CHOCOLATE FANTASIES

I was amazed when archaeologists found 4,000 year old ceremonial Mayan pottery in Honduras. Now, archaeologists and pottery go together like cocaine and addiction, but this fancy pottery had the remains of chocolate in it, and it was carbon 14 dated at about 1100 B.C., about 500 years earlier than conventional wisdom said that cacao plants were harvested by humans. It seems it was served at weddings and births, in much the same way we today use champagne Once again we have proof that if it’s addictive, humans will find it and even invent any chemistry required to gain access to it. It’s beginning to seem that it was our addiction to addiction that led us off the Savanna and into the crack house.
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Making chocolate is much more complicated than just stomping on grapes. You begin by harvesting the enormous seed pod, which you toss in a pile to let ferment for about a week. The first Mayans to do this threw the seeds away and brewed the meaty pods into a powerful beer. But then some Mayan Nerd noticed that the seeds abandoned in the sun smelled delicious. Of course if they didn’t dry fast enough they turned moldy, but if the beans dried quickly, and if the Mayan Nerd then roasted the beans, and then pried opened their shells, he or she would find what are called the nubs. And if this ancient chemistry Wonk then ground up the nubs (like a coffee bean) the Mayan alchemist would end up with a liquid called “chocolate liquor” – for obvious reasons – and when he or she then heated that material and allowed it to cool and solidify, they produced what we call “baking chocolate”, and what the Mayan called cacao. And then, some 4,000 later, some idiot convinced American school children that chemistry was boring. Chemistry gets you beer and chocolate. How could that be boring?
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Here’s some more chemistry. Chocolate contains anandamide, which is also found in marijuana, and a couple of chemicals that slow down your metabolism of anadamide; in other words they make the “high” last longer. Chocolate also contains tryptophan, which is the stuff in turkey that puts you to sleep after Thanksgiving dinner. And chocolate also contains theobromine, which is actually a superior opiate to the watered- downed opiates in over- the-counter cough medicines. Of course chocolate contains really small amounts of all of these compounds and for any or all of them to have a major effect on your brain you would have to eat so much chocolate you would likely die from dysentery. Getting your chemistry from the chocolate companies is as silly as getting your sexual counsel from the people who make Viagra.
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Chocolate also contains magnesium, a chemical that pre-menstrual females are short of. This is the usual justification given for women’s monthly chocolate cravings, but only 40% of women claim monthly chocolate cravings, and so do 15% of men. A more likely influence on chocolate cravings in both sexes might have been located by a British study that reported the very odor of chocolate reduces theta activity in the human brain, indicating calming and relaxation. This may explain why Hershey, Pennsylvania (Derry Township) has less than ¼ of 1% of the national rate of violent crimes. The whole town reeks of chocolate!
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The Spanish Conquistadors reported that the Aztec emperor Montezuma drank a big cup of cocoa before entering his harem. And that reputation was enhanced when Giovanni Casanova recommended the drink as an aphrodisiac. What is surprising is that the Church had no problem with all this chocolate inspired sex, probably because the Popes were amongst the first high and mighty who were seduced by the brown powder. Pius V decreed in 1569 that drinking chocolate did not break lent. The reformation tried to introduce the “sin” factor into chocolate, when, in 1624 a Viennese professor, Johan Rauch, condemned chocolate and called for it to be banned. But by that time the Protestant Dutch had reintroduced the “cocoa butter”, drained from the chocolate liquor during the cocoa stage, to create “Dutch Chocolate”. And after that, even chocolate’s role in masking the poison that killed Pope Clement XIV in 1774 could not shake the church’s addiction to the cocoa bean.
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But the sin of Chocolate has never really been “lust” but “avarice”. The Aztecs collected their taxes in Cocoa beans, as did the Spanish who succeeded them, dividing the world into the “have chocolate” and the “grow chocolate” populations. Like diamonds, chocolate has funded and fueled many wars across Africa and South America. (The Cocoa tree only grows within 20 degrees of the equator.
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Meanwhile the “have chocolates” are rich enough to support empires, like Hershey and Cadbury. These corporate chocolate factories are based on the concept of “chocolate for the common man”, often containing less than 10% cocoa butter, and sometimes closer to 1%. Less cocoa butter not only lowers the cost but raises the melting point, and was the original meaning behind the sales pitch, “Melts in your mouth, not in your hand”. It implied quality but also convenience. Today quality seems to matter only in Europe proper, where it is still easy to find “Chocolate” with 60% cocoa butter. In America the mega-mixers have asked permission to eliminate cocoa butter completely and still call the product “chocolate”, which would be like calling sugar cocaine, because you used to sell cocaine and because you package your sugar in little baggies.

