A Rant, With Jesus Backing Me Up On This One
You know, ladies and gentlemen, I hate to turn this blog into a soapbox, but I have to bring up a sensitive topic: What happens to your child eight months after I perform an exorcism is not my problem.
I am paid to provide a service. When that job is complete, if your kid starts talking to onions or living inside your chimney, you know what? Break out your Discover card, I'm not Jiffy Lube, I don't top off your fluids if you pull back in within three thousand miles. Also, please, people, make sure there is some valid basis for an exorcism investigation before logging onto my web site. The following habits, when exhibited by a pre-teen, do not necessarily suggest the involvement of the devil:
1) smoking Newports.
2) stealing hair gel from Walgreen's.
3) rewinding to certain parts of Basic Instinct again and again.
Something else: house numbers, people, house numbers, make them large and make them visible. Nothing makes me look stupider to Satan than packing up the cassock and the purple stole and the holy water and standing in front of your driveway for fifteen minutes trying to figure out if that's a one or a seven.
Now, when I show up, kindly remember that there is nothing in the Roman Ritual about a dress requirement for priests. Personally, I happen to have a fondness for NASCAR-themed ballcaps and sweatpants with Ziggy on them. Your kid's gonna get levitated whether I wear a white collar or a fruit sombrero, dammit, so stop with the criticisms!
Finally, since I'm the one who printed up the coupons to begin with, let me assure you I am well aware that they say a failed exorcism entitles the bearer to a free regular roast beef sandwich at a participating Arby's. But it bears no mention, no mention of french fries!