Why else do all those unreinforced masonry towns keep on collapsing on their sin-soaked inhabitants, asks the Bishop of Destiny Church. So sin-saturated, in fact, that even God's one true personal Johnny-on-the-spot bishop -- the Pope -- is powerless against the perniciousness of these satanic spaghetti-suckers. This is a job for Big Guy bovver boots.
Mega-quakes in Nepal, Pakistan, hundreds of thousands crushed like the vermin they are -- riddled with unclean thoughts, says Bishop Brian. God doesn't move in mysterious ways, He's Action Man -- delivering righteous vengeance whenever His mandate is tampered with. Never mind that these miscreants live on a volatile faultline that's thrown up the highest mountain range on Earth. Coincidence. Himalayan Vice is the true name of the game. The Bishop says so. Or at least thinks so.
On the other side of the ledger, though, as Bishop Tamaki wisely counsels us, Our Father rewards the pure in deed and thought who submit to the guidance of Good Shepherds like himself.
Why, as Bishop Brian cruises the great metropolis of Auckland on his shiny black Harley, he sees evidence of God's mercy and fruitfulness everywhere.
As he points out, what better evidence of righteous living attracting righteous rewards than the Bishop himself, as he transitions from his shiny black suit to his shiny black leathers and on to his shiny black Harley. He's literally high on the Hog. (This is the Bishop's favourite joke.)
It helps him thread the devilish Auckland traffic more quickly as he transitions from one of the shiny black homes his trust fund owns down to the Viaduct for a spot of cruising in his big shiny black cruiser.
As the Bishop often reminds us, take care of the pennies and the pounds will take care of themselves. Or, as in his case, by taking care of the 10 per cent tithes, the millions shift for themselves quite nicely.
There are always demonic naysayers, though. Take the blasphemer with the temerity to point out that one of the worst areas for heavenly rebukes -- twisters, tornadoes, droughts -- is the Bible Belt of the American Mid-West. Shouldn't all that Bible-bashing be rewarded with a heaven on Earth, asks this devil's advocate?
Here, Bishop Brian's forehead furrows blackly and shinily, glistening with righteous sweat. Despoilers of the One True Word, he thunders.
Those pig ignorant Oakies turned down my offer to get a genuine fake gold-embossed, personally-signed-by-me, big black and shiny Destiny Bible into every Mid-West home in return for a measly tithe. And you know what those dust-suckers had the nerve to tell me, the bishop blackly asks? That they preferred the Gideon's Bibles they already had. At least they were honestly stolen, they reckoned.
However, to his credit, Bishop Brian acknowledges he's sinned also. He delivered his God's Wrath sermon on a Sunday. Exodus 35:2 clearly states: "For six days work may be done, but on the seventh day there is a sabbath of complete rest, holy to the Lord; whoever does any work on the sabbath day shall surely be put to death." Clearly, Bishop Brian was working -- sermonising -- on the Sabbath. Fair cop, I'm for the chop, concedes Brian.
He's even picked out his casket. Naturally, it's black and shiny. The XXOS version of the black box they go looking for at other high-flyer crash sites.
