Brother Bobcat Preaches on

A Sample Of My Project Under Construction:

Brother Bobcat’s Barf BurgersBy Patricia Backora

“Wonder what the big guy’s gonna hit us with tonight when he preaches?” Craig grumbled to Wanda one Sunday night as they settled their family in the pew. “Sister Mary said she knew for sure he was gonna preach about love tonight,” Wanda said. “I’m right. You’ll see.”

As Craig gnawed his knuckles wondering how he’d pay the light bill or even catch up on sleep lost to working two whole shifts, Brother Bobcat, looking tanned and relaxed, ascended the podium. “Can ya say ‘hallelujah’?” he shouted with one of his rare smiles. “Praise God, that trip to Haw-wy-yah was just what the doctor ordered. I’m all rested up and rarin’ to go. So next Wednesday night we’ll be startin’ our teaching series entitled “The Horrors of Hell”. The only way you’ll escape it is if you git a job workin’ Wednesday nights. After we give y’all a taste of fire and brimstone we’ll be servin’ hand-cranked ice cream in the church fellowship hall, during which time we’ll treat y’all to slides of our trip.” “Brag, brag, brag!” Craig whispered to Wanda. “I can’t even take my kids to the zoo.” She whispered back, “Jealousy is a sin. Oh, Craig…” “Wanda,” Craig sighed, “I think begging poor folks for money so he can take a break while we can’t is a bigger sin.” “Mama,” Petra whispered, “did Daddy say the preacher’s a sinner?” “Shush, Petra,” Craig breathed, nervously scanning the area for ushers. “Everybody on earth is a sinner one way or another.”

After a few grumpy gripes about non-tithers and what he’d like to do with them, Fester cracked another smile. “Guess y’all have heard some rumors goin’ round that tonight we’d be preachin’ on the love of God. So that’s what we intend to do. Let’s crack open our Bibles to Hebrews chapter 12, startin’ with verse 5.” Groans. After Fester finished reading about the chastening of the Lord, he grinned again and said, “There, you have it. God whups the tar out of every Christian He loves, and this is backed up by Proverbs 13:24. Read it yourself and you’ll find out that if you love your kid their backside will testify to it. If I drive by any of y’all’ses homes and I see a tree out front with all the branches stripped off, then I know you’ve been crackin’ down on sin in your kid’s life and teachin’ ‘em the love of God. BUT, when little Susie or Johnny gits to be about eight or nine, it’s time to bring out the BIG guns!” Fester unbuckled his 62-inch cowhide belt and whipped it off. He banged his pulpit with it and yelled, “When I was a kid my daddy’d say ‘I sure do love you, Fester!’ every time his trusty ol’ razor strap struck my Gluttonous Maximus. When he got done I’d gotten more fatherly love than any other reprobate brat in all of Texas! Some folks say I’ve got a fat belly, but Daddy saw to it I always had a flat bottom. It was a patriotic backside, too, always red, white and blue. Black too! “As a rule I don’t recommend other people’s books. But this one’s a blessing. Right now I’m gonna tell y’all about a good child-rearing manual that was written way back in the ‘70’s, when Christian parents were a heckuva lot better at beatin’ kids than they are today. Today’s parents are softie liberal twinkle-toed hippie-dippie twits that don’t know how to diz’pline a fly, let alone a kid. Ernest J. Whipple, a lay preacher who took divination classes at Glory Road Cemeter…I mean, seminary, was so busy raisin’ a houseful of kids he didn’t have time to finish his doctorhood dissertation. But he wrote all about the trials and tribulations of parenthood and how to do a good job of it. He taught all his kids to fear the Lord, and be afraid of him, too. Brother Whipple’s belt spent far more time wrapped around somebody’s caboose than it did around his pants.” “This here’s his UNBEATABLE book on Christian child rearin’. Fester held up a copy for all to see.

“Daddy’s Dizpline,” Fester drawled. “See? Underneath the title there’s a tidbit of wisdom wise old Solomon himself couldn’t’a thought up: ‘A beating a day keeps the devil away’. And, ‘Keep your kids outa hell GOD’S way. None of this leftie liberal soft-soap love and understanding junk. There’s times to love and there’s times to punish. If some bum breaks into your house and steals your family jewels, you gotta forgive ‘em if you don’t shoot ‘em first, no questions asked. But kids only learn when you teach their seat of education. “Good news! Daddy’s Diz…I mean, Discipline, is on sale in our bookstore for a measly price of $8.37 anytime you want it. For those watchin’ at home, our toll-free ministry phone number is on the screen, and y’all can just call in and order it for $9.25 postage paid. Don’t look for it online, ‘cause it ain’t there yet. “In this book,” Fester drawled, “you’ll find all sorts of godly wisdom for how to break a kid, just like when a cowboy rides a buckin’ horse around the corral to break it in. Let’s see.” Fester opened a dog-eared section of the book. “Here. Ernest Whipple says you gotta make kids scared of goin’ to hell, and the only way to do that is to give ‘em a little taste of it here on this earth. So if you’ve got a kid that’s in the habit of spillin’ his RC Cola at the dinner table over and over again, even though you’ve warned him a trillion times to be careful, don’t listen to no more lame excuses. Even if it’s an awkward eleven-year old with bony elbows and overgrown hands, that kid has failed to heed the ammunition to precede with caution. That’s one time too many, and since he didn’t listen he gits a beatin’.” Fester swayed, drummed on his pulpit and sang out of the book: “Bob bob a du wah, a biddly-bob a du wah! “Brother Whpple says here, ‘Before the hippies came along to blaspheme the War in Viet Nam, they used to have these weirdos called BEAT-niks, and they’d sing

something like that. Every Christian parent ought to be a BEAT-nik, because when little Nick sins, you need to BEAT Nick, and pound his bongo drums.’ “What a priceless gem from a fine Christian family man,” Brother Bobcat reflected. “And he’s right about one thing: If you don’t intravene fast, your kid’ll grow up like a brain-dead klutz on crack. He’ll be so clumsy and inconciliate toward you, he’ll wreck all your knickknacks before he gits around to breakin’ yore heart too. “So next time Junior torpedoes another glass of milk with his elbow, what you need to do is whisper softly and tenderly:

“I’VE HAD IT WITH YOU, BUSTER! NO MORE SECOND CHANCES! THIS TIME I’M GONNA BURN UP YORE BRITCHES!

