iraq because God’s bringing about the end times through him. I mean – it’s not about oil or human rights or treaty violations or WMDs. Bush invaded Iraq so that Jesus will come back sooner… cuz Jesus is just waiting for Bush to tell God that the time is right….

An’ a little bit o’ – uh uh – and a little bit a’ – uh uh – It’s gettin’ hot in here… so take off…

The Chick Tract Translator
That’s right fellow consumers at the brand-spanking new Boar’s Head Tavern shop. In the midst of your blue-light specials and beer steins, pull on up a seat for the latest… a delightful little tale of how bad drunk Mexicans really are called “Tiny Shoes”.

Our tale of happiness opens up in Mexico. Unfortunately, you, as well as I know that Mexico is peopled entirely with Catholics. And we all know what happens to Catholics in the Chickiverse, right? Well – it has been a while since I put one of these out, so in case you’ve forgotten, in the Chickiverse, Catholics all eventually die and go to Hell, but not before bringing about the antichrist through the papacy, masonic lodges, and communism.

Well, before plunging Mexico into the abyss, these two decide to look admire a field. “Juanito,” says Paw, “when I get rich I will buy this land for you.” Boy, won’t Juanito be disappointed when he discovers that the only way his dad will ever get rich is if he gets a job where he’s paid to be a drunken lying slob. Unfortunately, Mexican citizens can’t run for Teddy Kennedy’s Senate seat. Yet.

Fortunately for Pop, all Juanito really wants in life is tiny shoes to keep his ittle-wittle feetsies warm. Keep yer feet warm. In Mexico. I don’t know if Jack Chick’s aware that the sunny, warm California summers get sunnier and warmier as you head south into Mexico. I really don’t think keeping little’ Juanito’s feet warm is going to be a difficult proposition. Really. Which means that Jack Chick is trying to deceive us about weather in Mexico – or Juanito is a drooling idiot.

Daddiferoo jumps at the opporunity to keep his dummy kid’s feet warm. First, it’s cheaper than buying a bunch of land you can’t afford and don’t really want in the first place… and second, it’s even cheaper than buying the boy a set of shoes that he’ll only outgrow in a week and a half anyway. Unfortunately, Dad’s none too bright himself, and agrees that the boy’s feets needs warmths. So shoes – tiny shoes… it is. Tiny shoes. Like the boy’s feet aren’t ever gonna grow. Tell ya what, Dad… buy him a set of Reeboks in his current size, and then make him wear them for the next 3 1/2 years. I guarantee you, by the time he asks for shoes again, there won’t be none of this cutesy “tiny” crap. He’ll be ready to wear a size 14-EEE high-top for the rest of his life – just in case.

Juanito runs off to mom to tell her the good news. He’s a-gettin’ some tiny-butt shoes. “Your father is a good man”, mom replies. Unfortunately, mom’s unawares that Pops works with idiots who make it their business to take people’s money away on payday. A couple of beers… a fifth of tequila… and a game of poker later, and Dad’s turning the pinkslip to his car over. The next morning, Dad wakes himself up in the front yard and trudges into the Casa de Zapatas Pequinas, and let me tell ya – Juanito is ticked. Ready to lay the smack down on dad, Juanito calls dad a liar, while dad’s marinating in a 3-alarm hangover. Dad tells Juan to take his cold-butt feet elsewhere, and Juanito takes the opportunity to tell daddy that Jesus loves him.

No. Not Jesus Rodrigez. Jesus Christ. Frankly, I’m shocked that Juanito didn’t pull out a copy of Doom Town to let dad know that gay people are going to hell with all the Catholics. That night, Dad overhears his wife and son praying that Dad won’t get drunk and die without picking up Juanito a cheap-butt paid of tiny-butt shoes. Dad gulps in… well… honestly, I don’t know why Dad gulps. He just does. Maybe he’s taking a Sudafed.

Next week, guess what happens? No. Really. Guess. If you guessed “Dad gets his act together and buys his annoying child a pair of shoes to shut the boy the heck up”.... you’re wrong. Dad ends up broke and drunk and passed out in front of the local bar, where all people who drink alcohol eventually end up. Ever sipped a beer? You’re gonna end up passed out in front of your local bar. Ever gone to a wine tasting? You’re gonna end up passed out in front of your local bar. Ever tried the Jack Daniels Grill at TGIFridays? You’re gonna end up passed out in front of your local bar. Ever ran out of hydrogen peroxide and had to clean a cut with alcohol? You’re gonna end up passed out in front of your local bar.

It’s inevitable.