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Or, maybe I'm pushing my chocolate analogies just a little too far.

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HE WILL ALWAYS BE KEN

I am continually amazed by what people believe, and even more by what they expect others to believe, such as the 60 year old man who came into the Nishtar Hospital in Multan, Pakistan, to report he had been the victim of a pair of armed rustlers. He told the doctors that the intruders not only stole two of his water buffalo, but before they left they took the time to shove a bottle of Pepsi Cola up his butt. No, really; Dr. Abdul Manan, the physician who performed the “Cola-ectomy”, has the x-rays to prove it. Yes, it is very easy to fake x-rays. But why bother? Most emergency room folk know similar stories and many have similar x-rays revealing everything from Pepsi bottles to small furniture inserted into rectums by a curious public fascinated with shoving things up their own butts. But they never seem to think far enough ahead to wonder how they are going to get this stuff back out. In other words I don’t believe the story about the cattle rustlers. Which is a shame, because this poor guy probably spent hours inventing that cover story before he decided he had to go to the hospital. I just want to know how he got there. Did he walk? That must have been excruciating.
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And then there is the amazing story invented by Ken Williams, the twice elected mayor of Centerton, Arkansas. He looked his long suffering wife square in the eye one afternoon and told her, “Our whole world is about to come crashing down around us because I am Don LaRose, and I am Ken Williams, sort of.” Hearing that, my first reaction would have been, ‘this ought to be good’, but his wife Pat assured the “Benton County Daily Record” that she still loves Ken, or Don, and will stand by him, or them, because, “He’ll always be Ken”. Well, actually lady, evidently not.
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According to Ken, in 1975 Ken, who was then Don and a Baptist preacher, was kidnapped by a gang of “underworld criminal Satanists”, because criminals are so often swayed by theology. They hustled him into the back of a van and told Ken-Don that Satan was unhappy with him because he was such a good preacher, and wanted him to stop. Then they stuck an electronic device on his forehead to wipe out his memory and dumped him in Minneapolis, because, I guess, how would he ever find his way home from Minnesota. But I have to wonder why they wiped out his memory before they told him why they were doing it, since, presumably, once his memory had been wiped he would not remember the justification. It seems that back in the 70’s Satan was hiring idiots to be his henchmen.
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In any case, Ken did find his way home, even though the cops showed little interest in his tale of abduction by a gang of criminal Satanist, and he kept preaching. In 1978 Ken-Don moved with his wife and two daughters to the Hessville Baptists Church in Hammond, Indiana. And there, in 1980, the Satanists showed up again, as they so often do. This time they told Ken-Don that if he kept preaching they were going to murder his family. And, so, to protect his family, Ken-Don disappeared. What a heroic figure! Or so says Ken.
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Here is what exists on the public record. Donald Lester LaRose was born March 11, 1940. In September 1958 he began classes at the Moody Bible Institute in Chicago, and left in 1961 without graduating. According to Ken-Don he then went to work in Christian radio. In 1972 he remade himself again, this time as a minister and moved his wife Eunice and two children to Maine, New York, where he was hired as a preacher at the First Baptist Church. According to Ken-Don, one day in 1975 a letter arrived. “Inside was a piece of black paper with a pasted-up message on it…it accused me of blaspheming Satan and committing sacrilege against him. A few days later a second letter arrived.” I guess the Reverend Ken-Don was singled out because he was the only Baptist minister in America who had taken on Satan.
