Dr. Braveheart

AmazedbyGrace

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In case the forum your links originate at dies, you might want to cut/paste the actual posts for posterity :)

I don't have a lot of confidence in the future of that forum.
 

AmazedbyGrace

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Just Me,

I just read your post on the HAC forum. I will try to post the actual posts later tonight.
 

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AmazedbyGrace said:
Just Me,

I just read your post on the HAC forum. I will try to post the actual posts later tonight.
Thanks ABG!!  Cut and paste was not working for me.  Had lots of errors in the text for some reason.
 

AmazedbyGrace

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It is that the texts have been corrupted over time. I will fix what is obvious but some will read badly. The point will still get across.
 

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Dr. Braveheart #1: What to do with False Accusers

I’d like to introduce to a caricature of any given IFBx pastor I created named Dr. Braveheart. He was specifically patented after another Dr. from Okc which shall go nameless. After all, I would hate to incriminate Jim Vineyard with this creation. Enjoy:

Many of you know that I travel a great deal during the week, preaching hundreds of sermons at various locations. Because of my vast exposure, I receive many questions from pastors seeking guidance all across the country.

For example, this past week I received a letter from a pastor that said: “Dr. Braveheart, a lady in our church visited with me in my office recently, and claimed that one of my staff members had sexually assaulted her. As a man of God, what do I do?”

Worried,

Brother Nervous


My response to him was as follows: Brother Nervous, don’t worry, Satan attacks the church like this all the time. A few years ago we had a couple in our church named the False Accusers. One day I was sitting in my office studying the book of Revelations in both Greek and Hebrew when Brother False Accuser walked in and asked if we could ‘talk’. I could tell immediately that something was bothering him, as he wore a long face.

I tried putting him at ease with a joke. “Brother False Accuser, a rabbi and a priest walked into a bar one day, and the bartender looked at them both and asked, ‘What is this, a joke?’” When he did not crack a smile, I knew it had to be something serious.

“Brother, what is the matter?” I asked.

He apprehensively began, “Sir, I—I think that my wife has been sleeping with Brother Fornicator,” he confided with great heartache.

Once he had made this accusation, I told him not to say another word. I picked up my phone, paged Brother Fornicator at his desk, and told him to come into my office immediately. When he arrived, I asked Brother False Accuser to relay to him exactly what he had just told me.

False Accuser shifted uneasily in his chair across from my desk at the recommendation, apparently fearful of the confrontation between himself and Brother Fornicator. Nevertheless, he said, “This might sound crazy, but I found this letter in my wife’s night stand the other night,” he explained while producing a crumpled note from the pocket of his khakis. “It reads, ‘I had a great time with you the other day, it just keeps getting better and better with you Pamela. Love, David F.’” As he finished reading the note, False Accuser’s face turned a reddish tint, and he diverted his eyes straight into Brother Fornicator’s.

The growing tension had to be broken, so I stepped in. “Brother Fornicator, did you write this note?”

“Absolutely not,” he replied quickly.

“All right. That’ll do. Go along and get back to work now,” I motioned him away.

False Accuser held an incredulous look on his face, seeming rather confused by the quick exchange. I began to counsel him with the Divine ability the Lord has so graciously blessed me with.

“Now, Brother, I completely understand what you’re thinking right now. The natural explanation would be to suspect Brother Fornicator of sleeping with your wife. But I’m afraid that is just not the case here. You see, Brother Fornicator is one of the best soul winners this church has ever known. Just this past week he personally led 5 people down the aisle to get saved. He gives a rather sizable amount of his paycheck every month to missions also. The man reads his Bible all the way through 3 times a year. He prays for two hours every morning before leaving for work. Here is where the rubber meets the road. Are you still with me?”

He nodded.

“If Brother Fornicator were guilty of what you have suspected, then there is no way that God would be blessing him as he has,” I stated.

He kept nodding, as he allowed the logical explanation to take root in his mind.

I continued. “What it appears to me that has happened was your wife forged a fake letter for you to find. Maybe she feels you’re not paying enough attention to her, or maybe she’s just trying to slander another brother in Christ. I’ve seen this happen all the time. Women often come forward while a church is flourishing and accuse ministers of adultery. My personal philosophy on the subject is that whenever a church is on fire for the Lord, Satan will bring forward liars to tear it down. It is one of his oldest tricks.

Let me ask you a few questions about your wife, Brother. These may not be easy to answer, but try your best. Maybe together we can pinpoint where she has gotten off the path to righteousness.”

“Okay.”

“Has your wife been praying every day like she should?”

“She prays every morning and every night, sir.”

“Has she been reading her King James Bible every day as she should?”

“Yes sir, 7 chapters a day.”

“Has she been knocking doors seeking new converts as she should?”

“Umm.. well, truthfully, she has not been soulwinning the past couple of weeks,” he conveyed while slightly lowering his head in shame.

