Quote of the Month

 It's only the first but this lengthy one has already earned it spot the Quote of the Month! Written as a comment on an article asking why so many "Latinx" TV series get cancelled, this imagined dialogue was one of the responses:

White people: Bro! Did you know that you don't really have a gender neutral/all inclusive word for Latinos or Latinas?

Latinos: uhhh... yeah. Well we don't really have a need for...

White People: WE GOT IT! How about we just start calling all of you Latinx instead!? That way we won't offend any of you!

Latinos:.... let's get this straight. You just invented a word outta thin air, so that you could fix our language? Yeah... that's pretty insulti...

White People: NO NEED TO THANK US!!! We love coming up with solutions to problems that never existed!!!

Latinos:

Quote of the Month

 The Quote of the Month comes on the very last day of January from a Facebook poster responding to mental furball Candace Owens' latest idiotic comment (below):

The quote follows:

"Why do conspiracy theorists question everything but the conspiracy theory?"

CLOSING THE DOOR ON SHERRY SHRINER

 

On July 19, 2010 I posted what I thought was a humorous piece on a bizarre group of people on Facebook whose belief system was so far out there, I thought it was satire. That post, which you can read by clicking here, began a several years' long fascination on my part with this charisma-free individual and her increasingly demented claims. 

Her followers did not find me amusing, as evidenced by the post above, and soon the novelty wore off and I decided to look into their leader. What I found was a hodgepodge of conspiracy theories with roots stretching back to anti-Semitic beliefs, Hollywood-inspired tales of aliens, and astoundingly odd misreading of the Christian Bible. Despite what was already enough to convince me the woman was mentally unbalanced, it was when I heard her speak that I knew for sure she was dangerous.

I listened to several of her podcasts and even suffered through one of her rambling, schizophrenic "books" because I just couldn't believe there were other people taking her seriously. Eventually, I started writing about her and her cult of adherents. I published the articles on Suite101 with the intention of trying to figure out if Shriner was a con artist or a true lunatic. I reached the conclusion that she was somehow, paradoxically, both. There really is such a thing as believing one's own bullshit, and no one excelled at it the way Sherry Shriner did.

After a while, it stopped being fun. People enjoyed the articles well enough, but they seemed to fall into one of two camps: The Dismissives, who felt Shriner deserved no attention at all, and the Popcorn Munchers, who looked forward to a good laugh. I was neither. There was something dangerous about this mush-mouthed individual, something dark and horrifying. I had gone from intense amusement at the outset to fascination to finally wariness. 

While I looked in on Shriner's antics from time to time over the next decade, I didn't feel the need to write about her. Others were already doing that, some of whom were doing a good job. Still others were just out there as she, calling her a false prophet instead of dangerously mentally ill. Some even accused her of being the shapeshifting reptilian alien she labeled others as being. I was not the first person to write about her, but it seemed like most others were more concerned in proving she was wrong in favor of their own ideologies. Clearly a war was being waged between extremists in the world of self-righteous zealots. 

The years passed and more dangerous paranoids took the stage, most notably Alex Jones. The QAnon movement seemed to encompass all ludicrous theories in a similar way to Shriner but with even more frightening effectiveness. Shriner was becoming a dinosaur in an era where her teachings were little more than an Internet footnote. Her voice had receded into the background of a rising cacophony of illogical, truth-bending, reality-denying imbeciles all believing their uninformed opinions to be equal to proven fact. I almost longed for the "charm" of her silly claims and assertions. Then I found out somebody was killed because of her and everything changed.

Actually, let's take a step back to 2012, not long after I had stopped paying much attention to Shriner and her wacked out cadre of supposed Orgone Warriors. Somehow, a story did not catch my notice that year, perhaps because it was a pivotal year of change for me. Apparently, a young woman from my home state who actually didn't live all that far from me committed suicide in a nearby park so she could be reborn as a spirit warrior in Shriner's so-called cause. Her name was Kelly Pingilley and she was, by all accounts, most likely an undiagnosed delusional schizophrenic who desperately wanted to understand the voices and urges in her head. Shriner preyed on people like her.