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As Ken-Don so dramatically puts it, on Election Day, 1975, he vanished. Of course, 1975 was an off year election and it would have been so much more dramatic if the Satanists had waited a year, but they didn’t. Less spectacularly, Eunice told the FBI that Ken-Don had said he had to go next door to speak to someone in the church, and never came back. A few days later his car turned up abandoned in nearby Binghampton, New York. Ken-Don’s disappearance was chronicled in a number of Christian publications, as well as the local secular press. And in February, 1976, a part time preacher in a Minneapolis shelter saw Ken-Don’s photo in a magazine and recognized him as the man he knew as Bruce Williams. When confronted, Ken-Don-Bruce insisted he was the only son of Dr. Kent Williams, of Middleport, N.Y, and that he was a salesman for Williams-Fragrano. But when the FBI checked they found that Bruce Williams had died in a horrible car crash years before. Ken-Don-Bruce then said his name was Donald Fragano, but the FBI already knew that Fragano had died in the same crash that had killed Bruce. Finally Ken-Don-Bruce-Donald came up with the Satanist abduction story and the FBI decided they had more important things to worry and returned him to his lucky family.
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Back in Maine, New York the “simple country folk” as Ken-Don-etc. described them, were just glad Ken-et.al. was safe. But frankly his utility as a preacher had been about used up, so after hearing his abduction story, they fired his ass. And that was why Ken-Don-etc. and Eunice and the kids moved to the little church in Hammond, Indiana; lucky congregation, they. And it was from there, on June 8, 1980, that Ken-Don-etc. disappeared yet again. According to that missing person’s report, Ken-Don-etcs’s friends in Hammond said they feared he might have been abducted by the same “cult” which had kidnapped him before. Seven years later poor Eunice had him legally declared dead.
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I will leave it to Ken-Don-etc. to explain the details of his fascinating life (detailed at http://donlarose.com/) in part because the details keep changing but mostly because frankly I don’t find the details, what ever they are at the moment, all that fascinating. My own life is much more interesting, at least to me; such as the revelation I experienced when I was ten or eleven, angry because I had done a good deed and had not received what I thought was sufficient praise. My mother had given me a hug and a kiss on the forehead and then asked, “What did you expect, a medal?”
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Clearly, Don.LaRose was expecting a medal. And when he didn’t get one, he sent Bruce Williams out to collect it. And when Bruce didn’t get one, Ken-Don-etc. kept changing characters like other people change shirts, until, at the age of 67 or 69, depending on his choice of birth dates, Ken-Don ran out of the energy needed to keep reinventing himself. So now he’s decided to celebrate his self obsession and self centeredness on an elaborate website, when he ought to be celebrating the two kids he abandoned, and the two wives he spent a lifetime lying to. How come he didn’t devote his web site to them?
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Ken-Don-etc. is a guy with a lot more up his ass than just a Pepsi bottle. He’s got his whole head up there. And a couple of other people’s heads as well.