“There you go. She’s not been doing everything God has commanded her to do, and in doing so she has allowed the devil to come into her mind and plant wild slander in her head, all in an effort just to get your attention. Go home, love on her, pet her. Then put your foot down and let her know that you’re not going to tolerate her writing inflammatory things about men of God! Okay?”

Brother Accuser got the message loud and clear. “Yes sir, this makes so much more sense now. Thank you!” he gushed.

That’s all it took to defuse such a potentially explosive situation, Brother Nervous. I hope your question has been answered sufficiently.
 

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Dr. Braveheart #2: "Thou shalt not have a bawl!"

This story was based around an actual occurrence in which Jim Vineyard chose to counsel a struggling college student. The young man saw his mother shoot and kill his father when he was, I believe, 13 years old. When this guy spoke with Vineyard about this terrible trauma, JAV asserted that he was merely rolling around in his misery, or the 'mud.' He acted typically: cold.
And that's the general backdrop for the second of this series:


Some of you feminists and feminized men out there may not care too much for the following account. I don’t know how many times I have heard my critics say that I’m not sensitive enough. Bless God, I am a man and I don’t see the need to be sensitive. I see the need to speak the troof in this troubled world, no matter what the cost. Now that we are understood.

This morning a young man walked into my office with a rather sorrowful countenance. I humbly and delicately asked him what his stinkin’ problem was.

Dr. Braveheart. When I was11, I..I uh he gulped hard while fidgeting with his hands, my father came home drunk and got into a fight with my mother. The fight ended with my mother being beaten to death with a baseball bat. Then he began bawling like a baby searching for mother’s milk. I allowed him to carry on for a little while with his sob-fest before I interrupted him.

Son, how do you think God feels about your self pity? I asked him.

He lifted his head up and looked at me with clouded eyes, and a quivering lip.

I continued. You need to stop feeling sorry for yourself. How old are you son?

Twenty.

Well then, God doesn’t want you to be bawlin’ about something that happened 13 years ago.

It’s been nine years, sir, nine years today, he cautiously corrected. This day always reminds me of the hardest day of my life.

Look, back when I was a boy I tended the pigs on my parent’s farm. One thing I noticed about them pigs was how much they liked to roll around in the mud. I’d clean those sorry things off with a waterin’ hose, and it wouldn’t be 10 minutes later that they were coated in mud again. You’re no different from those pigs, son. All you are doing is wallowing around in the mud.

He quietly listened as I cast my pearls of instruction before him.

I hope that once I clean the mud of self loathing off of you today that you will refrain from diving in again when you leave my office. Now, let me tell you that there is not a soul alive today that has not had to overcome some sort of adversity in their life. Not one. And you know what? I’ve had to overcome hardships. Can you believe that?

He slowly affirmed my question with a nod.

Back when I was a boy I had older brothers who constantly abused me. They would pinch me. They would throw me into a pond. They would sit on my face after a meal of baked beans and corn bread. They would give me noogies. They would box me, without the courtesy of boxing gloves. They would hold me down and tickle me until I lost control of my bladder. They would shoot me with their bb guns, usually hitting me in the groin, which on a side note, was where I believe that I developed a resilient pair of brass cajones. Having said all that, I never once felt sorry for myself. Despite all the God awful mistreatments my brothers dealt to me, I knew then that they were doing it in an effort to shape my character. Little did they know what kind of character I would become.

The young man allowed a glimpse of a smile to crawl upon his face. By all outward indications it appeared that my personal anecdotes were rattling around inside his head, causing him to evaluate his own life. And that is a blessing to this preacher.

Son, you need to be a man. I’m a man. There is no doubt about my manhood. I don’t need to walk around with a tattoo on my forehead proclaiming the fact that I’m a man. You, unfortunately, need some help. You have got to learn how to control your emotions. If you don’t learn how, than you’re no better than a woman. Do you want to be a woman? I asked.

He shook his head no, but with little enthusiasm.

Are you sure you don’t wanna be a woman. All I would have to do is make one phone call and we could get you surgically fixed. Lemme ask you one more time, I said slowly, Do you want to be a woman? I stared deep into his eyes.

Sir, no sir! he shouted.

Great. Besides, those kinds of operations can be very pricey, I claimed with a bit of a gratifying sneer. If you have any more problems in the future don’t be afraid to stop by. My door is always open, and my tape recorder is always rolling. He understood.

Get along now, son, I have a crossword puzzle that needs some serious attention
 

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Dr. Braveheart #3: "The Inherent Handicap of Mennagod Critics!"

This morning I was skimming through the mountain of fan mail piled high on top of my desk. Each week I receive an astonishing 2.9 letters from various folks all around the world. Trust me, it’s not easy keeping up with the mass volume of letters when you’re already busy doing the Lord’s work of protecting Issruhl’s land from crooked politicians and bloodthirsty Islams! But the Lord never promised me life on easy street. Or did He? No, he did not.