And in fact, if you’re lucky, you’ll end up just like Dad, whose name we finally find out is Juan. Boy, the creativity in the naming department at Chick is just phenomenal. Next time they do a tract with a French guy, I’ll bet they’ll come up with a creative French name, like Jaques, Pierre, or Please Don’t Shoot I Surrender!. Anywho… Juan takes the good-ole Southern Baptist approach and puts that woman of his in place. “YOUR place is in the home.” That’s tellin’ her Juan. Oh – buy the way, little Juanito walked on glass to get your attention. Could you do everybody a favor and either take the boy fishing or buy him some shoes before he does the hot-coals thing?

Welp, next week comes payday… and sure enough, here come Juan’s buddies to scam some more cash from their butt-up in the gutter friend. But Juan ain’t havin’ none of that. Not by his choice, really… See, Mom – who apparently doesn’t need naming – is busy praying for her son, whose little feet that we cut by his glass-walking stunt are now infected and making the boy sick as a dog. Mom takes a moment to pray that Juan can’t go to the saloon. God, who always answers the prayers of non-Catholic heterosexuals, responds by blowing the saloon to Hell. I’m not sure what they make saloons out of in Mexico, but I know that when lightning hits large buildings up here in the US, they don’t go “KABOOM”. Maybe the owner should’ve invested a little in asbestos.

So Juan is left with nothing else to do but to buy his sick stuntman-in-training of an idiot boychild a pair of shoes. Tiny, that is. Unfortunately, Dad’s out shoe-shopping at 1 AM and can’t come home because the bridge is out, which is unfortunate, because out little sick stuntman decides that 1 AM in a lightning storm is the best time in the world to go out and hunt for dad. Alone.

Yep. Juanito becomes wormfeed. Next morning, dad comes home to bring Juanito his shoes – tiny, just like he ordered, but unfortunately, Juanito developed a case of super-duper pnuemonia that took him down in a matter of a couple of hours. Of course, dad blames himself – and he should, the sot. But it’s cool. Juanito’s mortician is fortunately a member of the local Independent Baptist congregation, and convinces Juan that he’ll see Juanito again, but only if he renounces the pope and being gay. Juan does, and the Independent Baptists gain yet another fine former alcoholic turned Fundy.

Ding Dong, the witch is dead! The wicked witch? The…

Chick Tract Translator
Welcome once again, ladies and gents, to a new year of Weirdo and Fundy Translation goodness. This week, we’re celebrating the new year with Jack’s newest tract – published just in time for the new year. That’s right, people… Jack ain’t restin’ on his laurels. He’s got his movie done, and it’s back to the grind of churning out a minimum of two fundy tracts per year. This year’s first example is Lil’ Suzy, and let me tell ya…

Uh… Right.

Our story begins with a big-eyed little girl sitting around on a curb. This reject from Japanese Animation would be Suzy, who is, as the title suggests, lil’. She’s got big doe-eyes and a sunflower on her shirt. Ain’t she cute? Cute enough to send my stomach into contractions…

So Suzy’s just hangin’ out when her little frind Cathy comes along. Unfortunately, this isn’t the Cathy of comic fame. Frankly, I’d kinda like to see a strung-out modern man-lovin’ shopping-crazy feminist pop into one of Jack’s creations. And frankly, I think we’ll see that happening as soon as we see “The Far Side” do an all-Jack-Chick calendar. Which’ll be as soon as we see Garfield join the Assemblies of God.

So Cathy asks Suzy if she’s waiting for her mom. Suzy replies that she doesn’t have a mom. Were they divorced like Cathy’s? Nope. Suzy’s mom kicked off the mortal coil giving birth to Suzy, and Suzy’s dad took a dirt nap last year from too much Crisco. Cathy, apparently unaware of the boulder of bad luck that is Lil’ Suzy, decides to dump all her emotional baggage on the child who’s now targeting her grandpa for elimination. Smart move, Cath.

Cathy’s dad done R-U-N-N-O-F-T and married himself a T-W-O-B-I-T-T-R-A-M-P, leaving Cathy and her mom to come home every night, curl up in a fetal position, and have a good, old-fashioned boo-hoo. Cathy tries to sucker Lil’ Suzy into a boo-hoo, complete with a “Sniff” – in a very pretty font, I might add, but Suzy ain’t havin’ none o’ that, even though she does bother to shed a tear from her big Speed-Racer eyes at the travesty of being stuck after school with this little wuss Cathy. This little parent-albatross is a born-again Independent Baptist with a heart full o’ Jesus and a sack full o’ Tracts. Time to teach Cathy how to hate Catholics.

“I got a new daddy!” Gee… who, oh who could Lil’ Suzy be referring to? Cathy, being completely unaware shouts that it ain’t fair that Lil’ Suzy gets a new Dad and Cathy’s stuck at home with her bipolar mother. Good news, tho… Suzy’s dad can be Cathy’s dad, too. No – her dad ain’t a pimp – just in case you were waiting on pins and needles. The idea of having this icon of bad luck as her sister thrills Cathy for some reason, probably related to lack of sleep from her mother screaming “Why?” all night long. But Lil’ Suzy has another kicker – her new dad is her Grandpa’s dad, too.