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NOT SO SWEET IN POTEET

I can’t think of any place in America farther from Washington, D.C. than Poteet, Texas, zip code 78065. The little farming town is 20 miles south of San Antonio, and less than 70 miles north of the Rio Grande. Poteet has a population of just 3,500, while the 20010 zip code, the central core our nation’s capital, is home to over 26,000 people, more than seven times the population of Poteet. D.C.’s population is about 57% African-American, while Poteet’s is 88% Hispanic, which in south Texas is called “White”. Average household income in the urban 20010 is $36,000 a year, while in rural Poteet the average income for a family is only $25,000. Poteet is known as the strawberry capital of Texas, while D.C. seems to grow nothing but a lot of hot air and red tape. Officially the 20010 zip has 26 registered sex offenders, a ratio of about 895 to one, while tiny rural religious Poteet has 29 registered sex offenders, a ratio of about 125 to one. Now, either something very odd is going on in Poteet or we are completely mistaken about what we think we know about sex offenders; who they are, what they do, and how to stop them from doing it again.
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What brought all of this to my attention was Poteet’s newest registered sex offender, its 3 term mayor, Mr. Lino Donanto. On Halloween ‘Hiz Honor’ cut a deal and pleaded guilty to two counts of indecent exposure and “no contest” to one count of indecent contact with a child younger then 17. The two girls in question were his daughters. The plea agreement requires that the mayor register as a “sex offender” and keep 1,000 feet away from any location where children congregate. And when the Atascosa County probation officers ran a tape measure between the entrance of City Hall and the Atascosa Boxing Club and Youth Center they found it “well within 200 feet”. So even showing up for work could get the mayor re-arrested.
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But part of the problem is the nature of the charges which Donanto pled to. They originally surfaced during a contentious 2005 divorce case, and his ex-wife, Aleida, admitted under cross examination that she has lied to the police in the past. Also, the alleged indecent exposure occurred once in 1996 and once in 2000, and the indecent contact charge involved “improper touching”, once, in 1997.
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Aledia testified that she lived in what the prosecutor described as a “…world of verbal…and physical abuse” And one of the girls (they are now 17 and 25) tearfully testified that Donanto would uncover them as they slept, remove his own clothes, and masturbate. Aleda testified that he began this behavior when the youngest child was 3 months old, and she testified that she had told the police chief about the abuse, beginning in 2000, but “her husband’s political connections” prevented her from pressing the case. The day the chief was to testify, Donanto accepted a plea bargain, and so did the prosecutor.
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And that plea is also part of the problem. By its terms the mayor must pay a $2,000 fine and do 400 hours of community service. And he will be on the “sex offenders” registry for 20 years. But the rest of the court’s judgment was labeled as “deferred adjudication” with 10 years probation, meaning that Donanto has not been officially convicted of his crime unless he violates the terms of his parole, such as coming within 1,000 feet of any where that children congregate.

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It’s a messy situation for an elected official. The Mayor was most recently re-elected this year, after his indictment and very public arrest by Texas Rangers while he was working in his auto repair shop. His repair shop and his position as Mayor, make him one of the most important and most respected citizens in this small town. Still the assumption was that Donanto would resign after his conviction. He had called a meeting of the council to do just that, but at the last minute he pulled a Larry Craig and changed his mind. He insists, "I did what was the best to my interests, as per my attorney," but he also insists that he did not molest his children. The mayor is staying put. City Councilman Larry Cantu says that although the council still has a quorum even if the Mayor doesn’t show up, “He needs to get out.” The situation, says Cantu, is “…not right for the citizens of Poteet”.
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Of course, Larry lost that last election to Donanto and he may be a little bitter. I suspected as much the minute that Cantu reminded everybody, as the trial started, that Donanto was “innocent until proven guilty”. What a hack politician thing to say. But since there is nothing in the city or state codes that would require the mayor to step down before his term runs out in May 2009, I guess Councilman Cantu is just screwed.
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Besides, with that high a percentage of citizen sex offenders, it was only a matter of time before one of them got elected mayor. Still, what the hell could be in the water of Poteet – besides high concentrations of insecticides and herbicides – that would produce sex offenders at ten times the rate they are created in the Babylon of Washington, D.C.? I thought that Babylon was supposed to be the source of moral decay, as opposed to the more natural, land and faith based lifestyles of farm country? Or was that just 4,000 year old propaganda from the Jewish controlled media, i.e. The Old Testament? Jesus Christ, of course it was!
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But I still wonder what kind of “kink-based life-styles” these strawberry heads are practicing down there on the farm. As Poteet citizen Jesse Ramirez put it, “Es una verguenza”. It’s a shame; yes, it is. But whose shame is it?
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Hon. Lino Z. Donato, Mayor