(Note: Let me express my sincerest, most heartfelt apology for failing to capitalize ‘he’ in the above sentence no, he did not. This oversight of not capitalizing a pronoun personalized for our Lord and Savior has triggered an intense feeling of regret within me. From here on out I will do everything I can to prevent such a blasphemous omission from ever happening again. Amen.)

Are you still reading? Hello. As I was saying, here I am sortin’ out my mail. I am wearing rubber gloves and spreading a thin coat of poison detection upon the envelopes. Every envelope I handle must first be tested for anthrax. You never know what kind of a nutjob out there would be so cruel as to send this mannagod a virus. Over the years I have assembled a collection of enemies. My take on this matter is due to the fact I so boldly and consistently preach the word of God. The word of God is a highly controversial book. When I preach the Bible week in-week out, it makes some people mad. Sometimes people get so mad at me for what I say that they want to fight. Can you imagine that? This soldier used to box in high school, and rip out the intestines of enemy combatants on the battlefield. Angry people realize they could not fight me in a fair fight, so they would resort to sending air born viruses through the mail. It hasn’t happened yet, but I’m not willing to take that chance.

As I read the letter before me, it appears that dealing with critics just so happens to be a question on a certain preacher’s mind. Lenny Schmaltzliquor, a converted Hindu and pastor of a small country church in Los Angeles, asked me the following question:

Dr. Braveheart, during the past 3 weeks I have been preaching on the subject matter of Hell on Sunday nights. One of my church members does not agree with my teachings, and has threatened to leave if I don’t quit preaching on the topic. This man is also one of the largest financial givers in the church. What should I do?

He needs an old fashioned gulp of instruction from the fountain of Braveheart.

Lenny, son, you cannot allow the fickle moods of your church family to influence your decision to be faithful to preach what God has led you to preach.

A little while back the Lord impressed upon my heart to bring a message on the follies of Bush’s Middle East Roadmap to Peace policy. To make a long story short, I summed up what I thought of Bush’s policy by telling him that he could go to hell. I figured this was an appropriate response to his meddling in the Lord God of Issruhl’s affairs. Scripture is explicit when it talks about those who interfere with the land of Issruhl. After the sermon, a dumpy middle-aged man approached me down by the altar, wanting to talk.

He told me that even though he agreed with my evaluations of Bush’s foreign policy, he could not justify the harsh language I used. He said I should not have given into the flesh by cursing George Bush.

I nodded with him respectfully, fully understanding where he was coming from. Sir, how long have you been a queer? I questioned.

He reacted as if someone had shot a cannonball into his belly. Excuse me? he replied.

How long have you been a faggot? I continued.

It was around this time that he began growing defensive- for some strange reason. Observational truth makes people feel defensive, I guess. I don’t appreciate the accusation, sir. And frankly, I think you’re purposefully dodging my opinion of your coarse language by questioning my character!

Oh really, I demanded. Sir, I’ve been in ministry for a long time. It didn’t take me long to figure out that whenever someone felt compelled to confront me about something they didn’t like about my sermon that they were more times than not a homosexual, said I, with raised eyebrows.

He responded with a speechless, irritable gaze. From that point on we had a bit of a staring contest, one that lasted roughly 29 seconds. This gentleman broke the line of eye-to-eye contact first when he fell over dead from a heart attack, brain hemorrhage, and leprosy. It was an ugly sight. But the Lord was good that day by ridding the church of a sodomite.

Lenny, you can’t sell a box of curly fries on my opinion. Buy having said that you better take it to heart because it will save you heartburn later on down the road. Tell this fella who has a problem with your preaching that he can prepare a message to bring on a Sunday night service sometime-since he thinks he can do a better job of preaching God’s word than you. If he takes you up on the offer, and actually takes the pulpit to preach, let him speak for roughly five minutes. Immediately cut him off once five minutes passes. Then tell the congregation of your deepest regrets for having to silence him because of his promiscuous practice of homosexuality. The stinging revelation should neutralize him into silence for a few moments. Capitalize upon this quiet time by explaining how God cannot bless a church with this type of sinful behavior in its’ midst. No matter what he says from that point on, you are the pastor. Who are they going to believe? A queer? Or a mannagod?

No need to thank me. It is my honor to share with you all the knowledge God has given me over the years. Freely I have received, and freely I will give
 

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Dr. Braveheart #4: Are we in the End Times?

Please don't take this too seriously. Otherwise, enjoy:

Are we in the End Times? I cannot begin to explain how many times this preacher gets asked that question. My typical response to that question is DUH! Take a look around, dummy!

As a mannagod, it is my duty to research prophecy. This generation deserves a mouthpiece for such a quizzical, cryptic subject. I fill this role selflessly and gladly. However, I have great concern for preachers out there who are fascinated by all things prophecy. There are many more topics in the Bible besides Scripture- er.. I mean, prophecy. Relevant topics like abstaining from britches (women!), studying the King James Bible only, wearing short hair (men, hello!), and boycotting the picture shows can all be beneficial for believers to follow. I guess my biggest problem with the know-it-all, paranoid kooks is that they fail to understand we truly see through a glass, very darkly.

