Sheep's Clothing

Upon arriving at Virginia Beach, Virginia, Prudent deplaned wearing a
fedora he had purchased and worn only so that he could show deference by
holding it in his hands while in the holy presence of the Hypochristian
of Hypochristians, televangelist Brat Robertson (who was secretly the
richest man in the world.)

Brat Robertson had become filthy rich by shaming little old ladies into
sending him money that he said "Gawd" needed to spread the plan of
salvation to the heathen world. The little old ladies liked his comfortable
persona and believed his opinions of Gawd's will and send him a huge
fortune in personal tithes and love offerings.

Brat had then taken that money and, as he had promised to do, bought
diamond mines in insane African countries, sold weapons to the world
at war, and purchased politicians by the gross. He was, by common
assent, the greatest hypocrite in history and was richer than Croesus
from bootlegging Jesus.

But he was, nevertheless, the richest man in the world. That's why
when Prudent was beaten to the ground and reduced to his last
one hundred million, he went to Brat Robertson with his hat in his hand.

Unfortunately, Robertson's secretary watched the news and knew that
Prudent had lost the presidential election to Arkansas Elvis. She said, "I'm sorry!"
and "God bless you!" a total of twentythree times before he could get
by her and dash into Brat's office:

Where he found the old man, naked as a hairless cat, lining up a putt
across his thickly carpeted office floor with his back to Prudent..

The sight of Brat's old ass moving from left to right, and back again,
came close to hypnotizing Prudent who showered with his clothes on..
He had heard that Brat Robberson was "a little eccentric." But he hadn't
been prepared for this.

Prudent believed certain things should be and certain other things, just
as surely, shouldn't be. Presidential speeches should preempt all other
primetime broadcasting and no television program should ever speak
about sex or liberal politics. Young ladies should keep their bellybuttons
as hidden as their other interesting parts and old ladies shouldn't dye their
hair clown colors (it was okay for men to do so, though). Men like him
should be elected President-for-Life and men who called themselves
"Elvis" should be executed and then tried by a jury of their peers.

And the world's richest man shouldn't play golf in the nude.

It just didn't look right.

It just didn't look AT ALL right.

Prudent said, "Ahem."

The old butt wiggled.

Prudent said, "Ahem," a little louder.

The old butt just wiggled again.

Prudent almost shouted, "Ahem!"

The ancient ass wiggled nevertheless.

Prudent, not knowing what else to do, used speech, "Mr Robertson, I have
an appointment with you."

Brat looked around (his collosal fossil swinging like a dead rope along with
him). For a while he looked at Prudent as if he weren't sure whether Prudent
was real. Then he shrugged and went back to lining up his putt.

Exasperated, Prudent shouted, "MR ROBERTSON!!"

To Prudent's relief and dismay, Brat turned around and faced him with
full frontal crudity. He smiled his famous televangelist's smile and said:

"Oh, the Junksure boy! Of course! I wasn't sure you were real."

"Um, yes, Mr Roberston," Prudent said , wringing his new hat in his hands.
"I'm real enough, I guess. I had a four-thirty appointment with you."

Brat scratched and said, "Is it four-thirty?"

"Yes, sir. Almost five."

"What day is it?"

"Wednesday."

"Month?"

"January, sir."

"Oh, no! What year?"

"1993."

The golf club went flying through a window behind the desk, sending shards
of glass everywhere. Brat looked like someone should yell "Clear!"

"Are you all right, Mr Robertson?"

"Oh, no! Oh, MY no! I've forgotten our Lord's birthday again! He'll never
forgive me! Do you think he'd forgive me if I sent him a late card and
present? It's just that I've had so many things on my mind lately!"

"I think it would be all right," Prudent said. "After all he was pretty famous
for being the forgiving type."

"Yes, I suppose so," Brat said and scratched his apparatus. "Why are you
here, boy?"

