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Preacher Man

Preacher Man

When I was a kid, I spent every Sunday morning on the church pew.

The preacher man would get up in the pulpit, and I was always struck by how convincing he was. The pure conviction in his words as he spoke of man’s depravity and the wages of sin being death.

The god he spoke of was a brutal one, destroying cities and populations because of that sin.

And if you weren’t one of god’s chosen, then you’d better watch out.

Because god’s coming back, and when he does he’s going to wipe out the sinners of the world.

Adulterers, Homosexuals, False Prophets, and everything in-fucking-between.

All sentenced to death when his mighty god shows up.

He’d be frothing at the mouth, so excited at the prospect of this deity coming down from on high to slay all those who weren’t like him. Because he, and those who looked like him and believed like him, weren’t going to be slain.

No, they would rise up to a lofty position as god’s people. They’d be spared from the tribulation set for the “others” out there.

Because they were just better.

From the moment I laid eyes on ‘em, Vayikra reminded me of the preacher man.

Every fiber of their being is focused on their mission: to bring their god Yahweh back to life. And they’ve spit the worst vitriol to accomplish their goals. Their convictions cannot be questioned.

In the name of Yahweh, they’ve burned, killed, and tortured countless “sinners.”

Partnering with death, they believe if they complete their mission of eliminating sinners that Yahweh will return.

Because they believe that they’ll be pardoned from tribulation.

Like all of god’s people, right?

In their eyes, only those that look and believe like them, in their stupid fucking masks, will be spared from the sting of death.

But anyone with a working brain knows that’s ridiculous, right?

Death comes for everyone, even cunt nuggets like Sir Renault.

Listen, I get it. Death sucks. When the sun sets, no candle can replace it.

But Yahweh ain’t coming back. Do you really think that Death went to the trouble of killing every fucking god just so that he can let one of the big daddy gods come back?

He’s using you boys, letting you preach from your pulpits and crucify kids on crosses.

And you let him, because you’ve let Solomon Rhodes get his preacher man robes on and vilify anyone who Death wants you to.

You sat on the pew, and you didn’t see a hateful lost man clinging to whatever worth he can find.

You saw someone to follow.

Someone to serve.

What the fuck?

Your story sounds like a bad Sci-Fi Channel picture, the kind of crap Hollywood shits out every day.

But it ain’t Hollywood.

It’s church.

I guess church, religion, and the preacher man is faker than Hollywood.

That’s the difference between me and you, Renault.

You hide behind your mask, and your veil of superiority, but without them, who are you?

Fake.

But Luke Storm’s real.

The Real fucking Deal.