“Now we’ll read some more of Brother Whipple’s advice. ‘Never threaten a punishment you don’t carry out immediately or your kid will think it’s all a game and just laugh. You need to teach your precious child that God cracks down hard on each and every sin. YOU are the priest who carries out the Paddling Ritual to pound holiness into your kid to save his soul from hell. After you warn the kid he’s about to get his round steak tenderized, you go whip Woody Woodshed out of the closet. If yore kid runs down the back alley to get away from you, don’t worry. Once his belly growls from hunger he’ll come crawling back home to be fed. But don’t feed his belly till you fan his bottom.’ ‘When you swing that paddle, it should be at least as thick as a T-bone steak. It should be made out of solid oak, none of that wimpy plywood junk. It should have holes in it so it will make big blisters. You should keep swinging it till your kids repent for their ornery, cussed sins. If you use a belt, you should make it sting like a swarm of bees. Don’t be too gentle or they’ll think it’s all just a big joke. ‘On the facing page you’ll see the Spankometer. This handy little semi-circular chart is a nifty way to measure a kid’s crying to determine whether he’s exhibiting true repentance or just acting ornery.” Fester pointed at the book. The congregation could see close-ups of the material he displayed on the many monitors scattered throughout the vast auditorium. Mouths dropped open in shock. People were glad they hadn’t had to raise children during the Savage Seventies. Craig’s head bobbed. This service was too darned long, but as Fester’s senior manager he had to set the good example of perfect attendance. Wanda stared with fascinated, glassy, eyes, furiously scribbling notes. Joshua fumbled with his Farm Boy game so he could shut the preacher out. Petra sat scrunched up in her seat with her face buried behind her knees. Her mother poked her. Petra straightened up a little, but pulled her fleece jacket over her eyes. Her daddy warned her to cut it out or people might stare at them. “See here?” Fester growled, pointing at the chart. “This here area’s called ‘pain’. Then you go on to ‘fear’, then ‘anger’, then finally ‘repentance’. If yore kid screeches like a jungle wildcat, he’s spittin’ mad and in rebellion against God, not just you. So you gotta hit ‘em again and again till he sniffles softly and tenderly. That means he’s sorry and only then is he allowed to pray to ask Jesus for forgiveness. Gathering steam Fester read, ‘That means you don’t let yore kid pray to the Lord for mercy till AFTER he’s taken his medicine. If you do let him pray before you swing that paddle, problem with that is, Jesus will spring-clean that brat’s heart and there won’t be no sin left to punish. You’d feel like a lowdown rat if you blistered your child’s backside after the Lord forgave him and cancelled out his sins, and he already felt like a new man on his way to Glory. We can’t have that happen, can we? So make sure you clobber yore child’s seat before Jesus gits the chance to clean his soul. You need to lay into that kid just as soon as you make him feel rotten and dirty inside, so he knows he deserves the suffering that’s coming to him.’ “Brother Whipple can’t be beat!” Fester cackled. “Here’s more pearls of wisdom on Page 59: ‘You, the father of the family, are God’s anointed priest. It is up to you

and you alone to detect sin in the life of your child. You must monitor the ebb and flow of life in your child’s heart to make sure those spiritual streams stay pure. Like radar detects a Communist invasion you must instantly discern any early signs of rebellion in the heart of your child and nip them in the bud before this rebellion spreads like a cancer throughout his soul. Once sin sinks its ugly, twisted roots in the life of a child, it is nearly impossible to pull it out. That’s why you must get to the BOTTOM of sin in your child’s life and attack it mercilessly, lest your child end up in a worse hell than he’s already in.’ “We’ll start readin’ on Page 60 and go through the whole chapter,” Fester said. “Just bear with me. We’ll be off the air before we finish tonight, but at least the folks here at Woodshed Worship Center can receive this precious spiritual food. Here goes: ‘Jesus may be the Way to the Father, but you, the priest of your family, are your child’s ONLY way back to the love of Jesus. Without you, your child has no viable relationship with God. Unless you, his father, leads him there, he cannot find his way to the Father. Just like Jesus died on an old wooden cross, the ONLY way back to the Father’s love after your child sins is The Way of the Woodshed. God created trees not just for fruit, but to enable people to punish sin. Trees provide twigs for toddlers and holey paddles for Southern school teachers to use on gum-chewers. Just like Jesus could not bypass the Cross, neither can your child skip his spanking and still get his relationship with God restored to what it was before he sinned. Jesus did forgive the Thief on the Cross. But that thief still had to suffer all the brutal punishments the Roman soldiers dished out. ‘Suppose a prison convict is sentenced to die for his crime. He has a conversion experience and comes to know Christ as Savior the day before his execution. The criminal has been transformed by the power of God. All his sins have been washed away as far as east is from west. He is a new man. God declares this man to be blameless and just in His sight. But the penalty for his sin must still be enforced because that’s the law of the land. The same principle applies to the law of your home. Even if God did manage to satisfy HIS standard of justice and wash your child’s sins away BEFORE the paddling is carried out, your child still owes a debt of pain and suffering to pay for his bad behavior. He must still satisfy your criteria for justice. The parable of the poor servant who could not pay his debt and begged the Merciless Servant for mercy does not apply in this case. The Merciless Servant only asked for money to satisfy the debt. All you’re asking for is pain, and everybody can provide plenty of pain, whether they’re rich or poor. After a hard enough spanking, the foul air will be cleared and the accounts between you and your child will be settled. And by the way, don’t ever let your child’s Spanking Account get in arrears, or he’ll never learn to respect law and order. ‘Why can’t we show more mercy and grace to small children who can’t discern their right hand from their left? you might ask. There is a time for all things. First we had the Old Testament, which was filled with plagues, stonings, burnings, and fearful judgments on sin. The New Testament, where God displayed His grace and mercy, only came later, after the Nation of Israel matured enough to receive those things. First you’re a child, then an adult, with all the honors and privileges of being one. Grace and mercy are part of the solid meat of the Word spoken of in Hebrews chapter 5. Verse 14 states that this solid food belongs to mature believers, not small children. However, I could make a strong case for the fact that chastisement is the greatest possible mercy you could show a rebellious child, although it is a severe mercy. ‘Many Christian disciplinarians fear that one day they’ll reap the same severe mercy they sow into their little children’s lives. They’re afraid their children will grow up and turn on them in a vengeful spirit, and ditch them in a substandard nursing home where they, like the children they whipped, will be at the mercy of people more powerful than themselves. Never fear. By the time you’ve crushed the will of your young child like a pearl under the heel of an elephant, they’ll do only what you command till you go home to glory. Your children won’t even have enough will to