We also live in an age where uninspired scholars of prophecy can poop out a fictionalized piece of entertainment and sell millions upon millions of copies. As a child a God, you shouldn’t be wasting your time and money reading those ridiculous Left Behind books. I’ve never read them, have no desire to read them. I refer to them as proph-IDIOTIC books, because if you read them you’re nothing more than an idiot. I know some of you out there sitting behind your computers are squirming right now. You should be!

This mannagod cannot tolerate it when somebody takes a pure and holy book such as the Bible and fictionalizes it so that they can make gobs of money. Since when does God’s word need to be fictionalized? God forbid when Tim LaHaye and Jerry Falwell stand before the Lord and answer for writing such nonsense.

(When my secretary proofread this letter, she discovered my error of mentioning Jerry Falwell as a co-writer of the Left Behind books. She informed me that Jerry Jenkins is the correct co-author of the series. I asked her how she knew this if she’d never read them. She responded sheepishly. Just by reading her body language (oh the equipment she has!) I could tell she had purchased and read every one of those god-awful books. After I finish writing this we will schedule a book burning session in front of the church).

Coming back to the original question: Are we in the End Times?

Here’s exactly what I know, nothing more:

President Bush is the anti-Christ. I know some of you Christians out there believe this man is saved. I’m sorry to break this news to you, but you must wake up! Recent studies have brought to light that the original number of the son of Satan from the book of Revelation is actually 616, not 666. Taking this into account, we find that the numeric values of the name George W. Bush equal 616. Hang on, let me explain. His first name George contains exactly! six letters. His middle name is W. One letter. Here’s the kicker. Even though he spells his last name with only four letters, Bush, there is strong evidence that shows when his family first arrived in America from Wentzshchloshinville in 1744, their proper name was spelled Busche. And for those out there who aren’t mathematicians, Busche has 6 letters. Hence we have the grand total of 616. I couldn't make this up if I tried!

If some of you are actually surprised by this startling revelation, then you probably need to know that Santa Claus is not real also. In the Bible we are warned that the anti-Christ would be able to fool even the elect if it weren’t for the rapture removing Christians from this planet. When I sit back and view how many professing believers think Bush is saved, I shake my head in grave concern.

He has cleared the way in Iraq for his future reign. By the end of ‘08 the country will be in such a mess that he will promise to come in there and clean it all up. The Iraqi people will be so tired of all the chaos and violence, and so new to the concept of free elections, that they will be manipulated into voting for Bush. I predict Bush will also grow a mustache to look more ethnic. Once he becomes Iraq’s, or should I say, Babylon’s future leader, he will then launch nukes at the sleeping whore, America.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. Before any of this takes place, there must be a strong coalition between the aliens (otherworldly, not illegal), Catholics, liberals, and Islams. We currently refer to this secret group as the Illuminati. Once they’ve unmasked themselves wait, hold on. Before this can take place, this part is very tricky, mind you. The asteroids in the atmosphere must be perfectly linear in the 29th galaxy from Saturn. And even then the conditions can only be met when the pixie dust from the Aurora Borealis depicts an outline of the Star of David battling with the pentagram of Satan. As this celestial phenomenon occurs, tidal waves will rise and submerge the land of Australia. Every living thing on that land will perish except for the Tasmanian devil’s souls. These horrific spirits will consume the living flesh of the earth’s inhabitants for approximately 144,000 hours.

I recognize there are some of you out there who will be unwilling to follow my reasoning. That’s fine. I won’t lose any sleep at night based upon your feelings about me. But you must be warned that I have spent an incalculable amount of time studying the entire Bible frough-from Genesis to Exodus and beyond- to find these hidden truths. If you don’t take my words seriously, I predict that you will remember them someday as the Tasmanian souls gnaw on your flesh like a piece of fried chicken.

Before I go, this upcoming Sunday afternoon we will gather as a church family around a bonfire and toast marshmallows over burning Left Behind books. Look forward to seeing you there.
 

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Dr. Braveheart #5: Iraqnaphobia

Now is the opportune time for missionaries to go into Iraq. The conditions are ripe, much like it was 15 years ago in Russia. Since Russia is no longer headlining the news, I feel that Iraq has become the most ideal country for missionaries to surrender their lives. Now listen, I’m not so stupid as to say surrendering to Iraq as a missionary would be safe. The constant freat of violins… excuse me, violence, cannot be discounted. There is always that fear of being kidnapped by insurgents. What an awful shame that would be. Especially the media circus that would directly result from it. I would feel completely uncomfortable if one of my church’s missionaries were to be kidnapped and I had to be interviewed about it. I would hate all the publicity of writing a memoir detailing how I intervened on the behalf of the kidnapped, and how I led a force of specialized troops into a hornets’ nest of gunfire, explosions, and Islamonazis, all to rescue Christian missionaries. I absolutely could not handle the Hollywood premiere of this inspirational story coming to the picture shows.