Prudent began to recite his prepared speech: "Mr Robertson, I know you're
a busy man. But I have a terribly serious problem and you're about the only
person in the world who can help me with it."

Brat scratched again and said, "Well, of course, my boy! Jesus said, "Give
to those who ask of you and from those who would borrow of you, turn not
away."

Encouraged, Prudent continued: "Well, great! I only need to borrow ten
sextillion dollars so I can buy back the Presidency of the United States."

Brat said, "No fuckin' way," and turned his back and looked for his putter.

Prudent dropped the twisted hat. He didn't know what to say. He hadn't
been very confident that Robertson would say yes. But he hadn't expected
to be so quickly dismissed. He didn't know what to say. But he said, "Mr
Robertson! I was the President of the United States and I got beat for
reelection by a hick who calls himself 'Arkansas Elvis' and I've just
got to get my revenge and get the country back on the right track and
get rid of taxes on the rich!"

The butt didn't wiggle. Slowly Brat turned and looked at Prudent with a
hard look in his eyes. Through gritting false teeth, Brat said:

"Did you say Elvis?"

"That's what he calls himself."

"I don't like Elvis.

"Well, he's really—"

The old naked man shook as he said, "Elvis stole the only woman
I ever loved in Nineteen and Fiftysix!"

It's not a pleasant sight when an eighty-year-old man gets angry. The
fires of youth that might prettify the anger have long faded away until
the old fella looks more like a skinned Chihuahua having a fit.

It's sad but true.

And when the geezer is stark naked, it's doubly so.

"Yes! The accursed pervert! That horrible hip wiggler! Miss Rhonda
Mattick, the love of my life, told me that she got more real sexual
satisfaction from Elvis than she ever did from me!"

"Why, that's awful, "Prudent commisserated. "How in the world did she
meet him?"

"She didn't. She was talking about his records."

"Ouch."

"Dang right, ouch!" Brat scratched for an embarassingly long time
and then said, "I'll tell ya what, Punksure—"

"That's 'Junksure," sir. 'Prudent Junksure.'"

"Whatever, Punksure! You say you want this money so you can be
President of the United States again?"

"Yessir!"

"Well, I don't think that's gonna happen."

Prudent's heart escaped again to his socks. "no?"

"No, Punksure. A little angel on my shoulder told me something just
now that I have to take under serious consideration."

"what's that?"

"The little angel said you're too fuckin' old, Punksure! American
heathens are tired of old presidents. That's why they voted for
that E-E-Elvis character. They had Fagin for eight years and then
your old ass. They're lookin' for somebody young and spry and
full of vim. Do you have any sons?"

Prudent's hands acted like they were wringing the twisted hat that
lay at his feet. He started to say, "No," and then an idea hit him like
frying pan.

The American sheeple, it had been proven, would vote for a parrot if
it were taught to say the right things. He could put Gawlmighty up as
the candidate and then stand behind him, pulling all the strings. All
Prudent really wanted was the power. It didn't matter whether the
sheeple thought he was running things or not. Brilliant!

"Uh, yessir, Mr Robertson. I've got a fine young son that I've been
grooming to become a Republican president since the day he was
born. He comes from really good stock. He's got personal charm
that I don't know how to begin to describe. And what's more important
he'll do anything and everything you tell him to."

The old televangelist's charming smile did nothing to improve his overall
appearance. But it encouraged Prudent. Brat said, "You mean he'll let
me turn this nation into a god-fearing, bible-believing, neighbor-loving
country again?"

"He sure will!"

"You mean he'll do away with taxes on the rich and help me get my Christian
Disneyland built in Israel?"

"Absolutely!"

Brat scratched again and then extended the scratching hand so that Prudent
and he could shake on the deal. "You've got yourself a deal, young man! I'll
give you the pocket change—ten sextillion, was it?—and you make that son
of yours the next President of the United States. All I ask is that he does
whatever I say."

Prudent Junksure sighed and shook.