What a stupid lyric that is. I mean, think about it. What’s “she” going to do, suddenly forget that there’s these fleshy protuberances under her bottom, but forget all about walking, jogging and jumping? Either that, or ZZ Top were singing about one year olds, in which case… ewwww…
Also on the stupid-ometer today are American Televangelists. I really don’t like Televangelists much; they prey on the highly gullible, distort the faith that they purport to profess, and lead plenty of people away from that faith by the pure nature of their money grubbing ways. Or, to put it another way, if I gave one of them ten grand, I’d be up on their stage as one of “God’s Children” before you could say Hallelujah. If I gave them a Bible, I’d be lucky to just get away with a sound beating from their hired goons.
Anyway, the reason I mention Televangelists (aside from the fact that I’ll be in the land of ’em in less than a week) is because a week or so ago — in fact, specifically, it was Boxing Day, perusing the “free” copy of the Daily Telegraph that you get when you go to Taronga Zoo — I was perusing the week’s TV guide. Televangelist stuff usually plays around 3am, when the competition is only from dodgy phone-in quiz shows, movies made before 1950 and even dodgier home shopping stuff. And inbetween the usual Hinns and Copelands was someone who (given his name) was practically born to be a Televangelist — or at least a parody of one. For his name was (and presumably is) Creflo A. Dollar Jnr.
It’s a hell of a name. I’d love to say that Creflo is a unique first name — heck, it sounds to me more like the name of some kind of industrial adhesive (“We can’t get the flange to fit to waste pipe #7, boss! Just whack on some Creflo and let it sit for an hour or two. Then it’ll stick!” ) — were it not for the very last bit of his name. Junior. This presumably means that his good ol’ Daddy was Creflo A. Dollar Snr, or Creflo A. Dollar 1st. Possibly even just Creflo to his friends. What the hell is a Creflo, anyway? I mean, I can’t blame the guy for his surname — being a Kidman, I’ve faced more than the odd bit of mockery. But CREFLO?
A quick check of the often-unreliable Wikipedia rather confirmed my anti-Televangelistic leanings. Look, I actually don’t have that much of a problem with a Christian Minister owning a Rolls Royce. I may think it’s a touch extravagant, and I can certainly think of better things that the money could be used for, but one is OK. Two though — and with one having apparently been “donated by his congregation” — is pushing it. As are three private jets and multi-million dollar homes.
I’m not sure what annoys me more — the blatant commercialism of faith — and in a non-shock move, young Creflo is a proponent of the very shaky prosperity theology school of thought — or just the plain stupidity that allows this kind of thing to succeed. For those in the Western world, Bibles are rather easy to come by, and like it or not, it’s all just in there; slick salespeople (who also bond concrete to steel, guaranteed for ten years to be rust-free) need not apply.
Right, rant over. Time to get back to work.