P.O. Box 378

Poteet, Texas 78065

(830) 742-3574 / FAX (830) 742-8747

THE ROAD LESS TAKEN

I would describe the hot new trend in civil engineering sweeping across Europe as ““The Chaos Traffic Circle of Life”. These libertarians of the highways begin by dividing the world in two; “high speed” zones between cities and “slow speed” zones within communities. The Interstates, Autobahns and other divided highways will stay the same, with speed limits and limited access. But inside city limits the Neo-commuter approach is that dangerous is better. Rules, they say, make you feel safer but they don’t actually make you safer. So they are urging city planners to dump traffic lights and signs, speed limits and painted lane dividers and cross walks, “yield” and “caution” signs, parking zones and separated pedestrian walks and bike lanes, all of the safety regulations we think of as necessary, because, say these lunatics of the lanes, these are the tractor trailer jackknifed across our road home. Roads are not for cars, they are for people, some of whom are driving cars. Drivers and cyclists and pedestrians should depend upon the kindness of each other and always suspect each others’ intentions.
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This insanity began in the little Dutch village of Drachten and with a civil engineer named Hans Monderman. Drachten is a community of 1,000 directly astride a major commuter route that funnels 22,000 drivers a day right through the center of town. The residents were desperate enough to try anything. Step one was to “calm” the traffic, but not with speed limits which drivers could simply ignore. Monderman narrowed the streets, removed the painted lane dividers, added traffic circles, planted trees and flowers right up against the roadway, lowered curbs to bring pedestrians and drivers closer and added brick and cobblestone rumble strips. Drachten now has just one traffic sign, and it reads “Verkeesbrodvri” – “Free Of Traffic Signs”. A single rule rules on these roads; yield to the right, meaning merging traffic always has the right of way. But, of course, there are no signs to that effect.
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Hans does seem to have a phobic relationship with traffic lights. “…I haven’t found anywhere where they are useful yet,” he says. The town of Drachten once had 15 intersections controlled by traffic lights and he has removed 13 of them. Injuries at just one such intersection dropped from 9 a year (on average) with the lights to just one without. The clutter of traffic signs is gone. The signs detailing parking restrictions are gone. Traffic jams are also gone, and horn-honking frustrated drivers are gone too. Travel times have gone down while the speed on city streets has dropped by 50%. And a town with a traffic fatality every three years on average has now gone seven years without a death. In fact there has never been a fatality on a road system designed by Hans Monderman.
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Hans says of his system, “It works because it is dangerous…it shifts the emphasis…to the driver being responsible for his or her own risk,” and, “We want small accidents, in order to prevent serious ones in which people get hurt”. He says that about 15% of drivers will speed no matter how high or low you set the limit, change lanes no matter how many yellow lines you paint on the road. So, he asks, why try to control the 15% of drivers who will always refuse to obey the rules, whatever they are, by regulating the 85% of drivers who are perfectly capable of making their own “risk compensation” assessments? Good drivers should not be reading signs when they could be looking out for the bad drivers.
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In this brave new “shared traffic space” human behavior follows the design of the road, traffic lights are “…a retrospective cure for a government made problem”, and auto insurance is based on “risk liability”, where all persons involved in an accident are assumed to be responsible to some degree. Could it actually work? German traffic is governed by 648 valid traffic symbols with some 1,800 combinations on their 20 million traffic signs, and German drivers ignore 70 % of them. But on the outskirts of the little suburb of Bohmte (13,500 residents) there is now just one brand new, red and white road sign with a large black exclamation point on it, and beneath it are the words, “Priority Changed". As of February this year they have joined Mr. Monderman’s neighborhood. All asphalt and concrete have been replaced, and sidewalks and bike lanes will be separated from the road proper only by the color painted on their new cobblestones.
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According to the magazine “Der Speigel” the cars in Bohmte now seem to be, “…driven by swivel-headed paranoiacs with rubber vertebrae. They crawl along at little more than 15mph, their occupants constantly craning their necks to make doubly sure that they are not going to hit anything, be it a pedestrian, cyclist or even another car.” This is the new world order utopia, or what the British tabloids have dubbed the “Naked Streets”. And although no English village has yet worked up the courage to take it all off, Ipswich is considering it, and London has eliminated signs, barriers and the zebra pedestrian crossings along Kennington High Street, where, over a two year period, pedestrian injuries dropped 44%. In Wiltshire authorities removed the painted center divider line from a highway and reduced automobile speeds without an increase in accidents.
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In West Palm Beach, Florida a limited program of “shared space” along Clematos Street has more than doubled property values and brought the occupancy rate for commercial spaces to 80%, while also achieving slower traffic, fewer accidents and shorter drive times. It all sounds almost as perfect as the descriptions offered for the civic plans introduced in Europe and America after World War Two, the very system which Herr Modernman is urging should be replaced with his new version of perfection.