make decisions for themselves in later life. You’’ll be the one to choose their marriage partner, or even decide whether they get married or not. You will choose their career for them. If you want them to flip burgers all their lives, they won’t mind if you won’t contribute to a college education. And even if they decide to move out by the time they’re 35, they’ll be at your beck and call night and day. And if they dare cross you, remind them that you might be getting old and feeble, but Woody Woodshed is hand-crafted to last long after you’re six feet under. ‘At the end of this book you’ll find a perforated order form for my Patented Woody Woodshed Spanking System. Included in our basic package is my devotional booklet, Prayers for the Paddled Child, a care and usage manual, and also a 2-foot long, 1-1/2” thick, 5” wide, solid oak paddle with an EZ Grip handle, the Woody Woodshed. The Woody Woodshed is varnished with Duralast Amazon Rain Forest Resin, to ensure it will last a lifetime. The Woody Woodshed is the only paddle you will ever need to purchase. It works on rug rats aged seven on up, dogs and cats too. Your pets will never again get in your favorite chair and refuse to move. ‘The Woody Woodshed’s sleek, aerodynamic design enables it to cut through the air in one fluid motion, delivering harder blows with a minimum of wrist strain. The Woody Woodshed glances off your child’s backside, after focusing all the force of your blow on the target area. This state-of-the-art paddle comes with one dozen rubberized holes, each ½” inch in diameter. It inflicts the maximum pain with minimum exertion by the parent. As you swing the Woody Woodshed, you’ll hear it whistle like a songbird as air rushes through the holes. Spanking your child will never again feel the same. No more achy wrists or calloused hands from hard handles. ‘If you’re ready to start disciplining your colicky baby, order our low-impact Diaper Drummer, an oscillating rubber Impact Disk on a motorized handle. It runs on 2 size D batteries (not included). The Impact Disk is detachable for use as a teething ring. Your baby will love it! The Diaper Drummer makes the perfect Baby Shower Gift, especially if you’re tired of being invited to “Gimme parties” and don’t particularly like the freeloader who invited you. The Diaper Drummer is available for a mere $22.00, plus P&H. Once your infant starts toddling, you can progress to the Toddler Trainer, a flexible slab of perforated plastic on a wire handle. The Toddler Trainer also works on pesky flies. You can order it for a suggested donation of $13.00, plus P&H. The Wee Woody Woodshed is a blessing for smaller kids who are too mature for the Toddler Trainer but aren’t sturdy enough to absorb the full benefit of the full-sized Woody Woodshed. This paddle is hand-crafted of polished pine instead of heavier oak. It comes with fewer holes, which are not reinforced with rubber. It is 1-1/2 feet long, 1” thick, and 4” wide, with EZ Grip handles to minimize parental wrist strain. It is the ideal training tool for small children under the Age of Accountability. Order now and get it for a suggested donation of only $43.00 plus P&H. ‘The Woody Woodshed Spanking System can be yours for a ministry donation of only $67.00 plus P&H. Details on how to order all the above-mentioned products are included on the ad/order form at the rear of this book. If you order at least one Woody Woodshed or one Wee Woody Woodshed, or two Diaper Drummers, or three Toddler Trainers now, you’ll receive our Deluxe Discipline Deal, which includes a wide range of extra accessories to enhance your Christian spanking experience. ‘One item included in The Deluxe Discipline Deal is a Punitive Priest Wardrobe of ceremonial Spanking Vestments. This outfit includes a tall Correction Cap, similar to the gold-embroidered miter worn by Roman Catholic popes (Please specify hat size). The Punitive Priest Robe is a seamless, full-length, one-size-fits-all flowing vestment of white silk, gemshot with rare rhinestones and embroidered with gold designs on the 32” pleated sleeves, which symbolize the Long Arm of the Law. This garment fits every disciplinarian up to 500 pounds. To enhance the glory of this garment you’ll receive a golden Correction Cummerbund, embroidered with silken threads of many colors. And a white Correction Cape similar to the cape worn by Popes. Included in

this Punitive Priest Wardrobe is an ornamental jeweled Paddle Pendant, crafted of black ebony set with real rubies (believe that by faith). Red satin slippers are also included in your priestly wardrobe (Please specify size). ‘Also included in our Deluxe Discipline Deal is our Paddle Prayer Shrine, which you can install on any shelf. It’s carved out of petrified soapstone and inscribed with the words: “The Way to Heaven is a Paddleboat.”. The Paddle Prayer Shrine includes a golden rack to proudly display your paddle. Along its length are eight niches for sulfur-scented Correction Candles, which are also included. This will enhance the worship aspect of your child’s woodshed experience. ‘Also included in your bonus package is our patented “Misery Monitor”, a digital sensor which picks up pain vibes in the room and measures the intensity of that pain, so you’ll know if you’re hitting hard enough. ‘To help comfort your child after the spanking, we’ll throw in a few Speedy Spankster Adventure Comics for older children, and Woody Woodshed coloring books for smaller kids. ‘Also included in our Deluxe Discipline Deal is a free box of Tough Love Tissues, a Daddy’s Discipline Diary, and a digital 5-minute Tantrum Timer. When your kid starts crying, hand him the Tough Love Tissues. Each tissue has a spanking Proverb printed on it to remind him that real religion hurts. After the spanking, immediately start the Tantrum Timer. If he’s still blubbering, or even whimpering, when the timer goes off, wear him out all over again till he quits. Record each spanking in Daddy’s Discipline Diary, then proudly hang your paddle on your Paddle Prayer Shrine to show all your church pals that you’re saving your son’s soul from hell harder than anybody else. ‘Once the pain is past, don’t forget to recite a selection from Prayers for the Paddled Child. These inspirational, poetic prayers will help you instill in your child a healthy sense of his or her own sinfulness and worthlessness in the sight of Almighty God. The less your children think they’re worth, the less often they’ll voice an annoying opinion or have much to say about anything. That helps keep the atmosphere of your home peaceful. Children should be seen and not heard. ‘What pride your child will take in carving his initials in this splendid paddle, to testify to the whole world how lovingly you chasten him to reform his bad behavior. ‘So why are we supposed to be so severe with our children even if we go easy on ourselves? I have already established that childhood is to the Old Testament what adulthood is to the New. So it follows that childhood is the time for judgment to rejoice over mercy. Every mama cat cuffs her kittens when they’re little so she won’t have to scratch them when they’re full grown. Spanking teaches children that ALL debts must be paid in full, and it hurts to pay. Instill this attitude in your kids and they’ll blossom into mature, responsible adults who won’t run up big credit card bills because you’ve made them too scared to owe anyone anything. ‘Sometimes money is involved in satisfying your demand for justice for the sin your child has committed against you, not just the mandatory spanking which is to be inflicted for all transgressions great or small. Just like a criminal might do jail time PLUS pay a hefty fine. If your kid helps wash the dishes and smashes a plate, EVEN IF IT’S ACCIDENTAL, you are to whip off your belt or bring Woody Woodshed out of the closet. First perform the spanking ritual, where you first explain what the spanking’s for, then inflict the pain, then lead the child in a prayer to ask Jesus to forgive them for breaking the butter dish, or whatever the item was. Then once the tears are over and you make the child hug you and say they love you, go back into the kitchen. Order the kid to clean up his mess. If the child is too little to handle broken glass, you might have to order an older kid to do that for him. Finally, you need to appraise the value of the broken item. Multiply its value by seven, because Proverbs 6:31 states that a thief has to pay back seven times the value of a stolen item, plus all the stuff in his house. Some might argue that an accident is not the same as a theft. But when your child acts careless with your stuff, he’s stealing it from you!