Maybe I’m getting a little ahead of myself.

Not too long ago our church had the privilege of sending one of our precious single young ladies to Iraq as a missionary. She voluntarily surrendered to this foreign land of sand after 2 years of gentle recommendations on my part. For the past 4 months this young lady has been there and God is blessing the work in great and mighty ways! (if this were not true, I wouldn’t have used an exlamation! point!)

Patty Cake has been staying with the Haagen-Dazs family during this time. Brother Haagen-Dazs was the first recruit sent over to Iraq as a missionary from Witch Hunt Baptist church. He, his wife, and two children arrived six months after the “shock and awe” campaign ended. It’s a blessing to this preacher when Patty calls me and reports the progress being made in spreading the gospel to the rag heads.

Unfortunately, the last word I received from Patty was troubling. When the Lord is building a great work, you can count on the devil planting hisself in the midst of it to cause division:

“Greetings Patty,” I emphatically began, “ how’s everything going?”

“Everything is going just great here, preacher,” she replied.

“So how many Islams have you had saved this past week?” I questioned, getting down to real business.

“Oh.. well, it’s been kind of slow lately. We haven’t had a profession of faith in almost… I think it’s been 11 days now.” Her tone drifted from relatively positive to disappointed.

“Now, now, now, don’t lose sight of your mission. God opened the door, God brought you there, and God is taking care of you. If you get down in the dumps it does not bring glory and honor to the Lord. I’d recommend you suck up your bottom lip up before you trip over it,” I compassionately urged.

“You’re right, Dr. Braveheart, I completely agree,” she acknowledged, as my blunt advice momentarily lifted her spirits. “Preacher,” she continued, “I have something that’s rather difficult to say.. something I’ve wanted to tell you for a long time but have never brought myself to say.”

My ears pricked up, and I placed my elbows on the edge of my desk in anticipation for whatever confession would soon spill from the mouf of this young lady. “Hang on a moment,” I commanded. I opened up the top drawer of my desk and retrieved my tape recorder. This might be good. Then I placed her on speakerphone so her voice could be adequately detected.

“Sorry about that. Now go ahead. Remember, this will stay confidential, kept only between the two of us,” I said before pressing down the record button.

She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Sir, Brother Haagen-Dazs has been making me feel…” another deep breath.. “uncomfortable.”

“How so? Has he been making you sleep on the floor again? You know I told him to let you sleep on the sofa that this church so graciously provided.”

“No..no. It’s not that,” she paused. “He’s been making inappropriate contact towards me that cause me to feel…” her voice trailed off as she could not find fitting words.

“Patty, you know that I am here for you. I care about you. I pray for you every day. I love you like a stepchild. Okay? Now, tell me exactly what it is that Brother Haagen-Dazs has done.”

She gradually began. “The other night I was just falling asleep when he walked into my room and…CENSORED…TOO HOT FOR THE FORUM’S EYES OR IMAGINATION…”

I sat up straight and leaned back in my swivel chair, while rubbing my bald dome. “That is a rather serious allegation there, Patty.”

“I know, sir. I wouldn’t have ever thought he could do such a terrible thing..”

“I realize you’re under enormous pressures right now. It is very difficult to be a single young lady, especially with all the hormones begging for attention from a male,” I thus began my diagnosis of the situation.

“Huh?” was her reaction.

“It is quite natural for a female of the tender age of 24 to crave a relationship with a man. But just because Brother Haagen-Dazs is the closest thing doesn’t mean you should pursue him. He’s happily married. Probably has a fulfilling, vibrant sex life also. Their two children confirm this.”

“Now just a minute,” she tearfully interrupted, “I don’t think you heard what I said.”

“Oh I absolutely did! I’ve heard tales like this all the time. Here’s what I think happened. Because of the close proximity you have with Brother Haagen-Dazs, and the lack of other white men nearby, you have fooled yourself into thinking that you want to be with him. You’ve probably batted your eyes at him, given him a wink and a smile. Who knows? But I think he caught on to your overt flirtations and shut you down. When he did this you were crushed. So you gave the devil a foothold in your mind by giving in to vengeful fantasies in an effort to get even with him. That’s why you told me this lie about this dear Brother in Christ. You ought to be ashamed.”

A prolonged silence on the other end. “Patty, are you still there?”

She sniffed back tears, but did not respond. “Look, I realize that it’s also quite hot over there. The reports I’ve heard from my connections in the armed forces say it can get as hot as 130 degrees. Maybe I’m wrong, just don’t quote me on that. Perhaps your story of Brother Haagen-Dazs is not a reflection of your animal lust for him. Perhaps the blazing heat has created a realistic feeling mirage in your mind. You’re probably also homesick, and that doesn’t help matters much either.”

“You really don’t believe me?” she asked while wiping her eyes.

