DATELINE: 11/14/01 HBO was running a hard-hitting investigative documentary on strippers earlier tonight. For some reason, I changed the channel. Maybe I felt guilty, or maybe I just hadn't heard enough bigoted garbage today, but whatever it was, I found myself watching The 700 Club. Pat Robertson was sitting to the right of the screen, joined hands with a couple other holy people. All three of them had their heads bowed and eyes closed. The guy to the left of the screen was talking about how somewhere out there someone's arm was messed up and Jesus was healing that pain right now, helping them bend their elbow. Then Robertson said there was someone out there who had a "hairball in the lungs" and God was getting rid of it. They were going to cough it up any minute now. Then the lady in the middle said that God was helping someone with their stuttering problem; that Jesus was just going to clear that up. Also, a person whose head stuck forward too much, causing a deformity, well, that would be OK too, with God's healing powers. And then Robertson said the oddest two words I have ever heard in such a context- "Twisted toes!" he cried out. Someone watching had toes that were tangled around each other and at that very moment, God Almighty was straightening those toes right out. The phalanges were unfurling like a bunch of blowout party favors. Undoubtedly ending someone's career in the circus. Hallelujah! Could Robertson's power of prayer was also work miracles for Siamese twins, bearded ladies, dog-faced boys or human blockheads? "I see... someone... someone... a microcephaly! That's right! A pinhead! Yes, and right now, the power of Jesus is expanding the skull, and the brain is growing to normal-size, and by the love of God you're gonna quit drooling all over yourself." But what if someone's toes were miraculously becoming untangled? Suppose there was another person with twisted toes out there in TV Land who wasn't getting squat. How terrible he must feel! If only he had cared enough about God to send a little more money, he would have straight toes, now. But no, he didn't pledge with his conscience so now he's damned to hell and his feet are still fucked up. Could the 700 Club do other things for the feet? Would they heal blisters, corns, ingrown toenails, fungus, and bad odor? Can Pat Robertson make my second toe shorter than my big toe? How about an all-out pedicure? While he's at it, can he say a prayer for my acne, dandruff, seborrheic dermatitis, back hair, and bad cuticles? Would he help someone with bromomennorrhea or scrotal elephantiasis? What if we send him enough money? Or does it have to be something so uncommonly bizarre and horrid as twisted toes to make it a miracle? I suspect I'll never afford to find out. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a hairball to cough up. You see, I've been doing a lot of self-grooming lately. Crack columnist Todd Merriman (booguerilla@earthlink.net) can light a cigarette with his deformed arm stumps.
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