His punishment? First, in keeping with Proverbs 6:31, take all the unneeded luxuries out of his bedroom and sell them at a yard sale or EBay to compensate you for the broken dish. If it was a very costly item, also withhold his allowance until the debt is satisfied. And incidentally, you should never pay an allowance to any child who hasn’t earned it first. Assign the child the dirtiest drudgery duties around the house, according to his age and ability. Even if he’s eighty years old before the debt is paid, don’t go easy on him. If your child doesn’t get an allowance, and selling all his toys isn’t enough to clear his debt, assign extra chores around the home to perform unpaid till he’s all paid up. Even if that takes a few years. Sorry, but “forgive us our debts” a la Matthew 6:12 is not applicable to kids. Only adults merit such mercy because they’ve earned it just by enduring so many years on this miserable planet. ‘That’s the reason you wouldn’t paddle a pastor who got caught in bed with the deacon’s wife, or got caught buying a boat with loose change from the church missionary fund. By reason of his highly exalted office, a church leader benefits from I Tim.5:1, which commands Christians to condone the sins of their superiors. Even if he ends up being a preacher, your child won’t earn a “Get Out of Jail Free Card” till he gets his rump roasted a few thousand times in the Woodshed. ‘As you administer the Spanking Sacrament, don’t worry about what Christ said about how only the merciful would be shown mercy. Christ was speaking to full-grown men when He said that. You’re protected by your priestly office as head of your home. Eli the high priest may have been a sleazebag who stole God’s offerings, but he was primarily punished by God because he didn’t crack down hard enough on his sons for their sins. ‘Because God knows your motives are pure, He will still be merciful to YOU even if you fall short of His expectations. The Golden Rule of “Do Unto Others as You’d Have Them Do Unto You” only applies to your own peer group, not to children who owe their very existence to you because you, the parent, work like a mule to provide for them so they don’t starve to death. Love thy neighbor as thyself. But your children are NOT your neighbors. So you do NOT have to cut your kids the same slack as you’d do for yourself when making allowances for your own petty peccadilloes. Your kids are subordinates subject to your will, for you are God’s earthly representative in their lives. FOR ALL PRACTICAL PURPOSES, YOU ARE GOD TO THEM! Just like a Marine drill sergeant is the ONLY god in the life of raw recruits. ‘God knows that you, as a full-grown adult, deserve more dignified treatment and leeway in making mistakes than your child, who ranks lower on the totem pole in your home. Especially if you’re a male parent, God has conferred a priestly prestige upon you which grants you the same immunity to cruel and unusual punishment as the President of the United States. For the duration of his term in office, our President is immune from prosecution in a court of law. All other U.S. citizens must answer for any crimes they commit, especially poor folks who lack status in society and can’t buy their way out of a jam. It is a fearful responsibility to be a small child in a fundamentalist family, and woe unto any child who does not measure up to it! ‘Some wonder why I emphasize that it is the father of the family who is crowned with honor and prestige as priest of the home, rather than the mother. Eve was the first sinner on earth, so the woman is subject to the husband. The mother of the family derives her limited authority from her husband. If the father isn’t home to beat the kids, she can dig her wooden spoon out of the kitchen drawer so she can fan their fannies before Daddy gets home. That way, the kids won’t flee from their dad like Frankenstein when he calls “Honey, I’m home!” ‘The wife herself is under subjection to her husband’s priestly authority. Even to the extent of being love-tapped herself if she doesn’t show him the proper reverence. The husband’s judgments on all matters should NEVER be questioned. His decision is final. If the woman’s spiritual head turns out to be a spiritual headache, tough luck. She chose that dude, so she’ll have to live with whatever he decides to dish out. God

