The Ministry of Mike Warnke

Will he rise from the ashes?

Everyone Has A Story... Again

Does anyone remember the comedian, Mike Warnke? Back when I was in high school, I collected everything that guy ever wrote or recorded. I was a huge fan, and probably one of the most disappointed of his fans when his lies all came crashing down around him.

Mike Warnke first came to fame as an evangelist and comedian. He purported to have been a high-ranking member in the satanic church, and wrote a book called The Satan Seller in 1973 that described his rise in the ranks of satanism, becoming a high priest for the organization. He touted various accomplishments such as being a soldier in the Vietnam war, being involved in ritualistic kidnappings and rape, and other weird confessions, that I actually never really believed were completely true.

If you have never heard one of Mr. Warnke’s stand-up performances, I would encourage you to do…

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What Men Do With Tweezers

Today, I’m going to talk about something that just embarrasses me to no end, but I believe it is important enough to women everywhere that I’m going to bite back the shame, and cover this subject in length. And it all started with an argument with Don over my tweezers.

Unappealing facial hair has been no secret to mankind for tons of decades by now, but as a reddish blonde girl

 

By Richard Wheeler (Zephyris) 2007. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

 

that tends to grow peach fuzz instead of hair all over my body, I paid absolutely no attention to the despair other women were going through over this somewhat unfeminine scourge of theirs. My sisters and my mom are all brunettes, and they seemed to speak this unknown language of eyebrow picking and mustache removal wax that secretly, I was happy to skip. I had watched my mom pluck her eyebrows hundreds of times over years of my childhood, and the whole process kind of grossed me out. I hate pain in general. So, before I will embark on something painful, no matter how great it is going to make me look, I weigh all the pros and cons. And having perfectly shaped eyebrows just weren’t worth the plucking pain you had to stand to get them. Plus, frankly you can’t really see mine that well. They’re even lighter than my hair…win!

But, about 5 years ago or so, my body betrayed me in a horrible way by growing one — ONE! – hair on my chin. And in a cruel twist of fate, it was blonde, so I didn’t know it was growing there until it was somewhat impressive in length. Yes. I can feel so many of you turning away from this post in disgust. But, I’m trying to help my fellow woman, so I will endure your distaste as a martyr should.

Because my hair is long, curly, and given to flyaway, tickle moments, the fact that some random hair was tickling my chin didn’t really alarm me…I was a fool for not checking.

Finally, through sheer boredom at work, I moseyed on into the girl’s bathroom to pull my hair back out of my face, and the sunlight hit my chin just so…And I could see this rebel hair that had grown on my chin!!!  Oh, the Horror! Let’s just say that it was long enough for me to pull it out with just my fingers. I wanted to disappear into a hole in the ground. I mean, I had essentially grown a full beard!

Keeping my dark shameful secret to myself, I had hoped that the hair had been some genetical fluke that wouldn’t repeat itself, but in a cruel twist of fate, that stupid hair made its stubby little appearance again within the next few days. It was official. I was some kind of freak show now, ready to join a circus and set up a tent so all the normal people in the world could come gross themselves out looking at the one hair on my chin.

In desperation to keep my secret from getting out, I went to the store and bought some pretty expensive tweezers. I needed the best. Obviously, they were going to need to hold up to a strenuous exercise of pulling my one hair out every day or so. And for some unknown, un-holy reason, my husband keeps taking my tweezers out of the bathroom. I mean, seriously, guys. What do you guys need with tweezers???

I’ve confronted my tweezer-thief on many occasions, and I get varying answers, most that are vague and uninteresting. Some answers have been disturbing, and through it all, I’ve managed to lose about two dozen pairs over the years.

This morning, as I was getting my tweezers out the cabinet, and lifting them up to my face to search for The Hair, my husband, walking by the bathroom says, ” I wouldn’t use those on your face anymore if I were you…” and kept on walking. I dropped said tweezers like a hot marble, and they fell down the sink.