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IN GOD'S OTHER NAME

I begin by reminding you of the immortal words of the mythical Lionel Boyd Johnson, the fictional “Bokonon”, founder of the illusory religion Bokononism, who famously warned, "Beware of the man who works hard to learn something, learns it, and finds himself no wiser than before. He is full of murderous resentment of people who are ignorant without having come by their ignorance the hard way." Ah, if only the founders and adherents of “real” religions could be that honest with their accolites. Of course the line between prophet and raving lunatic in most matters of faith is fabulously fuzzy, and therein lies the profit for prophets of both stripes. Or as Bokonon explained it, “Peculiar travel suggestions are dancing lessons from God."

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If so, Pyotr Kuznetsov, the 43 year old founder of the “True Russian Orthodox Church” must be doing a jitterbug about now. He was an architect in Belarus before “God” commanded him to leave his family and inform the world that product barcodes are the sign of the anti-Christ. Eventually Pyotr and his mental deraignment settled in the tiny village of Nikolskoye where he shared his doomsday vision of pricing codes with a flock that now numbers 25 adults, (mostly women) and 4 hijacked children. I swear to God, if you offered a course in CPR with free beer and pretzels you would be lucky to have 5 people show up, but predict doomsday in six months and God inspired sex and you will have people fighting for space in your cave. Pyotr, of course, is not in the cave, because he, “…had to meet others who were yet to arrive.” He must have been disappointed to discover the “others” were his new psychiatrist and several nurses with great big syringes. Meanwhile, priests from the more orthodox Russian Orthodox Church have been trying to talk through the ventilation shafts with the faithful, who cannot answer because they have taken a vow of silence. And you can imagine what is going to happen if any of them start comparing notes about the possibility that Pyotr might be full Loony Toons; mass murder and suicide, which “the chosen people” have already threatened. As Bokonon himself would have said, “Busy, busy, busy."
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A significant source of the resilience found in Bokononism is that its “foma”, the collection of self admitted lies that make its believers happy, is always set to calypso music. According to a Bokononism toe taper, “Tigers got to eat, birds got to fly, man got to ask himself why, why, why? Tigers got to sleep, birds got to land, man tells himself he understands." Whereas, Christianity, particularly the “anti-theology” of “born- again” Pentecostals shun calypso music and assures its believers that Jesus’ love explains the whole world of misery, faithlessness, unfairness and betrayal.
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But mainline Christianity offers no clear explanation as to why, last June, an otherwise healthy and successful 51 year old Alabama preacher would feel the need to shove a condom shrouded dildo up his rectum and then dress himself in rubber underwear, a scuba divers’ skintight rubber suit, rubber booties, a rubber hood with a single air hole, a divers’ face mask and rubber ‘diving gloves’, and then don a second pair of rubber slacks with suspenders and a tight leather belt around his waist with numerous attached nylon ligatures, and then somehow hogtie himself. We know the Reverend Gary Aldridge of Montgomery did all of this because he then died of asphyxia, and the Alabama Medical Examiner’s office did an autopsy, complete with a detailed itemized wardrobe. (http://www.thesmokinggun.com/archive/years/2007/1008072scuba1.html). And in a touching note of bureaucratic humanity, the M.E. lists the Reverend’s personal effects as “One metal yellow ring intact on left finger, one dildo”. It almost brings tears to your eyes.
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The reverend’s congregation never mentioned the dildo publicly, and would only say that, “We will begin the healing process under the strong arm of our Savior, Jesus Christ”. Whereas a Bokononist would have known immediately that the dildo had been an ascendant wampeter for the good reverend and whoever tied him up, and the bible had been their descending wampeter. And the only comment a Bokononist would have made over the entire matter would have been, “Busy, busy, busy”.