may be no respecter of persons, but even He is bound to respect authority and uphold it in heaven and on earth.’ Brother Bobcat grinned. “Donelle knows who’s got the right to order her around. If I tell her to git outa the sack at 5 a.m. and hop on her exercise bike, she’ll yell ‘Yes, sir!’ and pedal it 20 miles. Then she’ll do a hundred reps on her ab cruncher machine before she swims forty laps in our Olympic pool. She don’t eat her Fitness Flakes without burnin’ ‘em off first. That woman has to earn the diamonds I buy her, ‘cause she saw what happened to the last woman who let me down. “Bathroom break!” Bobcat barked. “Be back here in ten minutes. GO!” Three thousand church members reluctantly returned as Fester frowned and fiddled with notes. He readjusted his reading glasses, then picked up his teaching material and drawled, “Now for more authority teachin’ from Brother Whipple’s book. Where was I? Here we go. “ ‘The Catholic Pope is held to be infallible by his followers. Whatever he decrees must be done. His decisions are held to be beyond reproach. The father, by virtue of his holy office as priest of his home, IS infallible, just like the Pope. Just as it is a grave sin for a Roman Catholic to argue with the Pope, it’s an even worse sin for a tiny child to ask why he is being paddled, and why his offense is worth all that pain. ‘King Henry VIII of England was the absolute lord of his realm. He held the power of life and death over all his subjects while he sat on the throne. No one had the right to rebuke Henry because he was God’s anointed sovereign. If Henry didn’t like you he could have your head hacked off. All he had to do was accuse you of committing treason, and the definition of treason could change like the wind. Treason was anything the King wanted it to be. ‘Henry wanted to get rid of his second wife, Anne Boleyn, who couldn’t produce a living male heir for his line of succession. So she was accused of having affairs with a string of men, some of whom weren’t even in the vicinity when the alleged love trysts took place. Even if Anne did spend most of her three-year marriage pregnant or recovering from childbirth and miscarriages, she still allegedly had the health and stamina to cheat on Henry with five different men, one of whom was her own brother. ‘Anne’s musician had a confession tortured out of him. As a commoner, this man had no rights to humane treatment. This forced confession was treated as solid evidence in Henry’s court. It incriminated Anne and sealed her fate. Anne was not allowed to produce witnesses for her own defense. Because the integrity of the King’s sacred office was at stake, his allegations could never be contradicted. In treason trials, evidence for the defense was inadmissible in the King’s court. The trumped-up evidence against Anne was so ludicrous it was flimsy as fairy dust. But all the lords who judged her case knew they could also get the axe if they dared to defend her. Because she was subordinate to the King, Anne Boleyn bowed to the court’s guilty verdict and meekly submitted to the penalty imposed by the law of the land. ‘The office of King of England had to be held in such reverence that he must never be proven to have borne false witness against the accused. Nor must God’s anointed ruler be accused of hamstringing the court to compel them to reach a guilty verdict. It was a veritable sin against God to question Henry if he thought someone else’s head had to be sacrificed for the common good. It was Anne’s duty to die because Henry desired a younger woman with a healthier reproductive system to produce a male heir to continue his kingly line. Individual liberties had to bow to the will of the King. ‘In God’s sight, you, the priestly father of the family, enjoy just much greater honor and majesty in your own home than Henry VIII did during his reign. So in that light, does your child, or even your wife, even have the right to wonder if you’re being unfair? That question should perish on the lips of a Christian child! Scandalous! If you condemn your child to a hard spanking and he dares question your judgment, he could very well forfeit his own salvation, because he’s questioning

God’s wisdom, not just yours. Better a blistered backside in this world than an eternity of regret in a far hotter hell. Now back to the question of why it’s inappropriate for a child to beg God for forgiveness until he has paid the very last farthing for his sin. And speaking of ‘farthing’, even if your kid makes lots noise about you being unfair, just lay on the pain till the debt is paid! ‘Even if your child climbs a tree to get away from you and then falls and injures himself, a broken arm’s no substitute for a beating. On the way to the doctor’s office, tell your child his injury is God’s punishment upon him for trying to escape justice. Remind him that Jonah got gobbled up by a whale when he ran away from God’s will. And warn your kid that you’ve kept a faithful record of his sin against you, and the moment he’s all healed up, it’s off to the woodshed with him, where he will finally pay his debt for the dirty thing he did. ‘Our God is a God of order. In His Kingdom things get done according to His predetermined timing, and in their correct sequence. Many have the misconception that ‘forgiveness’ means ‘to forego punishment’. But true forgiveness requires strict retribution for wrong-doing. Yes, Jesus did die on the Cross to pay for your sins. But that only takes care of heavenly justice. Earthly justice demands that your child suffer as well. You, as a parent, and especially the dad, are God’s duly appointed authority to inflict justice on your erring child. Just like you ought to teach your child that a policeman is not someone to run away from but a friend, you should tell him that Woody Woodshed is his friend which helps him stay on the rugged road to heaven. Each and every night your child should include this in his prayers: “And God bless Woody Woodshed”. ‘Wielding your paddle is a very holy aspect of your priestly office. Like a Catholic pope carrying a giant crucifix in a candlelit procession, the exalted emblem of your Parental Priesthood is the paddle, or in some cases, the belt. Reverently you hold up Woody Woodshed as you lead the solemn procession into your basement or den, or whatever serves as your Woodshed Sanctuary for Penitent Souls. Just as a Pope’s ceremonial procession is solemnized by mournful Gregorian chants, your own Punitive Procession is hallowed by the wails of your fearful child. Upon entry, your child should immediately kneel down. Not to pray just yet, but to kiss that Old Wooden Paddle which delivers his soul from hell. ‘Your Designated Woodshed Area is your (bat…COUGH!...excuse me), VATican, where you enforce law and order in your home. It’s your shrine of devotion to God, and the FOCAL POINT of your ministry to your erring child. A hallowed sanctuary where the lengthy process of being reconciled to an offended God is begun in order that it may be finished by appropriating the finished work of Christ, Whose blood atones for every sin. YOU, mister, are the one responsible for making sure your child gets clean enough to come into the Presence of God to receive forgiveness of sins. ‘Imagine a hog farmer who’s been working in the pigpen all day long. His overalls are filthy, saturated with muck and grime. His shoes ooze from sewage seeping into them. The man’s face is caked with crud because a 400-pound hog knocked him down and he got rotten, smelly stuff all over him. The dirt even seeped through his clothes and got down to his skin. This man AND his clothes both need cleansing. But they need at least one quick spitwash outside before they can go inside where the spankin’ clean bathroom and laundry room are. ‘His wife comes out onto the back porch and hollers, “Bubba, you stink to high heaven! Take them filthy rags off at once! We’re throwin’ ‘em out ‘cause I ain’t a-washin’ ‘em!” “But Bubba refuses to throw his dirty duds away. They’re too good for the garbage can. He warns his wife she’d better not soak them in water because they’ll shrink. Bubba just bought those perfectly good overalls. He lies and says they can only be dry-cleaned. And worse still, Bubba is too stubborn to take his clothes off and hang them on the line as his wife orders him to do.