An event I did know about was the suicide and possible murder of former Shriner acolyte Steve Mineo in 2017. Mineo supposedly asked his girlfriend to shoot him in the head because he couldn't handle all of the online harassments from Shriner's followers coupled with his inability to expose her as a fraud. The details of the shooting are bizarre and covered in length on the Vice docu-series "The Devil You Know." But you can read a more detailed account here.

Shriner immediately went into self-preservation mode, blaming the girlfriend by branding her a vampire and a demon and shapeshifter and a clone and whatever else dropped out of her evil ass. She blamed NATO for Mineo's death, which she claimed was part of a psyop being waged against her because of her dangerous status as God's holy messenger.

First of all...NATO??? Secondly, how could Mineo's girlfriend be all of those things at the same time? She even used doctored photos to make it seem as if the woman had been replaced with an older-looking clone.

Who knows what other horrific things she caused during her time online? She was an unrepentant opportunist to whom human life clearly meant very little. Her "ministry" was her source of income and she milked it for all it was worth. 

Shriner died of a heart attack on January 28th, 2021, most likely caused by her reported chain-smoking problem. One would think a movement so strongly identified with its originator would die off with that person gone. One would be wrong. The Facebook page devoted to Shriner continues under her daughter's moderation and many claim Sherry wasn't killed at all. One person even wrote that she was "disappeared" by NATO and will re-emerge brainwashed,  refuting everything she taught. All I could write back was, "Now THAT'S how you keep a swindle going!"

That is most likely my final word on the subject of Sherry Shriner, warbley-voiced, poorly spoken, hostile and undeniably insane self-appointed Messenger of the Most High and purveyor of every batshit crazy conspiracy theory ever devised. May she fade into the background of collective memory until she is little more than footnote. 

CONGRATULATIONS TO THE HORROR ZINE

The Horror Zine has once again won several categories in the Critters annual poll. I am proud to have had my work published by them more than once over the years and look forward to working with them in the near future. 

JAPAN & FRANCE HAVE EXCELLENT TASTE!!!

 

10 Beloved Movies I Hated & 10 Hated Movies I Loved(and Why)

 I often find myself at the crossroads of the cultural zeitgeist. It's not a place I planned to wind up, nor one I thought I existed in until the Internet and its fanboy chatter made its presence known. Until then, I assumed that most genre fans generally agreed with me and, more to the point, I agreed with them.

For instance, I thought everybody enjoyed "Attack of the Clones" as much as I did and considered it an improvement over "The Phantom Menace," which I also enjoyed. It wasn't that there weren't popular things I disliked, but most of the ones I was aware of were genre films that crossed over into mainstream popularity. It's much easier to dismiss something as idiocy when the masses embrace it, despite the opposing view regarding large amounts of people liking things. 

So, the double lesson I have learned is as follows: I am not at home with my so-called fellow geeks because I don't agree with them on things they love or things they hate. Below are two lists based on my experiences with these groups:

Movies I Hate (and why)

The Matrix- I've only seen the first one, but I found the film pretentious, derivative, poorly acted, and over the top. When the only riveting scene involves a character wanting to go back to sleep, it probably means that's what I wanted to do also.

Deadpool- To be fair, I hate the character with a purple, unbridled passion. I consider him one of those Nineties creations that damn near ruined the comic book industry. And I hate the character so much that it has made me hate the actor portraying him. He isn't funny and he isn't cool or interesting. The character either.

Jurassic Park- My mother was obsessed with Michael Crichton's novel, so of course I had to take her to see it when her health started declining. The book she had talked up resulted in what for me was the first dull special effects blockbuster ever. Flat characters, by-the-numbers "suspense," and SFX that failed to impress. I never once cared what was happening.

