After a hard dayâ€™s work my Fred Winebibber and I were knocking back a few beers and watching the Right Reverend Billy Roy Bobâ€™s Hour of Holy Righteousness and Blessed Salvation just for laughs. Billy Roy Bob was in fine fettle as he dished out the usual fire and brimstone.
â€œSay,â€ said Fred, â€œIs Billy Roy Bob the one that had the affair with the prostitute?â€
â€œNo, that was Rob Billy Roy,â€ I replied.
â€œIs Billy Roy Bob the one that had the Disneyland for Jesus and the old lady that looked like she put on makeup with a backhoe?â€
â€œNo goddammit. That was Bob Billy Roy.â€
â€œOh, I guess this guyâ€™s the one that had the gay affair and the meth habit?â€
â€œNo for chrissakes, that was Billy Rob Bob.â€
â€œWell goddammit,â€ he shouted. â€œThen who the hell is Rob Roy?â€
â€œHow the hell should I know? Itâ€™s probably somebody in a book. Who else would have such a ridiculous name?â€
We settled back into our chairs and Fred and I snickered as the ushers heaved out the collection tubs in order to gather plunder from the elect.
Billy Roy Bob started to make his pitch. â€œDig deep, friends. Everyone knows that everything we have belongs to the Lord.â€
Fred and I exchanged a laugh as we sorely doubted the money would be deposited into an account held by Jesus Christ.
Billy must have noticed more than a few in the crowd were withholding their â€œblessingsâ€.
â€œCâ€™mon now,â€ Billy piped up. â€œI hate to keep harping on it, but everybody knows Jesus talked more about money than anything else.â€
â€œThatâ€™s the biggest load of crap Iâ€™ve ever heard,â€ I exploded.
â€œFor a non-believer, youâ€™re a little worked up, arenâ€™t you?â€ said Fred.
â€œAw, even Jesus doesnâ€™t deserve being sold like that.â€
We grabbed another couple of beers and itâ€™s a good thing we did. The next act of the show really knocked our socks off.
The multitudes lined up in front of Billy and he proceeded to tap each one on the head. They immediately fainted and fell into the arms of some ushers who laid them on the floor (probably after relieving them of their wallets and purses). I must admit, the stricken looked quite peaceful and refreshed upon regaining consciousness.
Fred was really impressed. â€œJesus,â€ he intoned. â€œI wish I could do that to my old lady.â€
â€œWhatâ€™s that?â€ I said.
â€œCâ€™mon man, how many times have you come home drunked up from the bar and had to listen to the old lady handing you a ration of crap?â€ What if you could just tap her on the head when she started in on you and sheâ€™d wake up a few minutes later feeling ever so happy and refreshed?â€
I admit it; a 10-watt bulb was burning dimly in the back of my head. â€œBy God, Fred, you may have something there.â€
â€œThink of it, man. Do you realize how many problems in our pathetic lives could be solved with a tap on the head?â€
â€œCranky old lady?â€
â€œTapâ€™er on the head.â€
â€œKids wonâ€™t go to sleep?â€
â€œTapâ€™em on the head.â€
â€œTapâ€™im on the headâ€”twice!â€
â€œWeâ€™ll be rich!â€ I shouted.
â€œRich!â€ Fred echoed.
After several more beers we had a plan. We quit our jobs and pooling our money together, we followed Billy Roy Bobâ€™s next crusade with his traveling circusâ€”uh, Mobile Salvation Unit.
After we had repented and been baptized 37 times each, we were accounted worthy enough to enter Billy Roy Bobâ€™s presence. He wasnâ€™t too hot about the idea at first, but when we reminded him the tons of money weâ€™d make (which belonged to the Lord) he jumped in feet-first.
We used Billy Roy Bobâ€™s TV show crew to make an infomercial and bought up tons of late-night TV time, and watched the money rollllllllllllll in. Six months later Fred and I were reminiscing while wearing tailored suits and sipping martinis in a penthouse apartment.
â€œSix months, man. Six months ago we were derelicts that barely had two nickels to rub together. Now look at us. We could bathe in money.â€
â€œYeah,â€ said Fred, looking a little nervous. â€œI wonder what Jesus thinks about it?â€
â€œWell,â€ I said piously, â€œJesus talked more about money than anything else.â€