‘By the time they finish arguing, the mud on those clothes has dried in the hot sun. Filth is flaking off Bubba’s body. Dust is swirling around him and he’s attracting maggots. The very sight of him disgusts his wife. But she is still determined to clean Bubba’s clothes even if he won’t let her wash them. So she decides to dry-clean them. She grabs a broom and beats the dust off Bubba, just like they used to beat a dirty rug before they invented vacuum cleaners. Filth flies everywhere, and boy, does it smart! Bubba isn’t ready to have his remaining impurities cleansed off his body in the spotless bathroom until he’s covered in bruises. ‘This sounds crude but it’s true: Christ did his bit to save your kid, but your belt bails him out of hell. A quicker analogy is the way a dishwasher works better if you first take the time to pre-rinse 98% of the food off under the tap. When you spank your child, you create cleansing tears which make Jesus’ cleaning job much easier when the child finally prays for for His forgiveness. ‘I realize my popularity could hit rock BOTTOM by preaching the hard-to-swallow doctrine of SUPPLEMENTAL SUFFERING SALVATION. But Solomon himself, the wisest, smartest, holiest Christian who ever lived, would back up this vital truth: GOD CANNOT SAVE YOUR CHILD UNLESS YOU BEAT HIS BOTTOM! YOUR BELT IS YOUR KID’S HOTLINE TO HEAVEN! Why do I believe this? In Proverbs 23:14 Solomon wrote: ‘IF you beat your son with the rod you’ll save his soul from hell! The key is that tiny word “if”. The clear inference is that if you punish your kid by grounding him or taking away his skateboard, he’ll split hell wide open and he’ll never see the Pearly Gates. ‘Some infidels dispense with the doctrine of the intermediary priesthood of the father by citing I Tim.2:5, which teaches that there is only one mediator between God and man, Christ Jesus. Yes, it’s true you grown-ups don’t have to go to some Catholic priest and confess your sins so that priest can help you make your peace with God. But little kids don’t know their right hand from their left foot, so what would they know about the proper way to approach a holy God they’ve offended by breaking a light bulb? They need you to confess their sins to, so you can bridge the gap between them and an angry God. Without you, Christ Jesus cannot reconcile them with the Father in heaven. And you better make darn sure you get to the child’s sin first before God gets the chance to wash it away. If God got rid of the guilt before you beat that guilt out of him, that would be highly improper! ‘One erring brother I knew asked me why any sane Christian would follow Solomon’s spanking advice after he financed the building of child-eating idols like Molech and Chemosh, in order to please his heathen wives. This man cited I Kings 11:7 and he had this to say: “Surely Solomon, the wisest man who ever lived, must have known those idols wouldn’t settle for a dog biscuit. Solomon knew what Molech and Chemosh ate to get their five a day. He knew what got thrown into their blast furnace bellies each and every day. So it follows that King Solomon hated kids too much to be much of a child rearing expert. ‘In all probability Solomon repented in later life. How do I know this? Solomon laments that he didn’t get lasting satisfaction out of all the thrilling things he did with his life. Ever hear that song: “I Can’t Get No Satisfaction”? But I try, and I try and I try, the song goes. Solomon tried his darnedest to find fulfillment in wine, women and song. And, in telling you how to beat your kids so they wouldn’t commit the same sins he did. Also, keep in mind that Solomon only commanded Christians to spank their kids, not sacrifice them to idols. Give the poor guy a break. We’re all sinners, and who’s to say you wouldn’t have caved in too if you’d had a thousand heathen wives nagging you night and day for their own designer Molech monster? ‘The proof of any doctrine is in the pudding. Solomon’s son Rehoboam grew up to be a strong, tough king who was man enough to beat his forced laborers with scorpions to increase their productivity. Talk about the Protestant Work Ethic! That’s like some sheriff whipping chain gang convicts with a rattlesnake to teach them

obedience. Rehoboam wasn’t a wimpy pantywaist granola junkie who freely forgave everybody without punishment! Even if Rehoboam did cause a civil war in Israel with his draconian domestic policies, his iron will was forged in the furnace of his daddy’s woodshed where Solomon flogged him all the days of his childhood to prove how much he loved him. ‘But what if you accidentally whip a child for something they didn’t do? No sweat. That little booboo gets credited to your child’s SPANKING SPREAD SHEET in heaven. Whenever he does something bad in the future that you don’t hit him for, those ‘accidental’ swats are deducted from the SPANKING CREDITS your kid’s built up over the years of your imperfect parenting. Heck, just take your son in the kitchen and fix him a great big peanut butter sandwich. Like a loyal pup, he’ll instantly forgive and forget, and that sandwich will soothe his battered bottom. ‘Which reminds me of another book I’m working on, which won’t come out till next year: Beat the Devil out of Your Dog. Grumpy, my 200-pound mastiff, refused to get his lazy caboose off the couch so I could watch a ball game on TV. He thought he’d won, but after I roasted Grumpy’s rump with my very own Darth Vader light saber, he ran away with his stubby tail between his legs. This book is a saga about my lengthy, perilous quest to reform Grumpy’s wayward soul, and oh, yes, dogs go to hell too if they’re bad. Down there they turn into hot dogs! Yum! More on that later. Back to children. ‘In Chapter 53 I’ll cover the subject of baby sins and how to deal with them. Before babies even emerge from the delivery room they’re already plotting ways to rob you of rest and peace. If you have to get up more than three times a night to feed a newborn, that infant is treating you like a slave and deliberately depriving you of sleep just for kicks. Then there are times when you might be kneeling in prayer, only to hear your precious bundle of joy scream to have her diaper changed. You smell something suspicious. Satan made that baby go at the wrong time so you’d get distracted from the things of God. You’d just changed a soggy one a few minutes ago, but now she’s got an even bigger surprise for you. ‘That child knows you’ve got more spiritual things to do with your life than clean up her dirty work. Satan is definitely behind such a so-called coincidence, for it is his business to distract the saints of God from their religious duties. ‘Later I’ll tell you how to deal with these spiritual attacks, and how I broke my daughter Pansy from a bad habit. Pansy was just 8 months old when satan started attacking us with her pacifier. She’d drop that thing on the dirty floor and laugh like it was a joke. She’d interrupt our Bible study so we’d have to go wash it and give it back to her, just so we wouldn’t have time for the Lord. Folks, I could see satan at work, and I prayed that God would give me the victory over our child’s sinister plot to distract us from the things of God. Well, one day I said, “This is the last straw, kid. You’ve sabotaged my quiet time for the very last time.” I’ll tell you more about how we won this Battle of the Demon-possessed Pacifier in Chapter 54, once you’ve learned the basics of how to correct infantile sins committed by baby brats. But believe me, once I trained Pansy God’s way, that girl never dropped anything on the floor ever again. Pansy learned the lesson so well that when she started crocheting, she was too scared to drop a stitch. ‘Here are some song lyrics I wrote, which I sing to the tune of an old hymn:

O Paddle DivineO Paddle Divine

You’re faithful to keep my family in line.I bow at thy shrine

You make children mindYou wonderful Paddle Divine.

