Bad preacher

br

pon the wicked sinners! Ye, tho thou ist humble before m

speakers on the side of the Winnebago. For extra flourish, I splash a handful of the water mixed with glitter and bubble soap from the bowl next to

know every crowd that gathers around my Winnebago or under my tent is going to

idsts and bestow thy gifts and ti

hat the money in their pocket, or purse, or under their mattress back home is their one-way ticket to the land of salvation, endless summers

ew, that’s what I’m giving them. That’s what I’m selling them, for the low, low price of whate

And I shall smite the heathen amongst you! Bring tithes upon my

ting the bottom of that collections bucket. I grin and smile down from my perch behind the pulpit at the first customer—a frail old thing clutching a coin purse from the last

g up at me as she turns the fucking thin

le broadly and pi

them will follow. They always do, and they sure do here and now. No one wants to get outdone in fron

cash and dumps it in the donations bucket. If I still had a soul, I might fee

e the sinners and the heathens and trample them into the dus

know it, but none of them pay it any mind. My customers are the low and humble. They’re the lost, desperately looking for answers and salvation. You might say I’m slinging bullshit, or call me a fraud, or a charlatan. I’ve been called a con man, gri

se if I’m not, that’s when I

or whatever you consider salvation. Booze companies, pill makers, movie producers. They’re all selling you their own brand of enlightenment and salvation from the

ens. I’ve been up in the Dakotas, and eastern Montana, and a little bit of Wyoming for the last few months, and it’s been fucking miserable. Cold

hospitality, that’s a

what my gut tells me is going to be very profitable little tour of bible country. I

started here. I haven’t even begun to shake this town down. The music winds down, and I take a big breath. I beam at them, squar

ittle twang to my voice to bring me down beneath the Mason-Dixon. This Car

! Ye! For thou wast unclean, and my waters made you p

ability to shit pure gold ou

I yank the tarp off, revealing the huge, hundred-gallon baptism tank. These fucking things run a mint. Luckily, this particular one was generously donated by a wealth

g a smile to my face. Day one, and this

water. I flex my muscles, roll my shoulders, and crick my neck, and the crowd begins to form into a line, money clenched in their eager fists. God, it’s like clockwork, every time. Past

I mutter… well, something, but who cares, and then I dunk the guy in

Gabriel!” he gushes

ou for y