I thought for a moment. “I believe there are a number of possibilities to explain what you told me. But I don’t think Haagen-Dazs really came into your room and groped you. He’s just not that kind of a person.”

“I want to come home,” she confided.

She wanted to quit on God, I thought. This made me hotter than deep fried camel’s breath. “Patty, bless God, you’ve not listened to a single thing I’ve said today. You’re frough! You can find your own way back home. You’re not going to get any help from me, or any other supporting church that sponsors you every month. You’re absolutely worthless!”

I hung up and slowly collected my composure. “That’s that,” I mumbled to myself.

I sat there and seriously pondered what had just transpired. How really hot is deep fried camel’s breath?..
 

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Dr. Braveheart #6: Adios Rickey

God has surely blessed me with a wide arrangement of patience, resolve, wit, charm, boldness, good looks, stamina, meekness, humility, and other notable qualities found only in true men of God. Oh how the sweet fruits of the Lord’s blessings abound! There are 3600 members on the church roll, 500 foreign missionaries supported by our church members, thousands of annual conversions and baptisms, and on top of all of that, a flourishing school and college.

My heart skips a beat just thinking about the richness of God’s blessings that pour so graciously upon this mannagod’s ministry. With that said, sometimes it’s difficult for Dr. Braveheart not to get irritated by the idiotic waste of space known as college boys. Case in point:

An hour or so before Sunday night services a young man entered into my office kingdom. I was vigorously reviewing my sermon notes and illustrations on my 3x5 cards. He tapped on my open door, and I invited him in. When I looked up from my desk it appeared to me that this young man had been crying for some time. Traces of dried mucous was visible beneath his nostrils.

Brother Braveheart, (sniff, sniff) you’re never going to believe what my roommate (sniff) did last night, he said as he wiped his bloodshot eyes.

I leaned back in my chair and crossed my arms against my hulking, barrel chest. I made up my mind that I wasn’t going to press him to reveal anymore. So I waited. And waited. He just looked at me, and I looked back. Get on with it, bless God.

Time is money. He wasn’t proceeding.

Fine, son tell me, what did your roommate do last night?

Sir, there’s uh.. there’s been some hard feelings between us for the past two weeks (sniff). I’ve uh.. I’ve been dating his ex-girlfriend.

So.

Well..

Who is she?

Plain Jane Frumpy Bottoms.

Mmm-hmm.. yes, yes, Miss Plain Jane. I recognized the name. If it’s whom I’m thinking of I’m pretty sure she’s a cow. This fella’s judgement must not be very good.

The thing is I’ve tried my hardest to be a friend to Jerry, but he’s having none of it.

I sat forward in my chair and stared at this kid. Son, are we going to get to the tearjerker part of this story anytime soon?

Early this morning I found Rickey floating in the sink. He didn’t get the last word out of his mouf before he burst into a sobbing mess that would make Tammy Faye jealous.

And what the stinkin’ flip is Rickey? A blasted fish?

He (waahhh) was my (sniff) hamster!

A hamster, I repeated with disgust, that’s what this is all about?

The young man nodded. Bless God, have you been crying to your girlfriend about this also? His non-answer proved to me that he had indeed been whining to Plain Jane Frumpy Bottoms.

I shook my head and closed my eyes. If I were Plain Jane I would drop you like a steaming pile of elephant poo!

But "I think my roommate was (sniff) behind killing Rickey", the girly man continued.

I rubbed my throbbing forehead. Fine.. why do you think your roommate drowned your gerbil?

He pulled out a small note from the back pocket of his black slacks. This was placed on top of the sink next to Rickey’s floating body. I can’t go on living in this cage anymore. May this grant me peace I’ve been searching for. This wasn’t your fault! Love, Rickey’.

Again, as before, he burst into tears. I grimaced. Brother Braveheart, do you think Rickey is in heaven?

This conversation was spinning out of control in a most ridiculous manner. Therefore I’m going to have some fun, amen!

Son, Rickey is in hell. I’m sorry, I spoke calmly. His eyes grew big with surprise. Unless unless.. I baited the hook waiting for this boy to bite, unless you led Rickey frough the plan of salvation. Did you ever lead Rickey to the Lord, son?

He had a contemplative demeanor. I could hear the wheels turning in his head. I’ve got phenomenal listening skills thanks to the military service! Well, now that I think about it, I did practice preaching the gospel in my room whenever it was just me and Rickey.

Mmm-hmm.. but did he accept Jesus as his Savior? I probed.

He looked around the floor, and shrugged his shoulders. I don’t think so.

A slight smile formed around my mouf. Come here, I said. Come up to my desk. He walked forward to my desk. I whispered, You have got to be the most stupid, ignorant, worthless, mindless idiot I have ever met. Get out of my church and my school. Now!!

Why this young man seemed surprised by my assessment is beyond me. But he hesitated to follow suit. GET OUT! I yelled.