No, this ain’t Arkansas, West Virginia, or a Medieval Monarcy. Strangely, inbreeding just doesn’t show up that often into Jack Chick’s work – but guess who does. That’s right – Suzy’s Dad lives up in Heaven… and He really loves us… and there’s only One Way you can meet him (Suzy says as she pulls out Jack’s “One Way” tract). Cathy, being completely clueless of the implications of asking someone to tell you Who this mystery person is in the Chickiverse, asks Suzy for the big details.

Suzy takes her cue. Christmas story (complete with Suzy’s cutesy doe-eyes when talking about Jesus being a little baby), how Jesus never sinned (complete with Cathy’s cutesy doe-eyes when she’s clueless about what “sin” is), and how Cathy’s daddy sinned when he hooked up with the neighborhood mattress (complete with Suzy’s cutesy doe eyes as she flies into an Incredible-Hulk-like rage). Cathy is, of course, frightened by her new friend’s bared teeth, ripping shirt, and green skin, and decides to steer the conversation away from her slut dad. “Does God see everything we do, Suzy?”

Yessirreebobarooney. That’s right, Cathy – you’re headed to hell in a doe-eyed handbasket, and you’re going to burn forever… without Jesus. Now, despite the fact that Jesus has barely entered the conversation up until this point, and then only making reference to Christmas, Suzy and Cathy are quickly able to have a complete conversation about the nature of the crucifixion. Cathy learns that the Devil killed Jesus, and she herself begins transforming into She-Hulk. Just wait until the new Mel Gibson movie, when she learns that the Jews did it… or the Romans… or… whoever. By then, she’ll be a ragind Independent Baptist with a firm knowledge that her name is somewhere in the Vatican computer in preparation for the apocolypse.

Anywho, Suzy finishes up her story, and Cathy – not wanting to be the evil child from “The Last Generation” tract – quickly falls to her knees and comes up singing Southern Gospel. Suzy’s thrilled. You can tell by her big smile and closed doe-eyes that are still doe-eyes when they’re closed. And the best news – now Suzy and Cathy are sisters and stuff. “I love you, Suzy,” our new little doe-eyed Fundamentalist exclaims. Awwww….

Should auld acquaintance be forgot and never brought to…

The Chick Tract Translator
Here it is, ladies and gents… The final Translation of 2003. It’s been an exciting year here at Translation Industries, as our Translation Engine moved from its original Beta Version up to 3.2 Service Pack 6a. Things just keep getting better and better as we’ve expanded from just Jack Chick to all manner of goofy things. And since we’ve got an election year, you can be certain to see Translations of popular candidates and movements.

But first…. I gotta take a whiz.

But even before that… we have one more translation yet to do, and this week’s recipient of Translationary Joy is yet again that bastion of Faith Movement Goofiness, The Believer’s Voice of Victory. Specifically, Gloria Copeland’s article in the upcoming January 2004 issue on “True Prosperity”.

Our article opens with that Doctor of Divinity herself, Mrs. Copeland, informing us that if we are to be prosperous, we must have a prosperous soul. This, ladies and gentlemen, disheartens me a bit. I’d like to be super-prosperous, but my soul doesn’t even have a checking account. To date, I’ve never received a credit card junk mailer for “Scott Ward’s Soul”. Of course, even though “Bart Simpson’s Soul” got some media attention a while back, I’m not sure financial institutions are in favor of setting up accounts for people’s souls. Of course, I may just have a rotten accountant.

But wait! Gloria quickly adds in a statement that I honestly never thought I’d see in BVOV: “God’s prosperity isn’t just financial blessings”. Wow. I mean…. wow. After two years of the Prayer of Jabez and the Lamentation of Jehubezel and the Cash Cow of Bill Wilkinson, I’m honestly shocked to hear a prosperity faith-movement preacher actually say that God’s blessings aren’t limited to cold, hard cash. Still, I have this sinking feeling that this ain’t gonna last. OK… pain in my chest has subsided… time to move on to the next sentence.

“It also includes healing, protection, favor, wisdom, success, well-being and every good thing you could possibly need—all the good things Jesus paid for you to have.”

Check. Jesus died to give me an XBox.

Fortunately, my path to XBox ownership and, dare I say… mastery… is easily attainable through a step-by-step process. Of course, it’s a seven-step process because seven is God’s perfect number, and Gloria is obviously close to the heart of God if she has a seven-step list.