The Dark Knight- A friend of mine was so convinced I would consider this the greatest comic book movie of all time, his normally cheap ass paid for my ticket. He was disappointed and angry when I told him how awful I thought the whole thing was. Bale's Batman was unconvincing, Ledger's Joker was too silly to be effective, the Two-Face subplot was lacking, and the supposed "real world" approach made the entire affair feel forced and interminable.

Joker- Much has been made of Joaquin Phoenix's portrayal of mental illness in this film, and on that level alone, it is something to see. Sadly, the movie itself does not justify his performance no matter how much money it made. Todd Phillips, director  of the increasingly unfunny "Hangover" films, decided to go all serious with this one. Unfortunately, he doesn't have an original idea in his head. "Joker" is four movies in one: Those movies are "Taxi Driver," "King of Comedy," "Falling Down" and "Fight Club," three of which were vastly superior.

The Hunger Games- Again, I only suffered through the first one, but that was one too many as far as I was concerned. I'm not fan of YA Lit as it is, so this one would have been a hard sell for me. Sadly, the one thing I demand from any type of drama was entirely absent from this film. I never cared about what was happening on screen. Also, the concept was well-intentioned but stretched the bounds of credibility even within its own internal logic.

It: Chapter One- Its sequel did not receive the acclaim its predecessor did, presumably because it was awful to the point of unintentional hilarity. Chapter One was awful as well, but in a not-at-all amusing way. Director Andres Muschietti turned an epic novel about childhood trauma and overcoming our fears as adults into a jump scare cliché fest replete with bad child actor performances and none of King's trademark dialogue. It's rare that I've actually been angry at the end of a movie. 

Get Out- This is the film that competed in my mind with "It" for worst movie of 2017.  It's a message movie, and that message is an important one. Sadly, the execution is absolute junk. Jordan Peele's comedy chops are well-established and I have tons of respect for him as an artist. This was not a film that worked for me. The acting was uneven, the pacing was agonizingly slow, the Big Reveal was laughable and not once did I care about anyone in the film. Worst thing that can said about a horror movie: It was boring.

Skyfall- When Pierce Brosnan was let go as James Bon 007, I was not exactly enthusiastic about the less suave and good-looking Daniel Craig taking over the role. I was also growing weary of "back to the beginning" reboots. Happily, "Casino Royale" put my fears to rest and gave us one of the best Bond films ever. But this isn't about that movie. This is about the uneven, poorly scripted disappointment that was "Skyfall," a movie that felt as if four separate teams of screenwriters all wrote portions of it without ever actually meeting. Why Roger Moore thought this was the best Bond ever made instead of "Casino Royale" is beyond me.

Godzilla 2014- I won't go into how much the character of Godzilla has meant to me since I sat in a theater at the age of five or six and watched a double feature. And while I've always questioned the Western ability to really understand kaiju eiga without defaulting to disaster movie mode, which is exactly what happened with the 1998 film, I held out hope for a superior American version. When I saw previews for the 2014 reboot, it felt as if it was over-compensating for the 1998 film's tone by taking itself too seriously and becoming a somber, listless affair. I turned out to be right. It's one of the few movies I nearly walked out on. Happily, the Monsterverse sequels have redeemed this film and made it slightly more watchable.

Movies I Love(and Why)

Thor: The Dark World- That's right, I included this one. I loved this film and its detractors don't make sense to me. There's nothing about this MCU installment that renders it inferior to the others. Is it the best film in the franchise? Of course not. But it continues Thor's and Jane's stories very well, it shows a different side of Loki, and the visuals are nothing less than stunning.

Ishtar- Much maligned at the time of its release, most of the harsh criticism seemed to focus on the then ungodly budget of $50 million. But shooting on location with two huge stars is costly. The result, however, is pure entertainment. Playing against type, Hoffman and Beatty have an incredible chemistry and the terrible songs they created for the movie are brilliant in their catchy awfulness. 