I am sitting here, freshly shaven because I am now afraid to touch any of the tweezers in my house…. All the really cool things I was going to write about are all lost memories because my brain won’t stop pondering just exactly what disgusting thing he might have done with my tweezers.

Seriously. This is what my mind is stuck on.

— Bird

Related articles

• What Men Do With Tweezers (birdmartin.wordpress.com)
• Chin Hairs… (ashrinkslife.com)

My Sandlot Moment by Dj

When I was about 8 years old, we lived in Laredo, Texas. My sisters and I were playing baseball in the back yard. We were using unripe limes from a lime tree back there because Bekkie had hit our only baseball into someone else’s back yard, and it was being guarded by 6 — yes, 6! — Rottweilers. Bekkie at that time tried to convince me to go get it, as we were tired of using the limes. It took her about a week to talk me into climbing over the fence to rescue our baseball. I had me a Sandlot moment.

The plan was Bekke was going distract the dogs from the top of the privacy fence, I was going to jump down, run across

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the yard, snatch the ball, run back to the fence, and in worst case scenario, jump up on their industrial sized grill. How could the plan go wrong? When you’re a child, that’s what you’re always thinking. But when in doubt, know your way out.

Problem was the minute I hit the ground, Bekkie started laughing from her perch on top of the fence, which actually drew the dogs out from under the house. She was laughing. But they didn’t care about her. They saw me. They visualized my chicken drumlettes running along the gate, stealing their ball. All plans were off, as I launched myself back over the gate. I accomplished my mission with no help at all. Bekkie had just laughed the whole time, and Bug had thought it was stupid plan before we ever did it, and wouldn’t help us. She couldn’t be bothered with the whole thing.

What really blew chunks is that a week later, the other next door neighbor‘s kid hopped our fence, took our one baseball, and played with it with impunity in his back yard, for all the world to see. So, yet again, I was recruited to take my ball back from the thief next door. Good times, good times.

— DJ

The Cost of Doing Business

One thing about my sister Rebekkah is that she comes up with big ideas, but she was always too chicken-shit to execute these plans alone. Hence, Caitlyn and I were always suckered into plans we didn’t always agree with. Caitlyn, being of sound mind, always thought these plans were stupid, but for whatever reason, this time she decide to tag along.

Back when I was 8, Cait was 7, and Bekkie was 9. We were living in Laredo, and because Mom traveled for her

job, and Dad was always working at his restaurant, they hired a Mexican nanny named Gabriella. We loved Gabriella. Rebekkah was always good at picking up other languages, and so she was our interpreter when Gabriella was telling us stories. And some of those stories inspired this epic adventure. Rebekkah decided that we three kids should move to Mexico. Of course, it was a stupid idea, but Bekkie is gifted at getting us to do these plans. Well, let me re-phrase this. She was gifted at getting me to do these things. And I could always be bought with not very much money. This time, it cost her $8.00, all of it mostly change. I was wealthy.

We each went to our rooms and packed our little backpacks and we headed out the back door, giving the appearance that we were just going outside to play. By the time we hit the back gate, which was about 20 feet from the back door, Caitie wised up, and blew off the plan, much to Bekkie’s chagrin. However, I had been paid, and was stuck doing this stupid trip.

Rebekkah and I made it through the gate, but then Bek decided that I should go first, and pave the way for her. So, I took my $8.00 down the road to a friend Davy’s house, and from there we found the raspa man, and spent the $8.00, hung out for a while, and then both of us went back to my house to play video games on my Nintendo 64.

Needless to say, Bekkie was pissed. I spent the $8.00, had a good time, and didn’t pave the way to Mexico. She demanded her money back, but I never gave it back. She owed it to me for coming up with this stupid idea.  After that, she would use this story about going to Mexico over my head to get me to do other stupid things.

I’m so glad we’re adults now. Not that being grown up keeps her from trying anyways… 🙂 Only these days, the prices are higher.

— DJ