First Step: Walking in Truth. Gloria gives us an illustration of walking in truth by telling us about her wedding. Two-buck veil. Handmade dress. Married at a friend’s house. Borrowed cash for a honeymoon. I don’t know about you, but I can see the connection between walking in truth and Kenneth’s cheap approach to marital bliss already. Fortunately, Gloria doesn’t just rely on bragging about how much cash she has now – she’s quick to add that you’ve got to follow the WHOLE Bible, not just the parts about God’s 7-point plan to getting rich.

Second and Third Steps: Faithfulness and Diligence. Gloria’s combined these two because they’re attached. Of course, she couldn’t combine them in her list o’ seven steps to mammonland because that would break the lucky-seven pattern. Gloria tells us that being faithful and diligent will force God to bless you. Step one: be faithful to God. Don’t go off worshipping Zeus or Thor or Oprah. Step Two: When the Bible says God will bless you, don’t go believing that God won’t give you that XBox – because God may have already given it to you, and if you don’t believe, God, in all his infinite power and blessing can’t give it to you because he’s got a little remote control receiver attached to his forehead connected to you. Remember: You control God. Hey, Gloria, since you control God, could you get him to get me a glass of milk while he’s up? Thanks.

Fourth and Fifth Steps: Tithing and Sowing. Of course, you know tithing would come into this. God won’t bless you if you’re not tithing. Tithing is like the batteries in the remote control that switches the channels on God. Stick in you AA-sized Tithe and watch the blessings flow. Of course, Gloria prints every verse she can think of on tithing and blessing, which of course, doesn’t include Deutoronomy. But it doesn’t matter. Just make your tithe payable to Cash, and slide it on over to Gloria and Kenneth. Don’t worry about filling in the dollar amount – they can do that for ya!

Sixth and Seventh: Believing and Saying. Of course, these have absolutely nothing to do with being faithful and diligent. They’re completely different. Now that you have faith that God can provide you, not only with an XBox, but also with copies of HALO, Dead or Alive Volleyball (With Naked Chicks), and Madden 2004, you’re ready to believe it. And while you’re at it, be sure to run around to all your friends and tell them how God’s gonna give you that XBox. Before you know it, your friends will buy you a used XBox from a pawn shop just to shut you the heck up, proving again how God meant for you to have an XBox.

Of course, none of Gloria’s plan for financial blessing explains Bill Gates – who, last time I checked wasn’t exactly on the Charismatic/Fundy List O’ Heroes. But that’s just splitting hairs. Jan Crouch’s hairs, to be exact.

Well, fair readers, that’s it for 2003! So sit back, have a sip o’ Scotch, and enjoy your new year celebrations. Feliz Nuevo Ano! Ariba! Yeehah! Yay. Yippee. Zippee. Skippie.

Meh.

Iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii’m dreaming of a….....

Chick Tract Translation
Ho Ho Ho, boys and girls… Santa Scott is standing on your roof with his mighty collection of eight reindeer (Rudolph is dead to me), and all the poop that those reindeer imply, and he’s bringing you the latest in the ongoing series of Chick Tract Translations.

Here at Translation Industries, we’ve noted a severe lack in the quality of our translations over the past few weeks, including that embarrassing peek into stupid family members last week. After some late-night technical brainstorming sessions and re-programming, we’ve located the problem, applied the patches, purchased the upgrades, and are currently ready to bring you the finest in Tract Translations possible, using the new Translation Industries Transtation Engine 3.02, Service Pack 3a.

Of course, that begs the question: why did we have to license our own software? I’m going to talk to the lawyers about that one.

In the meantime, as it is the season… that special time of year when people of all religions set aside their differences to celebrate the birth of Santa Claus, we bring you the latest in Chick Tract goodness… God With Us.

Our story opens as two skateboarding boys, complete with their cat sidekick, are standing around a street corner cursing. You know – the realism in these tracts just gets me every time… I can remember when I was a boy… hanging out on the corner with my friend Mike, our skateboards we couldn’t ride, and a cat… standing around, just looking for reasons to curse. Ah… childhood…

So, our two local kids are hanging out cursing, and frankly, they should know better. Don’t they realize that people who curse in the Chickiverse go to hell and fry forever with little demons poking them in the butt with pitchforks and laughing “Haw Haw Haw” at them for eternity?

Apparently not.

Forunately, Our Resident Hero®, Bob, is around to act like a good old geezer, and he takes the opportunity to correct children who are not his own from doing something that’s harming no one. Good for Bob. Apparently, he’s upset that they just took the name of the Lord in vain. Strangely, it appears that the name of the Lord in the Chickiverse is @!!!!, which is kinda funny… cuz I call him “Jesus”. And apparently, the name of the Lord is a widely-used curse word. Some examples from our first few panels:

“Where the @!!” alt=”” /> Get off my case!”
“What the @!!