Ghost Rider- The sequel was a mess, but the first Ghost Rider is a lot of fun. Nic Cage is at his scenery chewing best, the effects mostly impress, and the bad guy works. Also, Peter Fonda plays the Devil and Sam Elliot is the Old West Ghost Rider! What more do you people want, a plot???

Star Trek Into Darkness- I'm not a Trekkie, or "Trekker" as some prefer to be called. My mother was one of the originals, however, and I have a healthy respect for the franchise. JJ Abrams' films injected a much needed electric eel enema into a stagnating franchise. Sure, this one suffers from sequel bloat and too much action, but the sets, performances and stakes are outstanding.

Jupiter Ascending- I've never been a big fan of the Wachoskis. I enjoyed some of their films and hated others. This one intrigued me because it was a throwback to the days of pulp space opera but with unique twists that felt original. It was a breath of fresh air that is only made more special by the lack of a sequel.

Cloud Atlas- Despite what I wrote about the Wachoskis in the previous section, they nailed this adaptation of what I consider one of the greatest novels of modern times. If I may channel my inner hipster for a moment, most people who disliked this movie didn't understand it. And that's okay. It's not an easily digested piece of fluff entertainment, nor is it a dime store philosophy diatribe like their more successful "The Matrix." 

Hudson Hawk- When Bruce Willis was at his hottest and it was still inconceivable that he would become a for-the-paycheck punchline, this vanity project was released to near universal disdain. Willis is clearly more in love with himself than the film at this stage in his career, and that just makes it more enjoyable. He mugs, he is still capable of being funny, and the "plot" is so far off the rails one can't help but watch to see what happens next. 

The Adventures of Ford Fairlane- I know, I know. I don't distance myself from my Andrew Dice Clay fandom back in the day. But even if I hadn't been one, the movie about "Mr. Rock 'n Roll Detective" is a fun romp through the music industry and one of the most quotable comedies of all time. Dice could actually act, as he'd already proved on the NBC series, "Crime Story," making this film that rare combination of a comedian's on-stage persona and genuine moments of gravitas.

The Village- This movie had the unique distinction of being released when it became a recreational activity to attack M. Knight Shyamalan. To be fair, he wasn't helping matters by hinging every film on a Big Reveal. He got away with it several times, so it was inevitable that he would eventually be called out on his gimmick. This was not the movie to do it, though. That movie was "The Happening." This one actually works because it immerses the audience into a world it thinks it understands only to pull the proverbial rug out from under us. 

Daredevil- While the Netflix series is vastly superior in every measurable way, that doesn't mean the movie is terrible. In fact, it's pretty damn good, especially the director's cut that restores an entire excised subplot. Ben Affleck is a comics fan and he gets this character. Read his foreword to Kevin Smith's Daredevil graphic novel if you doubt me. My only real issue was the casting of Elektra, which should have gone to someone different.

Movies I couldn't include in the "Hate" category because I've discovered many people who don't like them, too:

Avatar
The Amazing Spider-Man
Van Helsing
Titanic
Forrest Gump
The Suicide Squad

To Hell with Preciousness

 

The Evil Gatekeeper 

A message for all you would-be fiction writers out there who think your words are too precious to alter: Be prepared to rewrite or be prepared to self-publish. It's that simple. Don't wanna work with the so-called "Gatekeepers" who don't "get" you or who you believe want to squash your vast talent? Cool. Keep banging away on those keyboards and tablets and maybe, just maybe, you will find one or two people willing to publish your work as-is every single time. You might even hit the Big Time that way, except you most likely won't.

Writing for an audience doesn't mean whatever you write is what the audience should accept. While I'm no fan of writing specifically for other people, I am aware that other people are the ultimate goal for anyone sending their work out for consideration. Do you think singers only want to hear themselves in the shower? Of course not. And any singer who wants to leave that shower and be heard isn't going to tell everyone they audition for how stupid they are and how they don't recognize talent when they hear it.

I'm sure you can find a story or two to "prove me wrong" as if such an infinitesimal number proves anything.

