Postmaster Jesus

5/23/07


I don’t know if any of you out there have received one of these odd Christian mailings from churches nobody has ever heard of, but they seem to come to my house on the order of about six per month. I have my suspicions that one of my “friends” has, in their infinite hilarity, signed me up for shifty evangelical bulletins and for that, gosh I just don’t know how to repay them.

They’ve been coming for years, and up until last week the stand-out winner was a mailing with about 6 pages of oddly-fonted literature which mostly explained how to use the holy insert they had provided. Said insert was a piece of paper with a crying Jesus with his eyes closed and a crown of thorns upon his cranium. You were, and I’m not kidding here, supposed to either kneel on the picture or place it on your knees (large joints being very important for the holy magic to get flowing, I guess) and stare at the drawing. “As you stare at it you will see Jesus’s eyes start to open,” it said. It was a trick of artistry, because if you looked closely you could see eyeballs painted ever-so-faintly over the closed lids of the deity. All that was odd enough, but then you were supposed to ask God for what you wanted and mail the “Prayer Rug” as they called it, back to the “church” the next morning, like Jesus is the spiritual equivalent of blowing out your birthday candles.

I had that picture hanging in my bathroom for over a year and wish I still had it to show you, but this new round of gentile madness will do well enough. Instead of the shape-shifting visage of their lord and savior, this one included a “Prayer Handkerchief,” which is a bit grandiose for a piece of paper with a printed border:

Not only are you to, I dunno, chant and throw chicken bones on the hankie or something, but you’re to sleep on it and then mail it back the next morning, like some heavenly Tooth Fairy. But wait there’s more! After you mail in your God-kerchief complete with the appropriate form checking your particular prayer, there’s a “prophet package” you can then open (not a moment before, or else the leprechauns get you!) with important divinations for your life.

If used correctly, this talisman promises to grant wishes anywhere from inexplicably getting two checks totaling $6000 because…wait, what?!

To finally bringing you the ability to write drunken letters full of run-on sentences implying God did unspeakable things to your daughter which led her back to the glorious life of hooking:

Seriously the amount of sheer wordage per inch of paper here is astounding; I can only imagine there was a premium on paper here, as they apparently can’t even afford a computer to pump out mass-spam like any decent scam that torments you unmercilessly. I guess they spent their whole budget on blue markers for underlining. You can read it if you want to, but I thought I’d show you just one of the four fucking pages of reading material we’re talking about here:

This thing is long enough only to be useful as something to read while you wait for the end of time. I mean, sweet, merciful crap, it's like homework. I assume there’s some sort of hopeful message within the reams of gobbledygook crowding these pages, but about the only thing I was able to glean from it was that this “church” is really, really psychotically proud of being around for 56 years. Seriously, they mention it like twelve times. It’s probably a coded message for their followers to start hoarding the ammunition or something.

Now, if you'd just fill out this form and send it back to my blog, eternal life can be yours. Also, send money. Or breasts. Whichever.