Watch out, PREYER about – “The devil can quote scripture for his purposes”

Leo Burnett used to have a little notepad on which he wrote down phrases he heard that struck him.

I am an avid collector of bits and pieces – I have God knows how many I mean to comment on – but I found a very instructive one two days ago.

I think I may have mentioned a while ago the story about the founder of Scientology, Ron Hubbard, saying that if you want to make a lot of money, just start your own religion.

He did extremely well, so I can’t fault his approach, but there are plenty of people doing pretty well by piggy-backing on the ones that are around already. That is one reason why I make a point of studying the techniques of the bible thumping crooks who make millions on TV here and elsewhere

This came to mind when I saw a mailing yesterday from Bishop Wayne T. Jackson of Detroit to my daughter’s mother.

It is a brilliant piece of work, I must say. He wants to send her three anointed prayer cloths he has personally prayed over. They are well worth getting, as it appears that a great many miracles have been taking place as a result of the Bishop’s “Miracles Do Happen” broadcasts, and all he needs from her is a donation of anywhere from $39 to you name it.

I am going to analyse this masterly piece of preying on the gullible on video. Even the scamps who promise you infinite riches online without lifting a finger could learn a lot from these rogues.

And what’s great about their business is that as far as I can see you can call yourself a bishop or a pastor or whatever you like and nobody can stop you. No need to send years studying how the Internet works: just get yourself a bible and an appalling suit.

If you want to add a veneer of plausibility, emulate the “reverend” Ian Paisley, who bought his degree in theology from one of those mail order universities, but still managed to end up helping to ruin and then run Northern Ireland.

Turning aside from the devil posing as God, something instructive happened yesterday.

I spent most of the day in the freezing cold shepherding my daughter and 7 -12 of her friends (they kept on coming and going) from one place to another. At about 8.15 p. m. we were walking up Bloomfield Avenue in Montclair. We stopped at a crossing. Two girls were close behind us. My daughter turned to one of them and said, “Hey, you’re my friend on Facebook.”

So much for social networks.

By the way, I apologise if the look of this journal changes from time to time. It’s a miracle I manage it at all. I started writing on a big, clunky 1930’s typewriter, so I’m doing pretty well.