Ultimately, writing is a craft. Crafts involve being scrutinized and going back to the drawing board. I'm sorry if your parents told you everything you wrote was brilliant and refused to stifle your imagination when you were out in public and should have been in the moment. Participation trophies are awesome, but they don't mean much more than, "I showed up and failed to distinguish myself." Translating that mentality to submitting fiction will not get you far.

Recently, I submitted a short story to a publisher who wrote back telling me they enjoyed the story but felt it dragged in the beginning and needed some rewriting to fit better with the types of stories they publish. Well, I don't mind telling you I was offended as all hell! I fired up the old PC and let loose with a string of invective that would make John McEnroe blush! I told this gatekeeper they were a fool with limited vision who didn't understand the brilliance they had been handed. How dare you, I wrote, tell me my story needs work? That's just an opinion! You are not worthy of my time or my very stable genius.

I don't mind telling you all of that because it's absolute bullshit. I would never and have never done that.

Have I encountered publishers and editors I determined were not very intelligent based on the feedback they provided? Of course. This field is like any other. Not everybody deserves their job. But I kept my mouth shut and moved on to someone else. That's how it works. Anything else is a temper tantrum.

So, yes. I am rewriting the story for this publication. Within the context of this publication's esthetic, the feedback is spot-on. There's a reason an editor would write the following, "You are a very talented writer and I have published you many times because of that. Would you be willing to rewrite your story to streamline it and pick up the pace?"

I earned that by taking feedback and applying it. Preciousness gets you nowhere except the back of the bitter barn.

That's my feedback. Take it for it's worth or condemn me for misunderstanding your stunning brilliance. it's up to you.

My Letter to Governor Whitmer

 Below is a copy of the letter I sent Michigan Governor Whitmer regarding her abrupt about-face in light of a pandemic that has actually gotten worse since last year:

Governor Whitmer, With all due respect, I feel that you have abandoned your constituency. Last year, when the pandemic was new and you sided with logic and reason, your decisions were sound and your unwavering support of mitigation measures was an inspiration to those of us dealing with the science deniers and gun-totin' extremists. However, since your ability to effectively order lockdowns was taken away by an opportunistic Republican legislature, you have slowly begun acting as if the pandemic has become little more than a minor inconvenience. Gone are the briefings, the recommendations to MDHHS and, frankly, any real acknowledgement of what you so fervently supported in 2020. It is as if you were replaced by an imposter. All I see now is your smiling face in photo op after photo op, dancing amidst the flames of reality. Michigan is worse off now than it was last year. Your tone deaf refrain about vaccinations is meaningless when we already know the latest variant isn't halted by the vaccine. And for those of us who have several months to go before we qualify for a booster, your flippant attitude feels like a betrayal. There are only two things that have changed since last year, and anyone with the ability to observe can see them both. One, Donald Trump is no longer in office. While this is a positive change and President Biden is indeed taking the pandemic seriously, he is also facing a resistant Republican effort to curtail his intentions. Second, you are facing reelection. In fact, you have been in reelection mode since the end of 2020. I won't speculate on your motivations because that would be arrogant, but I doubt my suspicions are too far off the mark. Governor, we need you more this year than last. People are dying in greater numbers and hospitals are full. Please don't try to spin these deaths as only the unvaccinated because that is a patently false claim. My wife's vital surgery was rescheduled because of this latest variant. She was one of your most ardent supporters but now I fear you are close to losing both of us as well as many others who once stood behind "That Woman From Michigan."

Thank you for your time~

A Song in Mah Heart

 You're about to read something I have not spoken of to anyone in a very long time. In fact, it's safe to say none of you knew anything about this side of me because most of you "met" me well after I had already put an end to it. So, it never came up in those conversations where people asked me about my writing and nobody ever got the chance to read any of it.

That's right. It was written work. But not the kind you're used to seeing from me. These were songs.