‘Oh those precious rapturous joys you and your child will forever share together in eternity as you remember those holy hours in the woodshed, where you, as the exalted priest of your home, led your weeping, penitent child into the Presence of Almighty God. The spiritual high both of you will take away from this experience will soothe away the bitter pain of chastisement like honey soothes sunburn. As your child spiritually transcends his posterior pain, he will awaken to paradise in the pleasure zone of the soul. As he bows to your belt in deepest humility, your child’s soul will fly on angel wings to touch the face of God. Thus, even a child’s naughty pranks can be the catalyst through which he enters into deeper dimensions in his Christian experience. His sweetly submissive response to the pain itself incites an inner ecstasy which transports his soul to heavenly realms where he can hear the angels sing. This is much like the spiritual ecstasies experienced by Catholic hermits who habitually whip their filthy fallen flesh and wear scratchy scapulars to immerse their innermost being into the glory of God. ‘Talk about the Agony and the Ecstasy! The sweetness of the joy which springs from submission to your priestly ministry of chastisement will overwhelm the child so much he can barely contain it. Instead of tears of pain, you’ll see tears of indescribable heavenly delight seeping from his eyes. He will feel an afterglow so powerful, so profound, the agonies of earth will grow strangely dim in his sight. All because you, the priestly father of the family, got Woody Woodshed out of the closet and merged the power of the paddle with the power of prayer to cure the cancer of sin in your child’s heart.’ Brother Bobcat closed the book and held it reverently. “What a wonderful example of godliness Brother Whipple was, and still is. That’s the way I diz’plined my four kids from my first marriage, and the four I had from my second. But they don’t hate me for rearing ‘em that way ‘cause all that misery is BEHIND them, no pun intended. “One smart guy came up to me when the ushers weren’t around and asked, ‘Brother Bobcat, why do you urge parents to hit their kids for itty-bitty sins but you ditched your first wife to marry a younger woman? Don’t you need a spanking too? Especially since Solomon also said fools who git led astray by wily women should git locked up in a stockade, and Jesus Himself said in Matthew 5:32 that if you divorce a woman who hasn’t committed adultery against you yet, you’re guilty of a terrible sin if you marry somebody else? Blah, blah, blah. “The two-bit worm!” Fester fulminated. “What right’s he got to rebuke a famous preacher every decent Christian in America and around the world looks up to? Solomon also said a parable don’t mean nothin’ if it comes out of a fool’s mouth.” Fester made a face. “Stupid moron. Everybody knows spanking’s the only Proverb that’s still binding under the New Covenant, ‘cause Jesus did away with the rest of the Law, except for tithin’, of course. The good Lord knows we can’t run our homes without punishin’ our kids the only way that works. Adults have got rights, ‘cause they’re bigger and smarter than kids, so spanking’s just for kids. “Besides, sin is harder to define when you grow up. Proverbs 31 says it’s wise for preachers to go lookin’ for a virtual woman to compliment their ministry. A virtual woman is worth more than rubies, it teaches. But what do you do when wife number one ain’t even worth a sack of marbles? You need to move onto greener pastures to look for virtual women after the old one dries up. And I found that kind of lady when Donelle showed up at this church. So if that dumb donkey who criticized me for my first divorce had any idea of what hell I went through watchin’ Minerva pack on the pounds after she had four kids in three years, he wouldn’t’a dared say that to me. If my ushers hadn’t been dozin’ on the job, they’d’a taken their belts to that bum! “It’s all Minerva’s fault!” Fester roared. “Wouldn’t dye her gray hair to look younger for me. She wouldn’t wear war paint, not even on her saggy legs to hide her bellicose veins. Jesus understands why I couldn’t stay faithful to a bad situation. Stayin’ with Minerva would’a been worse than any spanking I could’a got for

adulterating on her. I never did git no satisfaction outa her, except for the joys of teachin’ her kids the fear of God. “Some other dipstick dope disagreed with my spanking position. He said Jesus threatens to tie a grindstone around somebody’s neck if they offend any little child. But Jesus wasn’t tryin’ to protect little cabooses in that verse, just their souls. That persnickety jerk failed to mention that ‘offend’ in that context don’t mean what it does today. Jesus meant if you cause that child to sin you’re in big trouble, and that’s perzactly what you do if you don’t wear him out every now and then. You make him grow up to be a bank robber. Solomon said so! He was the wisest man that ever lived, and all 1,000 of his nagging wives would agree! “Man, when I was a kid I got more whuppin’s than Planter’s got peanuts. Whenever I’d hear my daddy holler all three of my names ‘Fester Krueger Bobcat!’ I knew my sin had found me out and I was in for a good ol’ fashioned Dr. SHOCK treatment that would heat my seat for a week. “I’ll never forget one incident that happened when I was about nine years old. Sister Minnie, this old maid missionary lady, well, she’d been invited to eat supper with us, though we were dirt poor and even the chickens out in the barnyard flew the coop to go live with richer families to stay alive. Me and my brother Jonas, well, we knew Sister Minnie would choose the best piece of chicken before the plate got passed around to us. “As usual, Mama cut up the chicken like this: the best part of the bird, the white meat, well, that was cut up into two portions. That left two shriveled drumsticks, two skinny thighs, the withered wishbone, two bony wings, a petrified back, a gristly neck, a pile of innards and the Pope’s nose, which we usually threw out to the dog. That is, unless we had visitors and that was all that was left on the plate when it finally reached us kids. If that happened, our mutt would just wander the neighborhood and dig his dinner out of other people’s trash cans. “Mama, she’d always triple coat the chicken pieces with so much buttermilk batter you’d never know a big family had only one scrawny bird to eat. Once Mama fried it all up, she laid the pieces out on a big platter, where she also heaped high with these little golden brown corn muffins she loved to bake, which helped keep me from starvin’ to death when I was a kid. Then she heard my sister yellin’ that the baby threw up all over himself. Mama turned off the stove and ran to go clean the mess up. My daddy, well, he was out on the front porch a-yakkin’ with Sister Minnie so he didn’t have a clue what was up. “Me and Jonas snuck in from the back porch and stuffed those two pieces of tender, juicy white meat in our britches, we were so tired of bein’ hungry all the time. Just so Mama wouldn’t notice the missing pieces, we took extra muffins out of the oven and put ‘em on the plate with the remaining chicken. We was gonna run out to Daddy’s tool shed where nobody but God could see us, and eat ‘em there. We already had ‘em out and were gonna eat ‘em when Daddy came in the kitchen for a drink of water and called for us to come in, before we got halfway to the shed. All we could do was stick the chicken back in our pockets. Our pants were baggy, we’d both lost so much weight, so you didn’t notice any lumps in our pockets. And they were black pants, or Daddy would’a seen the grease stains on ‘em right away. “Once we were all assembled around the table, Daddy told all of us to join hands while he thanked the good Lord for the food, and prayed for Sister Minnie’s work in Africa. Well, my daddy could be long-winded, and in the meantime old Smokey, our bird dog, snuck in through the screen door, which somebody’d left open. And, you guessed it! While everybody’s eyes were shut during that long prayer, old Smokey crawled underneath the table and sniffed around my pants lookin’ for something to eat. I couldn’t yank my hands away from the folks next to me or open my eyes. I couldn’t even say one word while Daddy thanked Jesus for every African soul who’d ever been blessed by Sister Minnie. But Smokey jabbed his paw at my pocket, then pinched the chicken out. Then he did the same to my brother.