Once he was gone I continued reviewing my sermon for the evening. How exactly will I be able to use this meeting as an illustration tonight? What might this have to do with Iraq, Islamonazis, and Issruhl? I definitely had my work cut out for me now.
 

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Dr. Braveheart #7: Advice is best taken, not ignored!

Originally published Jan. 24, 2004.


I am here to serve God’s people through heavenly inspired wisdom and counsel. It is free, doesn’t cost ya nothin. It costs me time, but I don’t make a big deal about that. What bothers me though is whenever someone comes to visit me seeking advice and they don’t take it.

An elderly, faif-ful layman of our church named Harvey approached me in my office this afternoon on his lunch break. I figured out immediately that he was having problems with his wife.

Dr. Braveheart, I’m having problems with my wife, were his exact words. The poor fella had a troubled demeanor.

What kind of problems? I inquired.

Me and the Mrs. have a great marriage. We really do, he nodded his head affirmatively. He dropped his shoulders and exhaled, The other night on our way home from church we were talking about the message which I think was right on target, sir.

As usual, I smiled.

Anyways, we were reflecting upon the sermon and discussing ways to apply the words spoken into our life.

Well, she made a disparaging remark about you in the process.

Just a moment, I said. I then opened up my desk drawer on my bottom right, acting like I was searching for something important. In all actuality, I was thumbing frough the dictionary to find the word disparaging. I hadn’t a clue what this man just said. But a word to the wise for all you aspiring young preacher boys out there. Always carry a dictionary in your desk drawer in case a situation like this arises. Never let your flock think they know words that you don’t. Ah here it is:

dis•par•age Pronunciation Key (d -sp r j)

tr.v. dis•par•aged, dis•par•ag•ing, dis•par•ag•es

1. To speak of in a slighting or disrespectful way; belittle. See Synonyms at decry.
2. To reduce in esteem or rank.

To speak disrespectful of? Bless God, who does this broad think she is!? I shut the drawer.

Okay, sorry about that, I said. I had to review another case of a similar situation. Now, what it appears is going on is that your wife is pushing the envelope. She’s trying to see how much she can say against this mannagod before you finally do something about it. I would have none of it. My suggestion to you is that the next time she speaks ‘disparagingly’ about me, you ought to fill her mouf with your fist. Preferably with a considerable amount of force. I recognize that this might seem a bit harsh, but sometimes you just have to bring the smackdown! I said with lifted eyebrows and large eyes.

Harvey sat their bewildered. He swallowed, and then spoke softly, Sir, I could never raise a hand against my wife.

How long have you two been married?

Close to 34 years this October, was his reply.

I laughed. And you’ve never wanted to hit her!?

He shook his head no and gave me a stone look.

Well then, I suppose that’s admirable. But I never said anything about making a habit of hitting your spouse. Sometimes you just gotta show the old lady who’s boss. If she doesn’t get the message that it is NOT OKAY to belittle the mannagod, she will continue demeaning the Lord’s anointed. Frankly, if this had happened in Old Testament times I would have given you an armful of stones and told you to go home and stone the Jezebel!

He shook his head no and buried his face in his hands. Sorry Brother Braveheart, but I believe you are wrong on this one.

Then my face turned to stone. Listen here you little puke

He continued. I’ve read through the Bible a number of times, and there is nothing written in it that would validate what you’ve advocated me to do, he said while standing up from the sofa across my desk.

Harvey, as the Lord’s anointed appointed messenger, I must speak the troof. And sometimes there are things I may suggest that might not sound right at the time. That’s where faith comes into the picture. You must believe in your heart that what I’m saying is for your own good, even if it doesn’t make sense at the time. Believe that God will show you further down the road the wisdom behind such counsel.

He laughed slightly. Thank you for your advice, he said with a bit of an attitude. I frowned at him hard. Thank you for showing me what you really are. This place is not for me, or my wife. Then he walked out
the door.

I stood from my desk and poked my head out of my chamber. He had not yet made it out of my outer office where the secretarial damsels worked away. You’re not getting the last word here, bubba.

You’re lucky you haven’t caught gonorrhea from all the hookers you’ve serviced! I barked. Harvey turned his startled head towards me. I pity you, he hissed through clenched jaws. He shook his head angrily, then left in haste.

Each one of my 7 secretaries wore a repulsed look on their face as they cast their eyes upon me.

Let this be a lesson to each one of you, I lectured. Frequenting whorehouses can cause gonorrhea. Trust me on this one. Deep down I giggled uncontrollably, but the solemn look on my face gave no hint of itSo long you buzzard.
 

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Dr. Braveheart #8: Brother Busybody's Briefs

Every single preacher spread out over God’s green urff should keep a staff member on board who will keep a watchful eye on the congregations’ shortcomings. This is most useful for me as the mannagod to know what is going on inside the church family, lest I run out of sermon illustrations. Don’t underestimate the power of exposing peoples’ sins from the pulpit. It will either straighten out a person from sin, or cause them to leave. Either scenario is quite welcomed in my book.