I started writing them when I was thirteen and experiencing several different types of awakenings my peers had not. My growing disgust with them and with myself for being one of them and at society in general spawned some of the most glorious failures ever put to verse. I had neither the life experience nor the skillset to make most of them work, but the songs demanded to be written. And so I wrote them. I got better, too. Much better. By the time I was an adult, I'd written well over a hundred "albums'" worth of material, some of if pretty damn good, too. 

My gaze directed ever inward, I wrote songs about unrequited love, (a huge theme in my shy days) songs about that never-ending feeling of unfulfillment that had dogged me since puberty, songs about relationships I'd not even experienced yet, and songs about human apathy and greed. I also experimented heavily with first person narrative in my songwriting, often presenting the singer as the subject of a song about someone truly reprehensible. For example, in a song I called "The Corporate Kingdom," the narrator unapologetically refrains, "I am just a man with ambition/On an economic mission" in a mock Country-Western warble. The subject isn't just greed; it's also the celebratory manner with which some people extoll the virtues of that greed and have no problem being all alone in the world. 

Thanks to Talking Heads and XTC and later on King Missile and Cake, I was comfortable with satire and even self-parody, something that has informed my fiction and non-fiction writing for years now. 

One of my favorites, "Echoes in the Dust," has lyrics my father could not comprehend. He grew more and more frustrated as he read the lines, "A fragile world of glass comes crashing down/And all the lies of love start flying around/He lied to her and she lied in return/Now there's nothing left, watch it all burn." I felt the meaning was clear as a newborn baby's phlegm, but my father just grunted. If only I had performed it for him. 

That's where things get a little weird. Since I became a fan of music in the New Wave era, I was obsessed with lyrics. I wouldn't go as far as Talking Heads guitarist Jerry Harrison and say music without words in meaningless, but I definitely feel music with words is much more meaningful. That's especially true if the words have a true meaning beyond, "My boyfriend is a prick" or "That bitch owe me money." I wanted to tell stories with my songs. And sometimes I wanted to vent all my impotent rage. These were lyrical snapshots of moments and moods I could revisit and reexperience whenever I felt the need or desire. But what about the music?

I never learned to play an instrument or how to write music. Every song I ever wrote resided in my head. There were moments where I thought about sitting down with a musician and working them out, but I never had the confidence to go through with it. Then life got in the way. 

If you're wondering where all those hundreds of songs wound up, might I suggest you check the landfill? Yes, I destroyed them. All of them. 

I won't go into great detail about that except to say that when you've had your heart ripped from your chest, squeezed in front of you until the blood is gone, and then thrust back in, the desire to write songs can be the greatest casualty. I never wrote another song.

Or did I?

A few weeks ago, something strange happened. That sound, that distant musical sound I hadn't heard in years, returned. I ignored it at first, figuring it was little more than an echo of a previous time, a part of me that no longer existed. But it persisted and soon I had song titles written down. Once again, that was where things seemed to end. I decided that was fine. But the music would not be denied. 

I have now written five songs in a tiny notebook the size of the palm of my hand. I damn near cried when it started happening. I'd thought that part of me long dead, not simply asleep. I find myself unable to stop now. In fact, as I write this, the chorus to a song I called "Temporary" is incessantly playing itself over and over in my head. 

These songs gaze inward in ways I was incapable of accomplishing in my younger years. My anger isn't gone, but it doesn't control the direction of the songs as much as it once did. There is a song about human apathy called "Big Release" but its tone is decidedly sympathetic to the idiots in the song. With lyrics such as, "Look to your right/What do you see?/The misinformed yearning to be free" it feels as if I have compassion for people I also find reprehensible. We are, after all, human beings desperately craving relevance.

Who knows what other songs I will write before I have what would be considered an album's worth of material? What I do know is I feel alive in ways I have not for years. Perhaps that is the greatest song o them all~

Another Place to Order Some of My Work.

 I happened upon "ReaderIQ" which has some of my work available for sale.

Click here for the link.

