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.

he trial of last century is making all the news in Mississippi and nowhere else, as the racially-motivated murders that inspired the film Mississippi Burning are underway after a lengthy ignoring of the whole thing. It took a little time to build a case and find a non-racist jury, but after 41 years, Edgar Ray Killen is being given as fair a trial as the white man's legal system will allow in a Philadelphia, Mississippi court.

The accused killer Killen is on trial for the premeditated murder of civil rights workers James Chaney, Andrew Goodman, and Michael Schwerner, who came to the town to aid in black voter recruitment. The accused was originally tried in 1964, but the jury deadlocked and couldn't decide whether murdering a Negro and two Jews was a crime in Mississippi. "Killer" Killen, as this reporter's just dubbed him, was released and not retried for years, although he was punished then by enduring Southern cooking at a barbecue in his honor thrown by all his Klan kronies.

Thankfully, Hollywood intervened in 1988 with a film about the murders fueled by the performances of Gene Hackman and Willem Dafoe that, while good, no self-respecting black man is going to sit through when they've actually lived the same shit every day. Embarrassed by the liberal ass-tanning, modernized Mississippi began a crusade to re-try Killen and put the killings to rest once and for all.

Since the accusations have resurfaced, Killer Killen has denied orchestrating the murders and downplayed his involvement with the charitable organization the Ku Klux Klan; or at least that's what his lawyer says he has said, the 80-year-old is a bit indecipherable over the loud sound of his wheezing and mumbling. Philosophers only I've talked to suggest maybe Killen will live another 30 years as his real punishment from God, long enough to see black culture completely co-opted by every white kid on his street and allowing black performers to dominate the box office, television, and every station on the radio. And there's always the White House, if God is particularly cruel to the poor peckerwood.

Some fellow good old guys and girls have come to Killen's defense, while denouncing the killings, and say the frail, birdlike man had nothing to do with the horrific murder of people they wouldn't have spat on back then. Among those testifying were other Killens, including Killen's brother and sister-in-law, and several associates with peculiarly pointy hairstyles, like Cricket Beechauser.

"I love Killen," said the comparatively young 75-year-old Beechauser. "Killen taught me everything I know, not that I'm braggin' or nothin'. I'd do anything for him, that's how much I respect Killen—I'd go to jail for Killen. I'd go to hell for Killen, if that's what I had to do. Killen ain't any more racist than anyone here in this courtroom." To which at least the defense agreed.

The only irregularity in the Killen trial came on Friday when an angry protestor in the courtroom objected to the Beechauser testimony. A young white woman stood up and began shouting at the witness, still on the stand, insisting if the Ku Klux Klan liked Killen so much, they deserved Killen.

"Order in the court!" clichéd Judge Marcus Gordon. "If there's any more outbursts I'll remove the defendant. Then there won't be any Killen to shout about."

The prosecutor Mississippi Attorney General James Hood, for those of you who like irony, said the state would win this time against the Klansman.

"This time we will get Killen for these killings—hey! I just noticed how that sounds. Weird. But in all seriousness, my office is seeking the death penalty. And we'd better hurry up because this old Nazi is half in the bag already."

So declare the men of law in Mississippi, where the state motto in racial killings is "better late than never."

Let us not tarry, gentle readers, 'cause I knew a guy who tarried once in Vietnam and it got him killed.

In my younger days, for a brief time, I followed the Dead—the rock band, not a group of actual living corpses. Though they did come close in their latter days. Eventually, I gave up that childishness. Now I follow Cheap Trick. Which is hard, because they don't tour as frequently anymore and that drummer is a crafty driver. But I haven't been dissuaded yet.

Have you seen the latest Star Wars movie? I highly doubt it, since I made it myself in my garage only a few days ago. Finally we all get all those questions about Yoda's sex life answered.

What's the deal with napkins? Is anybody actually using these things?

I tried reading a book the other day and, frankly, I wasn't all that impressed. I'm not saying everyone is wrong with all this "books, books, books" praise, but I don't see it myself.

If you are going to shoot the Creature from the Black Lagoon, do you need a hunting license or a fishing license? This assumes, of course, you're doing it by yourself and not part of some angry mob. However, this is the kind of predicament that keeps me up at night. It probably worries the Creature, too.

I am finally finished selling my antique condom collection. I thought I'd never be rid of those things. A bad area to invest your money, let's just say that.

I would never, under any circumstances, hit a woman. Go ahead—tempt me. Give me a free punch, promise me her back will be turned. Have her burn down my house and I still won't do it. I want to point out, of course, using a baseball bat is not counted as hitting by most judges. It's more of a bludgeoning.

I like croutons, but hate salad. What is the answer, my friends?

Johnny Cash was always known as the Man in Black, and probably always will be. It doesn't matter how black you dress, it's just a title that's impossible to wrestle away from him. I tried wearing purple for a year, but I suppose Prince had that all sewn up. I don't know who got fellated to preserve these titles, but I want my own and I'll wear anything, suck anything to get it. The Man in Chartreuse? The Man in Off-White? Let me know, people.

The guitar has reigned for years as the most popular instrument in the world. I say it's high time that tyranny came to an end.

For those who don't know my writing process, I carry a little brown book with me, all the time, in my coat pocket. When the muse strikes, the real muse, not just some bitch hitting me for no reason, I take out my book and scribble a thought down. Of course, getting a pen in here is a lot more difficult than hiding a little brown book. But I'm resourceful.

A reminder, folks: Never volunteer to suck a cock to get something. I make exceptions at times, of course, but it's always a good rule. And for God's sake, if you do, at least get what you were promised before you do it. Fool me once, as they say…

I am no longer welcome back at Cracker Barrel. I can do nothing more than continue to profess my innocence.

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