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God knows they’ve been busy in the tiny village of Knutby, Sweden, population about 570; about 100 of whom are followers of Asa Waldau , who with just one month’s training at a Pentecostal bible school, became what is called in the biz a “charismatic” and founded her own cult in tiny Knutly. In 1997 Helge Fossomo and his wife Helene joined the group and moved next door to the great leader, and the following year he was present at Asa’s private ordination as “The Bride of Christ’, and her official renaming as “Tirsa”. And from this point on things in Knutly begin to get a little complicated.

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In December of 1998 Helge’s wife, Helene, died in her bathtub with no water in her lungs, a hole in her skull and an overdose of Darvon in her blood stream. Her death was ruled an accident. Six months later Helge married Alexandra, Asa’s younger sister. Then, in 2001 Helge fell ill with a mysterious aliment and was nursed back to health by young Sara Svensson, who quickly became his mistress. Shortly thereafter Sara divorced her husband. But BOC Asa (AKA Tirsa) didn’t approve of their relationship and as punishment Sara was ordered shunned by the community and placed under Helge’s strict control, where she became the nanny to his children; oh, and his sex slave when she was restricted to his bedroom; still with me?
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In 2003 Helge began a new affair with his neighbor on the other side, Anette Linde, but still found time and energy for Sara his sex slave as well as his wife Alexandra (remember her?). However by now Alexandra had been regulated to sleeping on a fold out couch in the guest bedroom. At about this time Sara the nanny and sex slave began receiving text messages on her palm pilot from God himself – or herself – urging her to murder Alexandra, and Helge assured the troubled Sara that the messages really were from the Almighty himself – or herself. With that assurance one morning Sara started pounding Alexandra’s head with a hammer. Alexandra managed to fight her off and the sect decided that Sara was overwrought and ought to take a little sabbatical to get some rest, while Alexandra and Helge recovered in Hong Kong. The police were never informed.
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Well, Sara was still getting text messages from heaven telling her to commit homicide and on January 10, 2004 she followed their instructions. She tramped through the snow drifts up the hill, snuck into Alexandra’s room with a silenced pistol and at close range pumped two shots into Alexandra’s brain and one in her stomach. Then, still following instructions from God via her palm pilot, the brave little soldier for the Lord went next door and shot Daniel Linde, husband of Helge’s mistress, Anette. God’s will and Hegle’s sex life seem to have matched up very nicely.
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But, bad luck all around, although shot in the jaw Daniel Linde managed to call for the paramedics. He identified his attacker as Sara (the sex slave) and her palm pilot identified Helge as the source of her messages from God. And although some folks believe that BOC Asa (AKA Tirsa) Waldua, was the actual author of these messages, nothing could be proved. Helge was sentenced to life in prison, and on July 20, 2007 got married for the third time to a woman who had become his prison pen pal. And BOC Asa has become a celebrity, described as “Sweden's most maligned person in modern times”.
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A Christian might be depressed by such horrors perpetrated in the God’s name, but a Bonkononist would only sing the calypso song, “God made Mud. God got lonesome. So God said to some of the mud, “Sit up! See all I’ve made,” said God, “the hills, the sea, they sky, the stars”. And I was some of the mud that got to sit up and have a look around. Lucky me, lucky mud.”

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