You Can't Invent this Level of Horror!

 Writers of dark fiction love to plumb the depths of the human psyche and the spiritual realm in the hopes of either scaring the absolute crap out of their readers or, if they like to aim a little higher, making some type of hopefully meaningful comment on the human condition and the various masks we wear in our lives. This usually involves a well-developed imagination and a willingness to face our fears that not everyone possesses. We may not always succeed, but our aim is sincere and worthy. However, there are some terrors that defy our best attempts.

May I present to you one such example?

Gaze, dear readers, upon...

The creepiest couple ever!

Okay, she's not really all that creepy. She's more creepy by association. Mr. Cherwenka, however, is the kind of character I would mentally dismiss as too over-the-top, too absurd, and too off-putting to be effective in a work of fiction. It isn't enough that he is an artificial-lifeform real estate investor whose income seems to also involve getting people to pay him to tell them about how he does it. It isn't enough that the back cover of the book pictured above features both he and his spouse half-naked in workout clothes and that his pic looks seriously photo-shopped. 

See for yourselves:

You're probably thinking, "Okay, that's pretty disturbing. Surely that's the whole story and I may now go scrub my eyes and brain with a scouring pad." 

Well, hold on to your SOS pads, because we're just getting started!

You see, Cherwenka claims to be a Born Again Christian whose wealth and success are a direct result of pleasing Jesus. Apparently, all the Christian Messiah requires of his followers is a real estate license and killer abs. In his testimony entitled, "Stripped Bare by the Lord," Cherwenka reveals how he came to be a devout follower of Christ, and it starts with his days as a male exotic dancer. This came about, he says, when some female students at his college dared him to enter a contest where he wound up winning $500.00. He then became a dancer with a male revue at $100.00 per night. Big Money for a college student in the Eighties. 

Cherwenka went on to become rather well-known in the field, appearing on Phil Donahue and Jerry Springer and garnering equal parts admiration and envy, the latter from his fellow male revue dancers who didn't like all the publicity he was enjoying. Of course, he was able to establish a new male revue with dancers working for him, and it was one of them who started Cherwenka on the road to personal salvation. This dancer "gave his life to Christ in 1993" and set about doing what all Evangelical Christians feels they are commanded to do when encountering a non-believer. He actively began preaching the Word. 

In what seems like a steady stream of subtext-filled odd word choices, Cherwenka writes that his former employee was, "going to witness to me hard and heavy." But he wasn't interested in what his friend was peddling, so Cherwenka went through the motions by saying The Sinner's Prayer without actually meaning it. That was when, he claims, God took major umbrage and came down on him like a bag of anvils landing on a bag of rabid cats. 

The male revue began suffering from infighting and a lack of focus, his wife wanted a divorce despite having given him a child, she wound up with pneumonia when she went back into touring as an exotic dancer, and they had a stolen vehicle situation. As far as he is concerned, this was God's way of showing how unamused He was by Cherwenka's insincere and flippant attitude. In his own words, "Times were getting so bad that God put the writing on the wall, 'Either give your life to me or I'm going to take it.'"

God was going to "take" his life if he didn't choose to follow Him.

Sometime later, Cherwenka writes that his religious friend encouraged him to go see a guy with the last name of "Schwartz." Again, I can't make this kind of stuff up! This individual convinced our hero that he was miserable because he was separated from his Creator, the God who had low-key threatened to murder him if he couldn't manage to become a follower. Cherwenka's account of his interaction with Schwartz includes how "unclean" he felt and how he wept like a child as he realized his desire to please his heavenly father.

That didn't stop him from being a male stripper though. At least not right away. There was still Big Money to be made after all. But he did tell his guys the Christmas show was to be the last one. He was Born Again. Saved. A self-described "brand new creation." But somehow one last stripping expo to celebrate Christ's birth was just what the reverend ordered! 

Wiggle it...just a lil' bit...