“Funny thing, once Daddy stopped prayin’, he didn’t notice the dog under the table, just passed the chicken plate to Sister Minnie, our honored guest. “Now Sister Minnie, she was a little lady but she could eat like a truck driver, and she was an expert on fried chicken, like most religious folks are. She poked and dug through that plate of chicken and made a funny face, shook her head, then she got up to leave. “ ‘I’m sorry, Eileen’, she said to my mother. ‘I just remembered, Sally Parsons is sick and I need to go pray for her. She goes to bed early so I need to be on my way.’ “Well, I’d just been over to the Parsons, and I knew everybody there was feelin’ fine, and Sister Minnie was just tellin’ Mama a story. And I just happened to know the Parsons were havin’ pot roast for supper. But I kept quiet till old Smokey sprung out from underneath the table, carryin’ two chicken rib cages. “ ‘No, no, boy!’ I yelled. ‘Git outa here!’ “ ‘So that’s what happened to my breast!’ Sister Minnie hollered, without thinkin’. But when she realized what she’d just said, and saw how shocked Daddy looked, she flew out that door like the devil himself was a-chasin’ her. “My daddy, he got mad as a hornet. He whipped off his big belt and threatened the dog with it. Then old Smokey ran up to me and sniffed around my pants pocket before goin’ over and smellin’ Jonas’s. Daddy came up and took a closer look. Lo and behold, there were big grease stains on our pockets. Daddy apologized to Smokey, then he took us outside and wore us out real good for feedin’ Sister Minnie’s supper to the dog. As he pounded satan out of our backside, Daddy chewed us out for leadin’ that dumb dog into temptation, and puttin’ him in danger of goin’ to torment. “Instead of mashed spuds and cornbread, me and my brother got a mashed butt and early bed. “And that wasn’t the end of the mischief we got into. One time when the church bowed their heads for prayer it was a-stormin’ outside but the thunder came from our pew. And since nobody would fess up to the abomination, Daddy dragged all us kids outside and skinned us alive with his cowhide belt, while the rain was a-pourin’ down. While the lightning flashed the sparks flew. Before we went back in, the preacher dismissed the service early. Children should be seen and not heard. “Nowadays kids don’t mind, ‘cause their so-called parents give ‘em candy instead of correction, like the Bible commands. Turn with me to Proverbs 20:30. It says that the blueness of a wound cleanses away evil, and stripes clean out your belly. Just like yore body’s septic tank gits all clogged up and it needs an enemy…uh, enema, to wash it out. That tells me that if your kid’s blessed assurance ain’t black and blue and stripey when you’re done beatin’ the fear of god into ‘em, it won’t do no good. By the time my daddy finished learnin’ me how to mind, I looked like I’d been Kung-Fu-chopped by a sumo rassler.” “I liked Brother Whipple’s teachin’ on Henry VIII, But that guy wasn’t nothin’ compared to what Fester the First is gonna do y’all if yore tithing don’t improve! In fact, I’m the first and the last in the chain of author-ity here! Whipple’s a stupid…uh…STUPENDOUS! author, but his book ain’t nothin’ compared to my book, Tithe or You’ll Fry in Hell! And since that one’s a brand new book hot off the press, it sells for $12.37, to help defray costs of publication. Fester’s face darkened into an avenging storm. He slammed his King James Bible so hard on the pulpit two loose pages flew out of it. An usher scrambled to pick them up. Craig’s head bobbed. He rubbed the crick in his neck. He was so tired his ears were ringing. It was already past his bedtime. He jerked upright. “Pastor never preached this long before,” he moaned to Wanda. Pul-eeze, Fester, stop the whipping so we can go home. Some of us have to get up in the morning.” “All right!” Brother Bobcat barked. “I’ve done my bit. I’ve spent nigh unto two hours breakin’ the bread of life to y’all. I’ve worked overtime tonight and read to y’all like little kids git read to at bedtime by their mama. So we’re runnin’ mighty late and

you need to git home to yore lazy hot tub lifestyles while I struggle on and on and on tryin’ to hold this ministry together with Elmer’s Glue and baling wire, ‘cause you don’t pay me enough money to keep my massive ministry alive! But we’ll close with a sober ammunition: As yore spiritual dad, I’ve got the power to call down God’s curses on y’all for robbin’ the Lord! Whatsoever I bind on earth is bound in heaven, so I’m invested with authority to shut the gates of heaven against anybody that sins against me! This whole congregation can roast in hell and shovel coal for all I care, if y’all don’t tithe! Cry out unto the Lord to forgive you for withholdin’ yore tithes, or the day you drop dead and meet St. Peter at the Pearly Gates, he’ll tell you to go south to spend eternity with evil sinners like the Devilcrats, Judas Ass Chariot, and all the liberal lefties that are ruinin’ this country! Down there you’ll scream and mash yore teeth in pitch black darkness!” Fester heard a wild commotion from the rear of the auditorium.