Well, Joe and I went to watch the faith healer in action and we saw hundreds of MIRACLES which give testimony to the healing power of GOD'S LOVE. Hundreds of cripples were able to walk. Dozens of blind people were able to see. There was even one guy who had been beheaded, and THE LORD grew him a new head right there in front of everybody! It was amazing!

Seriously though, it was one of the most disgusting spectacles of the avaricious stealing from the gullible that I have ever seen. By the time we got there Benedum was *packed* with gullible fools. As soon as we walked through the door we were handed an "offering" envelope. We went to the wheelchair and cripple section near the front, where we noticed that the ushers were gathering data on each person and putting it on a card. This gave me an idea: what if I told them that my name was "Mike Hock" and that I had terrible sores that I wanted THE LORD to heal, and suppose that I later claimed that THE LORD had, in fact, healed them. I could imagine the faith healer joyously telling the congregation "My cock's sores have been healed, in JESUS' name!" Unfortunately though, the cards were for crippled people only.

By this time the service had begun, with a typical troupe of Fundie musicians and singers sporting the typical comical Fundie musician hairstyles (fluffy, very very fluffy) performing some typical Fundie gospel songs. We circled around the auditorium looking for a place to sit down, running a gauntlet of helpful ushers thrusting "offering" envelopes into our faces. There was no place to sit downstairs, so we went to the balcony as soon as it was opened, skillfully dodging the bales of "offering" envelopes thrown at us by the determinedly helpful ushers lining the stairway. We went to the front row of the balcony, since that is the best place in the auditorium from which to shout obscenities and watch the cripples fall out of their wheelchairs when they try to walk. Finally, the singing ended and the performers sat down so that the faith healer could start his routine.

This guy, Morris Cerullo, is the kind of guy that, if he were trying to sell you a car, you would instantly think "Watch out. This guy is a Swindler, A Con Man. I'd better hold onto my wallet!" You would think this. That is why he preys upon Fundie Christians, because once they are in a congregation they don't think at all. He is short, overweight, has slicked back black hair. Probably the best word to describe him would be: Oily. When he isn't shouting he has this annoying whiny singsong voice. He started out with the usual pleasantries about how beautiful Pittsburgh was and how wonderful the people of Pittsburgh were, and then he swiftly proceeded to the main topic, the reason why he came to Pittsburgh, namely: the "offering" envelopes.

"I want you to hold your offering envelope *reverently* in your hands" he said. "You, Sir, over there. Please stop reading your Bible." he sternly admonished. "Now is the time for you to hold your offering envelope." He started spouting Bible verses: "The plougher shall overtake the reaper!","And Isaac sowed in the land and received in the same year (somebody say 'same year') an hundredfold!" He told about the enormous expense of putting together a "crusade" such as his and how he needed everyone to donate at least $100, if possible. He said that the Lord told him that 1995 is the year that God will fulfill his promises. He told them to write the letters "FA" on the "offering" envelope, "FA" standing for the "Financial Annointing" that the Lord will provide for his people..Then, for good measure, he repeated all the bible verses again. The implication was clear: If you expected the Lord to work miracles on your behalf then you damn well better pay *in advance*.

Well, after witnessing the sorry spectacle of the "offering" envelopes, Joe and I felt pretty disgusted so we left for a while and walked around the corner to the adult book store and the massage parlor there. Just seeing the prostitutes made me feel better, as if being in their presence were somehow ritually purifying me of the filth I had encountered at the faith-healing mindfuck. We decided to go back and catch the end of the sevice. When we got back, ol' Morris was striding back and forth in front of the stage, speaking in tongues and whacking volunteers from the crowd in the forehead so that the Holy Spirit could enter them and take control of their bodies, after which they would be lowered to the floor in an apparently catatonic state and stay there until the ushers would lift them up some minutes later. It was hilarious: "She me no la kath me le ka. TAKE IT, IN THE NAME OF JESUS!" Whack. Flop. Repeat. He announced that the Lord had told him that, tonight, tumors had disappeared and arthritis had been cured. He told all the people who had arthritis to "stand up and do those things that you could not do before," and at the top of my lungs I shouted out "OWWWWWWWW! THAT HURTS!" He ordered all the "former" arthritics on stage and made each one jump up and down and run around, much to our amusement. Unfortunately though, none of the people who had been confined to wheelchairs were walking and jumping. I guess the Lord didn't love them. We got so sick of hearing Jesus get the credit for the so-called healings that we started shouting "HAIL SATAN" and "BLESSED BE THE PRINCE OF DARKNESS" during each testimonial. There was one good thing which I was able to do, though. One aisle over some woman had brought her children to view the proceedings, and her daughter was emulating what all the adults around her were doing: raising her arms in the air, swaying back and forth, and saying hallelujah. I gave her a look of such disgust and pity that she just withered and sat down and didn't do a thing for the rest of the service. Maybe by showing my disapproval I saved her from becoming a Fundie Christian. One can only hope.