Hey, he was under contract! It's not as if true believers have been willing to be imprisoned for their faith throughout history. It's all about convenience. And one thing that isn't convenient is knowing where your money is going to come from when you've left your successful career...ahem...behind. 

Thankfully for him, Cherwenka took notice of a foreclosure seminar advertised in the newspaper in 1995. Realizing it's not profiting off of someone else's suffering if you buy the property with the intent of fixing it up, he went for it and failed spectacularly thanks to having been defrauded by a wholesaler. Our hero had expected God to cut him some slack now that he was a devoted Christian but it didn't seem to be working out that way. He was sleeping in the properties he was renovating with no utilities and showering at a truck stop.  Then he went and spoke to a pastor with the last name of, and remember I'm not making any of this up, "Cox."

He...slept in empty houses and showered at...truck stops and visited Pastor Cox...

😕

The pastor ministered to him and asked him how much money he needed. I'm sorry, I need a moment to separate myself from all this subtext!

Talk amongst yourselves...

Okay, I'm back! 

Cherwenka asked, umm, the pastor if God still intervenes in the lives of people in the 21st Century. He asked this in 1996, which makes him either incredibly forward-thinking or someone who forgot what century he was writing about. Either way, kudos. Naturally, Cox believed that God does indeed do that. So, our hero, who felt "compelled" to cut his shoulder-length hair (the last vestige of his dancin' daze, which he maintained because it was a...visual aid for his testimonials?) and then his narrative jumps to him having a nervous breakdown while a radio minister preached the word. Like all self-pitying Christians, he likened himself to Job. To be honest, his story mirrors Job's in some significant ways.

However, Cherwenka received a reprieve in what could very well be a miraculous event. In his own words:

"Tuesday morning I  woke  up  after  sleeping at the  property, and  two huge  trees  on  the side  of the  house  where  I  needed  to put a driveway were  split in  half by lighting (see pictures  below) and  there  is  no other  storm damage  in  the  county! Neither  tree  fell on  the  two houses  I  was  working on, nor  did  I  hear  a noise  in  my sleep. My spirits were  restored  and  GOD’S  greatness  was  in  my presence."

The picture provided does indeed show trees that have been struck by lightning and, if his account is to be believed, is is rather interesting that they were the only thing to be struck in the entire county. That's actually an impressive story.

Since then, Cherwenka got back on his feet and became a successful wholesale real estate guy. According to a quick online search, he and wife Tolla (pictured on the book) married in 2014. His first wife, despite becoming Born Again in 1996, did not stay with him. He views his business as his ministry, mentioning how he finds deals for people as if it has holy significance. But what's really fascinating is how Cherwenka attributes horrible moments in his life to the perfect God he follows in a way that is akin to an abused child excusing his parent's horrible behavior.

For example, one day in 1998 while on his knees playing with his child, he began wondering why he no longer got on his knees to pray. His infant son started choking and the frightened dad had to call 911. The child was eventually fine, but as far his father was concerned, this was God telling him not to "get too comfortable." A year prior, he hired his brother-in-law to do some painting on a property he owned and spoke harshly to him for not getting the job done on time, a move he describes as Un-Christ-like. Never mind that Jesus was reproachful of people not doing what they were supposed to do on at least four occasions. Never mind that nonsense. Cherwenka wound up placing too much gas on a trash fire and burning down an acre of forest. His conclusion? 

"God was telling me to keep my cool to avoid the heat."

No remorse for the burned land or the animals that might have died as a result. The whole thing was just about him.

His child nearly chokes to death and it's God communicating with him. He burns down a section of forest and God is using that to tell him to cool it.

Sadly, a lot of performers are narcissists. This is especially true when those performers are known for what they look like. A person like that who discovers religion would naturally gear it towards his own benefit. And part of that would look like a person trying to help people. This isn't to say that Mike Cherwenka is some sort of freewheelin' sociopath. He may be a lovely human being who truly cares about others. I mean, don't most real estate moguls want you to see what their bodies look like with fewer clothes on?

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