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Published December 05, 2008




“Excuse me, sir, may I have a moment of your time?” The man at the door appeared to have just stepped out of a time warp, dressed in an old suit and bowler hat. His brown suit was rather non-descript save for the rather out-of-date-ish-ness of the style. He carried a rugged suitcase and his shoes looked as though he had worn them every day and all the way from 1920s <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" />America to my door. He looked like Elmer Gantry and he talked like Elmer Fudd.

    “How you doin’ sir, fine afternoon, yes sir, mighty fine, say, I was wondering if you would be interested in buying a piece of world history for next to nothing. Real cheap, and if you have a moment, sir, I’d love to rest my feet, and if’n you don’t mind the imposition, sir, I’d love if you could scare me up some sweet tea. After you see here what I have to show you, I reckon you’ll not see it as an imposition at all.”

    It was a direct approach. I hate direct approaches. “What are you selling? I’m a busy man. Don’t let the pajamas at two in the afternoon fool you.”

    “Fair enough my good man, fair enough. Have you ever heard of the Temple of the Holy Mount, the Temple of David, the end of days and the coming of the anti-Christ?”

    “What outfit are you with? I’m not looking to be saved.”

    “I ain’t here to save you. What you do with your ever lastin’ soul ain’t no concern of mine, no sir. I’m in sales, a man of business and trade and I’m here to sell you a piece of the action. Get you in at the ground floor of the end of times. They’re rebuilding the temple. Archives are being found and un-archived and a council is bein’ put in place. Yes, sir, it’s a-comin.’ Picture this sir, some where within the rebuilt holy mega-structure that is the realization of gods holy Revelation to John and his prophecy to man, a brick, but not just any brick, sir, a special brick with your name on it. Picture it ‘this brick brought to you by, your name goes here,’” he says to me with a wide-eyed smile while promptly producing a marble brick with a religiously themed script and the name John Doe. “We got some sponsors lined up and if you buy in now I can have your brick placed next to the Google wall.”

    “Are you selling advertising space on the Temple of the Mount? What the hell are you talking about?”

    “Armageddon, it can’t happen until the temple is rebuilt, and rebuilt it will be, it must be, my fine gentleman. And how would you like to tell your kids that you, you sir, helped usher it in for only a small contribution made in three easy payments. And we probably won’t call it the The Temple of The Mount. It will probably be called Pepsi and the Last Generation Armageddon Center for Multi-Religious Togetherness. That names not final, but it’ll be some thing grand like that. Can’t you just see it sir.”

    “What? Isn’t that togetherness the final war? Why would I want to tell my kids I had anything to do with that, and I don’t have kids. Why would I even want to have kids, if the end of times is coming? Isn’t this self-defeating if it can’t happen until it’s built why would I want to build it. And didn’t Jesus kick the money changers out of the temple? How would he feel about corporate sponsors?”

    “Ah, you say ‘potato’ and I say ‘sweet potato pie.’ And shoot, it’s a-gonna happen. It just must happen. The Bible says that it will happen in the generation that sees the Jews return to the Holy Land, and that happened in 1948. It’s happenin’, yes sirree, it’s a-happenen’. And I think Jesus died for capitalism. And I suspect that the anti-Christ is among us now. I reckon it’s that Frenchman Szarkosy. Just like them French and the European Union, opposing our wars and wantin’ us all to be a One World Government. What a way to thank us for W-W-II, by raising the Anti-Christ, yes, sir, some thanks.”

    “Don’t you want the Ant-Christ to come to fulfill the prophecy? You’re making no sense.”

    “America first, sir, don’t want the second most important figure in world history to be a frog. Shoot, that job should go to an American, a red-white-and-true American. Hey, we should call it Freedom-geddon, what do ya think of that? Freedom-geddon, that’ll teach them no good froggies to meddle in our affairs. How about it, sir, make a contribution, get your name on the wall. I’d love to tell you that you’ll be immortalized in history, yes, sir, I probably should tell you that, your name written in stone, so to speak. But the point is to hasten the end of the world, so your immortalization would be short lived. Might as well write your name in the melting snow. No one ever said I wasn’t honest, honest as a log.”

    ‘That doesn’t even make sense, ‘honest as a log,’ doesn’t a log only lie? Pun intended.”

    “How ’bout it? Donate today. Be part of the last tomorrow now.”

    “Not interested, thank-you.”

    “How about a vacuum or a set of fine encyclopedias?”

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