he scent of blood was thick in the air when withering mouthpiece for the Christian God Billy Graham met his legion followers in New York’s Flushing Meadows-Corona Park to bid them good-bye as he departed for the Middle East on this, his Final Crusade. Graham, long suffering from the many afflictions from God’s magic bag, vowed not to return alive until he had successfully converted the doomed to the one true faith.

“They will be saved, or their blood will stain their heathen streets,� said Graham, his voice failing and his body frail as the 70,000 true believers in attendance rained their approval down on him.

It marks Graham’s final attempt to convert the world’s worshippers of false idols, as the 86-year-old scion of the Lord, who started as a simple Protestant preacher before evolving into the leader of the final crusade of Christianity, continues to grow weaker from the countless ailments plaguing him, including water on the brain, prostate cancer, Parkinson’s disease, several fractured bones, and three arrows in the back sustained by a Cherokee attack in 1934.

“The devil wants to stop me, I don’t doubt that,� chortled Graham, clad in his shining suit of armor, and supported by six fellow Christians to keep from being ground into dust. “Let the devil come, I say! The Muslims, the Buddhists, and those—what do you call them… the Indian religious guys… not the Hari Krishnas… anyways, they’ll all call their false idols and the devil in to torture me, but I will not be stopped before each and everyone of them knows the true salvation of God. Or death. Either one works for me.�

Much excitement surrounded the event, the first church-sanctioned Christian crusade in almost a thousand years—noting that the invasions of Iraq and Afghanistan are not officially church-sanctioned. Graham announced his plans for a Final Crusade months ago, and leaders of the Protestant church gave their approval as Graham built an army of supporters numbering in the low hundreds of thousands. Some in the know suggest the sanction for the Crusade is more of a tribute to Graham’s long service than any conviction he might be successful.

“The man is not even able to walk in his armor anymore, let alone smite the enemies of the Lord,� said an inside source we love to call “Reverend Blue Jeans.� “Add to that Graham hasn’t built a sufficient army for an attack of this scale, and the fact that they’re intent on utilizing medieval weaponry when even Middle Eastern radicals have access to missiles and firearms… you’re looking at a bloodbath. But Graham is convinced the Lord will give him strength for a final victory. You got to give it to the man, he knows how to go out in a blaze of glory.�

The ailing Christian soldier marched onward, if you count marching as being hoisted by a dozen men, and proceeded to board the large command ship bought by his ministry for the expedition, one of sixty paid for by the Graham Ministries and representing the first wave of the onslaught of the true faith.

“Victory!� screamed Graham in a raspy, failing voice from the bow of the ship, named “The Savior.�

The fragile Protestant then fell overboard, sinking instantly to the bottom of the bay, but was rescued by his followers before any more serious damaged was inflicted.

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Whenever visitors come to the commune offices, and one day I'm optimistic there will be visitors who are not merely there to take the furniture away, I smile brightly and yell out, "Welcome to the monkey house!"

Many think it is a colorful, humorous thing to say. It is, in fact, a warning. An attempt to keep visitors away. To save them from the horrors inside, even if they are here to repossess our materials. For the commune has become a house of horrors in recent weeks, and I owe it all to monkeys.

Yes, some well-intentioned individual, let's just say for example it's me though I'm not actually stating I did do it. But this person, this Red Bagel, supposed he could save a lot of money on cleaning people and certain money-grubbing reporters by bringing in monkeys who work for peanuts (or actually bananas, the elephants were the ones who wanted expensive peanuts) and slowly replace the entire staff in the hopes eventually the entire staff would be made up of banana-earning monkeys. Sometimes in the six-bunch range, but most in the one-bunch and under category.

Continuing with our hypothesis, let's suppose that monkeys, while the smartest of all earth-walking non-dolphin mammals, still require a great deal of training, even more so than money-grubbing reporters and foreign cleaning people. Let's say such a fact escaped our hypothetical Red Bagel person who, in perfectly innocent intentions, released wild, untrained monkeys into the commune offices assuming they would imitate the behavior of columnists, reporters, and cleaning people. While instead they have been content to scream loudly, jump on unrepossessed property until it smashes, climb walls, and hurl their eliminations at every non-monkey personnel on staff.

Now let's suppose, for the sake of this discussion, that all of this is exactly what happened and this is where we're at.

I have gotten to the end of my rope, loyal readers, and I've found a monkey swinging on it. I suggest monkeys are not smart, lovable, cute or cuddly, but in fact are wild animals with minor humanlike behaviors, but any of that humanlike behavior is usually hidden under the hideous crap-throwing creature behavior they have more fun exhibiting. We have been lied to by countless Clint Eastwood movies and Saturday morning live-action television series.

Needless to say, the commune is not functioning as it normally should this week. Most columnists and reporters are operating outside the office, from their homes or covering their stories in the field and submitting them to the printers outside. While I am trapped in my office, afraid to step outside where I'll be pounded by less-than-attractive monkeys. It could be worse, I could be like Ramrod Hurley, whom they have dressed as one of their own and are apparently performing some kind of mating ritual with.

This should be taken care of within a short amount of time. I've hired some friends of mine, call them "cleaners," and they'll be taking care of these monkeys soon enough, no questions asked. I will be alright, assuming I can keep my office barricaded and avoid the mating ritual.

Until then, I hope you can continue to enjoy the commune as monkey-free as you can. Do not visit the offices, if I need remind you, and please excuse any feces on or in this column.

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"One year a flood hit our town, and it was among the most horrible things that ever happened. Over 20 people were killed, and I liked three of them. It made me very sad.

For a week we had to camp out on the top of our house since the floodwater reached to our second floor bedrooms. Our parents hated it, but me, Goose, and Stephanie loved it. We pretended the glaciers had melted and we lived in a post-apocalyptic nightmarish world where land was a resource more valuable than gold. This was years before Waterworld, mind you.

I overheard mom and dad talking one night about how the food and water supplies were running short. Mom insisted we would all be fine, that the floodwater would retreat before we could starve or die of thirst. Dad didn't like being without a plan, so he started talking about which of us would be eaten first. I was scared, naturally, but also felt pretty sure I was a shoo-in to avoid being eaten because I'm so thin and there's not much meat on me.

Sure enough, Dad narrowed it down to Stephanie and Goose, and eventually decided Goose was big and heavy and would make more servings. Mom was horrified at this talk, and chided Dad to no end for such ridiculous thoughts. Goose was mostly fat, she said, and Stephanie was more muscular, not to mention Stephanie seemed to be plowing through the rations at twice the rate of everyone else.

Needless to say, nobody got eaten and the floodwater started receding the very next day. The house was musky and damp when we returned to it, but all was soon back to normal. I did manage to bite Stephanie a few days later, just to see what I was missing, and trust me, it wasn't much."

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