And speaking of the good book, how many chapters of the Bible did you read today? I personally read 17. Four of them were from the Greek texts, five were in Aramaic, seven were from the King James, and one was from the Dead Sea scrolls. In case you’re wondering where I obtained a copy of the Dead Sea scrolls, I will explain. Last time I was in Issruhl I visited a gift shop in Jerusalem. One of the items being sold was a replica of the cherished discovery for a price of $39.95 (in American dollars). I rolled my eyes at the price, as well as the gimmick of duplicating such a revered piece of history, and was about to leave. The store clerk noticed my attention towards the souvenirs, and approached me. He said that I appeared to be a man of great discernment and knowledge. I told him he was correct, for I am an Independent Fundamental Baptist preacher. He invited me to the back of the shop and showed me a collection of tattered manuscripts.

These.. these are thee real Dead Sea scrolls, he said with a thick Hebrew accent, and an air of pride. I sell these to only you.

I looked him over cautiously. How much?

Since you are a man of great understanding, I will offer it to you for the low price of $2,000. I have to admit, the price caused me to flinch. But these were the real deal! He knew that I was a man who would appreciate such a find. I had to have them. Besides, the church could foot the bill. How excited would they be to know their preacher bought the Dead Sea scrolls for a small sum of $2,000? When I returned home from my trip, the church sacrificially reached into their pocketbooks to finance this great buy. A tear of gratitude is now forming in the corner of my eye as I reminisce of their giving.

Coming back to owning a staff member who will keep a watchful eye on the church members, Brother Busybody fills that role well here at the Witch Hunt Baptist Church. Every morning at 8:00 he informs me of the latest news. I’ve never known another man to have the gift of tattling quite like Busybody does.

What’s new today, Busybody? I asked while turning on my computer.

First and foremost, things are great with me and the family. It’s been six whole months since we’ve rented a movie from the Blockbuster down the street.

Praise the Lord.

I did, unfortunately, spot the Hosebrain family renting some movies the other day.

Oh?

Yeah..I was across the way from Blockbuster, preaching on the street corner when I observed Brother and Mrs. Hosebrain entering the video store. Fifteen minutes later they came out with about 2-3 DVDs in
their hands.

Were you able to identify which films they were?

He sighed with disappointment. No sir. I tried. They were walking too fast back to their vehicle. And the binoculars I was carrying in my back pocket just weren’t strong enough to

I suppose you’re probably going to ask me for a new pair of binoculars so these kinds of problems don’t arise in the future, huh? I sensed, knowing the mentality of Busybody all too well. You see, that’s the beauty of having such an indispensable tattle-tale on board. They’re always looking for new and improved technologies to monitor the straying sheep!

Yes sir, new binoculars would be nice, he nodded, unable to conceal his enthusiasm.

Denied, I stated, the old pair will remain sufficient. Now, renting videos can only lead to a dark path of entertainment, a poor substitute for living a Christian life. Sounds to me like Brother Hosebrain has earned a phone call.

Speaking of phones, sir, one of the junior girls ”Mandy Mapleleaf” was caught with a ring tone on her cell phone that sounded worldly. There was a definite beat to it, albeit a digital one. If her phone had not gone off in the hallway between classes, there’s no telling how long this bad influence would have gone unnoticed.

Hmmm.this is highly disturbing, I pouted. Well, new rule. No cellular phones allowed within 500 feet of the school. We cannot have this kind of filth infiltrating our hallways.

I’m all over it, sir, he said while scribbling some notes onto his pad of paper. One last thing, what are we to do with Julio Le Jesus?

Who’s he?

He’s the 8th grader who was suspended a few days ago for asking one of the freshman girls what her cup size was.

Which freshman girl was it?

Dolly Spartan.

Is she well endowed?

Why-I-uh---I really couldn’t say one way or-

Sure you can. You’re a man. Is she well endowed, I demanded.

Yes sir. Quite.

All right then. Keep Julio out of school for the next week. He’s not allowed to make up any homework or quizzes or tests. Everything he misses will be recorded as a zero on his grades. Now, with DollyI think we need to have a chat with her. She needs to know the dangers of her equipment, and what that means to young boys in heat.

Busybody agreed with a head nod and wrote the note down.

You know what I think? I asked. Busybody shrugged his shoulders. I think this young lady, Dolly, has probably been acting flirtatious and seductive with the boys already. I mean, think about it, why would this Julio kid ask her clear out of the blue what her cup size was if she wasn’t flaunting them?

Good point, sir.

That settles it. Bring Dolly in here immediately.

I’d dare say that Dolly’s parents have probably never sat her down and warned her of the things that I’m about to do. Times like these are rather thankless, since most people will never find out about my sessions of blunt wisdom with the young ladies. Nevertheless, these tasks must be done.
 

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I've not seen these before.

Wow.
 
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